The Ruthless Mafia King

Days passed.

Not in peace, but in preparation.

Emilia studied everything Alessandro gave her — dossiers, internal maps, names she couldn't pronounce but now needed to remember. He was shaping her into someone else, piece by piece. Not molding her into a queen, but reminding her she'd been born one.

She didn't need protection anymore.

She needed knowledge.

And maybe vengeance.

"Who do you trust in this room?" Alessandro asked one evening as they sat in his underground strategy suite.

She looked around at the faces — captains, lieutenants, a few familiar guards. All loyal to him.

"I don't know," she said.

"Good," he replied. "That's the right answer."

He slid a file across the table.

"Then start here. These are the ones who would sell you for the right price."

She flipped through the pages. Men with guns. Men with fake smiles.

Men who would've had her killed weeks ago — if he hadn't stopped them.

"Why show me this now?" she asked.

"Because your name protects you for now," he said. "But soon, it'll make you a target again. You need to know who your enemies are — even in my house."

His voice dropped lower.

"Especially in my house."

She looked up at him, truly seeing him — not the king, not the billionaire, but the man who'd learned to trust no one. Not even himself.

And it terrified her… how much she understood him now.

Later that night, alone in the training room, Emilia picked up a pistol.

It felt foreign in her hand.

Cold. Heavy. Real.

She raised it, aimed at the silhouette dummy across the room, and fired.

The recoil bit into her shoulder — but the shot landed.

Dead center.

She didn't smile. She didn't flinch.

Because for the first time in her life, Emilia Blake wasn't running from who she was.

She was becoming her.