The news about Alessa's true parentage had not gone well with Marco. It had struck him like a bullet. He never imagined anything like that. Vittorio Morreti was a man he had prayed not to be like in terms of forming a family. He was a man believed to have whiled away his youth without securing to himself an heir to inherit his empire. A king without an heir. La Corona Nera was said to be inherited by his nephew when he was dead. But the people knew better. They all knew there as going to be a squabble over power when Vittorio dies, especially if he dies suddenly. Now it was just a space of three days. Three days, that was all it took for Marco to discover Vittorio had two grown daughters who, in truth, were more than enough to run La Corona Nera . And to even make it worse, one of them had been living under his roof for the past month. And he even now has developed a soft spot for her. Marco couldn’t put everything together, it was all more than he could carry. “What if i had been p
The sound of the rain was heavy outside the window of her cramped apartment. Elena Conti, a journalist investigating the mafia’s influence in Philadelphia. She sat in front of her computer, the rhythmic sound of her fingers tapping away on the keyboard synchronized with the sound of the rain battering on the window. Her apartment was very disorganized, mirroring the kind of life she lived, a life of chaos, the life of a woman who was always busy digging deep. There was a cup of coffee on the table, leftover biscuits, and dirty notepads.Elena Conti was no ordinary journalist. While other reporters chased stories that could make the headlines for only a day and be forgotten by the morrow, she dug and chased after stories that could get her killed. Stories that were worth telling even after years.Her dark brown eyes behind the thin framed glasses she always wore for her eye problems other than for fashion examined the documents displayed on her desktop monitor, digital breadcrumbs she
Alessa paced about the length of the lavish bedroom, the sound from her boot was barely audible because of the plush Persian rug. “Vittorio Morretti’s daughter,” she said as she laughed a little. That truth pressed on her chest and felt like a Brand. “This contradicts everything I know and believe in.” She murmured. Isabella lay on the bed, watching her pace about with a smirk. “You’re overthinking this sorellina” she drawled from the bed, twirling a strand of jet-black hair around her finger, that infuriating smirk still playing on her lips. “Overthinking you say, is that what you really want to describe this as?” She snarled as she stopped walking and faced Isabella directly. “I've been lied to my whole life… by the people I loved the most. And in the end, I still got betrayed by them. And you have the gall to say I’m overthinking.”Isabella’s smirk vanished. She sat up slowly, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. “Not telling you anything is not equivalent to lying to you. I
The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum in sync with Sophia racing heart as she sat stiffly in the clinic's waiting room. The antiseptic scent that filled the air was familiar, yet it still made her stomach turn. Her fingers gripped the crumpled patient form in her lap, and the words "gestational period: 12 weeks" stared back at her like a harsh reality check.Her phone buzzed violently in her Gucci handbag, making her jump. The sudden vibration was startling in the quiet waiting area, and she could feel the nurse's disapproving look on her. Sophia tried to open the bag, her manicured nails caught on the gold hard material that was on the bag’s clasp. When she finally pulled out her phone, the caller ID indicated it was not a saved contact. An Unknown Caller.Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. These days, unidentified calls usually meant trouble - her father's men checking in or Isabella and her associates with another stern warning. The phone vibrated again as if it
Matteo Pasquale was not a patient man. Patience was for men who lacked vision… for those content to wait for fortune to favor them rather than seize it with both hands. Matteo had spent a lifetime ensuring things bent to his will, and he preferred them to do so quickly. He was a man of precision, ambition, and ruthlessness. Every move he made was calculated, every word intentional. He had learned long ago that power was not given, it was taken. His acquaintance with Antonio Vincenzo stretched back further than he could remember. Decades of loyalty, strategy, and shared crimes, including bloodshed. They had met as young men, hungry and ambitious, fighting their way up from the gutters of Palermo to become influential figures in Philadelphia’s underworld. Together, they had built La Mano Nera into an empire. It had grown to become what none of them had imagined in their youth. Matteo married Gulia De Luca, Riccardo's only sister and she birthed only one child for him and could not co
Alessa sat still on the armchair, her whole weight rested upon it like it was her only support in life. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, “Vittorio Morreti’s daughter, could this be true?” She had a flash of thought about her foster father, Carlo. “Could he have known?” She asked herself. She thought of all the training he had given her, what was it all really about? Maybe she was being prepared by her foster father as a weapon to destroy their enemies. But why then abandon her? None of them made any sense to her, she just sat there thinking about anything possible. “Knock knock…” came the sound from the door before Isabella threw it open. She had an antique leather-covered photo album in her hand. “All the Proof you may need is in here.” She said as she handed the photo album to Alessa. Alessa opened the album, and it was a collection of photos of Vittorio Morreti and a woman. This woman had Alessa's waist-length black hair and deep, honey-brown eyes. As Alessa flipped through