Buried Heiress: Claimed By The Mafia Don

Emily's POV

Lightning tore across the storm-darkened sky, its blinding flash illuminating the cemetery for a fleeting second before thunder followed, deep and violent, trembling through the ground beneath my feet.

I stood beneath the shelter of an ancient oak tree, my fingers tightening around the handle of my black umbrella as I watched the polished mahogany coffin being lowered slowly into the earth.

A coffin bearing my name.

My mother buried her face against my father's shoulder, her cries swallowed by the relentless downpour. My father stood rigid beside her, his jaw clenched, while my brothers remained silent, their attention fixed on the coffin disappearing inch by inch beneath the earth.

For a moment, I simply watched them.

Then, despite everything, the faintest smile touched my lips.

Years of planning. Endless nights of hiding. Countless sleepless nights spent preparing for this very moment. Today, Emily Moretti died.

I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath, allowing the cold air to fill my lungs before turning away. Then the gunshots rang out. One after another.

The Moretti family's final salute—a ritual reserved for the burial of one of their own.

The Morettis, The second most powerful mafia family in the country.

A name that carried enough weight to silence a room. A name that made powerful men lower their heads and enemies think twice before making a move. And today, that name had buried me.

Without looking back, I walked toward the cemetery gates. A sleek black sedan came to a stop in front of me. The driver immediately stepped out and hurried around the vehicle, lowering his head respectfully as he opened the rear door.

"Miss Emily..."

The name slipped from his lips before he could stop it. I turned slowly. The color drained from his face the instant he realized his mistake. He lowered his head even further.

"My Lady... forgive me." His voice trembled. "Miss Eva... the car is ready." I held his gaze for a moment before looking back toward the cemetery.

My parents were already leaving. None of them knew the daughter they had just buried was still alive. A quiet ache tightened beneath my ribs, but I pushed it aside. This was the life I had chosen.

The only life that could give me the freedom I had spent three years fighting for. Without another word, I stepped into the car.

The door closed behind me. As the sedan pulled away, I allowed myself one final glance at the cemetery before turning my eyes toward the window.

Emily Moretti was dead, And Eva Blackwood had just begun to live.

---

Knock. Knock.

"Eva! Why the hell are you sleeping in the office?" The sharp voice dragged me out of the memory.

I blinked several times, disoriented, before adjusting my glasses. Realizing I had fallen asleep at my desk, I quickly wiped the corner of my mouth and straightened in my chair.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

My coworker rolled her eyes and walked away. A few moments later, she returned with a thick stack of files and dropped them onto my desk.

"Boss needs these in his office. Hurry up." I immediately gathered the files into my arms and headed toward the elevator.

When the doors opened on the executive floor, the atmosphere changed instantly.

Unlike the noisy offices below, this floor was wrapped in an almost unnatural silence.

A long corridor stretched before me, ending at an enormous pair of golden doors.

I swallowed, For some reason, an uneasy sensation settled in my stomach. I pushed it aside and walked forward.

When I reached the doors, I paused and drew in a slow breath. My hand rose toward the door, but I hesitated halfway.

Why was I nervous? Shaking the thought away, I knocked twice.

"Come in."

The calm voice from inside echoed through the room. I slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, carefully closing it behind me. The office was far larger than I had expected.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, allowing afternoon sunlight to spill across the room. Dark mahogany shelves lined the walls, while every piece of furniture appeared deliberately positioned, creating an atmosphere of wealth, discipline, and quiet authority. The man behind the desk didn't look up.

He remained absorbed in the documents before him, turning a page as though my presence hadn't even registered. I tightened my hold on the files and approached the desk. Then my eyes caught the polished gold nameplate resting at its edge.

DANTE DE LUCA

Chief Executive Officer

I placed the files neatly on the desk.

"Sir... Here are the files you requested," I said softly. No response.

The only sound was the faint rustle of paper beneath his fingers. Then he slowly lifted his head. For one brief second, I forgot how to breathe.

The man behind the massive mahogany desk appeared to be in his early thirties. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that fit his broad frame with precision. His dark hair was combed neatly away from his forehead, revealing a sharply defined face and a strong jaw shadowed by faint stubble.

He was undeniably handsome, but it wasn't his appearance that unsettled me.

It was his eyes. Cold and Calculating.

They settled on me with an intensity that made me feel as though he were looking past my disguise and searching for something I had buried years ago. Without realizing it, my fingers tightened around the files.

"Sir... the files," I repeated quietly, Still nothing. The silence stretched between us.

Unable to bear it any longer, I cleared my throat.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you need anything else?" His gaze remained fixed on me.

I waited, assuming I had been dismissed, I turned toward the door.

"Did I ask you to leave?"His calm voice cut through the silence.

I stopped.

My fingers curled against the fabric of my dress. For the briefest moment, I closed my eyes and drew in a steadying breath before turning back.

"My apologies, sir."He didn't respond.

Instead, he rose from his chair. My breath caught.

He walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps, the faint sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoing through the room. He adjusted the cuff of his suit as he approached, his expression unreadable.

My heartbeat quickened, He stopped only inches away. I instinctively held my breath.

He leaned closer, his eyes tracing every detail of my face before locking onto mine.

"Those eyes..."His voice dropped to barely a whisper."They look familiar." My heart lurched. I stumbled backward, instinctively adjusting my glasses with trembling fingers.

"I... I think you've mistaken me for someone else, sir."He simply watched me.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he pulled back.

"Is that so?"I nodded quickly.

"Yes, sir." My mind was racing, I needed to leave immediately. I turned toward the door. "Sir... may I go?" He studied me for another moment before finally giving a small nod.

"Go."Relief loosened the tension in my chest. I turned toward the door and reached for the handle. My fingers had barely touched it when his voice stopped me again.

"Tell me..." I froze. "Isn't it strange..."He paused. "for two people to have the exact same eyes?" The blood drained from my face. "Especially..." He fell silent for a moment "When one of them died three years ago." My fingers tightened around the doorknob. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe.

Then his voice came again, calm and steady. "Isn't that right..." A beat of silence. "Emily Moretti?" Everything inside me stopped.