The Ruthless Mafia King

Emilia woke before sunrise.

The sheets were warm, the air still heavy with the scent of last night's fire. But Alessandro was gone again — a ghost of leather, steel, and duty.

She found herself reaching for the ring on her finger, twisting it slowly. The Moretti crest stared back at her.

It used to feel like a cage.

Now it felt like armor.

She walked into the study, the file room Alessandro never kept locked anymore, and opened a drawer marked "Blake Remnants."

Inside: faces. Names. Dossiers.

One caught her eye — Enzo Varro, an old lieutenant of her father's. Thought to be dead. Recently spotted. Rumored to have joined the Mancinis.

Her pulse quickened.

She dug deeper.

Another name. Another thread.

And then… a note.

"She doesn't know what she is. That's our advantage."

Dated two months ago.

Emilia stepped back from the drawer, stomach twisting. The photo attached to the note showed her — blurry, but unmistakable.

They'd been watching her long before Alessandro found her.

Long before she stepped into this war.

When Alessandro returned later that morning, he found her sitting on the edge of the desk, file open, expression unreadable.

"You lied to me," she said.

He didn't flinch. "About what?"

"About when this started. You said it began when I walked into your office."

He said nothing.

She stood, fire in her voice. "They were watching me before that. And so were you."

Finally, he spoke. "Yes."

Her chest tightened.

"I've known who you were for years, Emilia."

"You knew I was Victor Blake's daughter."

"Yes."

"And you let me believe you just found me?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I had to make sure you weren't like him."

"And now?"

He stepped closer. "Now I know you're stronger."

She turned her back to him, voice cold. "No. What you know is that I'm valuable."

Alessandro reached for her arm, but she pulled away.

"I loved you," she whispered. "I think… I still do."

He froze.

"But I don't know if that's enough anymore."

As the door closed behind her, Alessandro stood alone in the war room, fists clenched.

He hadn't lost many things in life.

But the look in her eyes?

That was the beginning of loss.