The fire behind them was still visible in the rearview mirror. Smoke coiled into the sky like a warning to the gods. Isabella didn't look back. She held onto Alexander tightly as the motorcycle roared through the wet streets of Milan, headlights slicing through the dark like knives.
They didn't speak until they reached the underground garage beneath another of his safe houses—a building so old and forgotten that not even his enemies remembered it belonged to the Volkov name.
Inside, the lights flickered as they entered. Dust clung to the air. The silence here was thick, heavy, like the walls held memories they wished to forget. Alexander locked the door behind them, bolting it twice. Isabella leaned against the wall, breath shallow, eyes haunted.
He walked to her slowly, brushing damp hair from her face. You're hurt
She shook her head. Just adrenaline. I'll be fine
You were almost killed back there. Luca planned that down to the second
And you still walked in knowing it might be a trap
He didn't respond. Not yet. Instead, he poured her a drink from a dusty bottle on the shelf. She took it, her fingers trembling only slightly.
What now? she asked
Now we make the next move
Luca will expect you to retaliate. He's baiting you. This isn't just about old grudges anymore
No. It's about inheritance. About the sins of my father's past. I thought I buried him and all his monsters. But one by one, they keep crawling back
Isabella stepped closer, her voice firm
Then maybe it's time we stop reacting and start hunting
Alexander met her eyes. A flicker of admiration crossed his face
You sound like someone who's been through war
Maybe I have
They spent the night gathering intel. Isabella hacked into Luca's encrypted systems while Alexander contacted a trusted source from his old life—a man known only as Matteo. Silent, deadly, loyal only to honor. If anyone had information about Luca's next move, it was him.
By morning, a message arrived. Not in words, but in red ink smeared across a page slipped under the door.
He's not working alone
Alexander read it twice. Then again. Rage curled slowly in his chest
Someone's funding him. Someone powerful
Who? Isabella asked
That's what we're going to find out
They followed the trail to the northern outskirts of Milan. An old textile mill that had long stopped spinning silk. Isabella stayed in the surveillance van while Alexander slipped inside through the rusted back gate. Rain had turned the ground to mud, and each step felt like sinking deeper into a grave.
Inside, he found evidence. Crates marked with false shipping labels. Maps. Surveillance photos of him and Isabella in Tuscany, in Rome, even in Greece. They'd been watched for months.
Then he saw it.
A photograph taped to the wall. His father, Ivan Volkov. Not a recent image, but one taken a year after his supposed death. Alive. Older. Surrounded by men with guns.
Alexander's breath caught. For a second, the world tilted.
He ripped the photo from the wall and stuffed it into his coat. Then he heard a whisper of movement.
Too late.
A blow struck him from behind, sharp and fast. He hit the ground hard, tasting blood. Boots approached. A voice followed—low, familiar.
Still chasing ghosts, Alex?
He turned his head and saw her.
Marina.
Once his ally. Once his lover. Now standing above him with a gun in one hand and betrayal in her smile.
You never did learn, she said coldly. Always thinking you're one step ahead. But you never saw this coming
He spat blood, staring up at her
You're working with Luca?
She knelt beside him, brushing her fingers along his jaw mockingly
No. I'm working with your father
The world cracked.
He's dead
She laughed softly
No. He disappeared because he wanted to rebuild everything. Away from the authorities. Away from you. But when you walked away from the empire, you left a vacuum. And now he's ready to take it back
Alexander's heart pounded
Why tell me now?
Because you need to understand the choice. Join him. Reclaim your throne. Or be erased completely
He stared at her
And if I refuse?
Then you die tonight
But the trigger never pulled.
Because a shadow moved behind her. Swift. Silent.
Isabella.
She struck Marina with a steel rod, sending the gun skittering across the floor. Marina fell with a cry, stunned. Alexander rolled to his knees, snatched the gun, and pointed it at her head.
She smiled up at him, blood on her lip.
You won't do it. You never could finish what your father started
He looked at Isabella. Her eyes told him everything. She wouldn't stop him if he chose to pull the trigger.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Instead, he tied Marina's hands and dragged her to her feet.
You're going to take me to him
She chuckled darkly
And then what? Kill him?
He didn't answer.
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the clouds remained. Heavy. Waiting.
As they shoved Marina into the back of the van, Isabella whispered
If your father's alive, this changes everything
Alexander closed the door and looked out at the horizon
No. It just confirms what I always suspected
The real war never ended