A King Must Rise

The villa was quiet in the morning. The echoes of yesterday’s massacre still haunted the halls. I could still smell gunpowder, still see the blood on the white roses, still hear my father’s last words.

"Someone close"

The warning repeated in my head, an endless loop of betrayal. I paced the study, hands clenched into fists. Luca sat nearby, tense, ready for anything.

“They’ll come for us again,” he said, eyes narrowing. “We need to be ready.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to play their game. I want justice, Luca. Not more blood.”

“You think you have a choice?” he asked. “This isn’t about what you want. This is Moretti business.”

He was right. The Moretti empire did not wait for the grieving. It demanded strength, control, power. And now, it demanded me.

I turned toward the window, catching a reflection, my own face, drawn and hollow. Behind me, Isabella stood silently, her presence quiet but steady. She said nothing, only watched. Her eyes were soft, concerned maybe, but impossible to read.

“You need to face them,” she finally said, voice calm, almost soothing. “The council will come for you. They want answers.”

I stopped pacing, meeting her gaze. There was a flicker of fear in me, but I forced it down. “I don’t want this,” I admitted. “I didn’t ask for this. I just want to find who did this to my father, not sit in a chair and play king.”

“You can’t run from it,” she said gently, placing a hand on my arm. “If you refuse, they’ll think you’re weak.”

Her touch steadied me, though part of me hated that it did.

By midday, the council arrived. The room filled with familiar faces. Captains, lieutenants, advisers. Men who had served my father, now looking at me like I was something to be judged. A boy they could either crown or crush.

Uncle Marco entered last, his presence smooth, like silk hiding steel. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Adrian,” he said, voice warm, almost fatherly. “It is time.”

I stared at him, wary. “Time for what?”

“To take your place,” Marco replied. “Your father is gone. The empire must have a leader. And that leader is you.”

I laughed bitterly. “I am not ready. I want justice, not power.”

Marco’s smile didn’t falter. “Justice comes with power, Adrian. You want revenge, yes? To find who killed your father?”

I stiffened. “Of course.”

“Then you must lead,” he said softly, leaning closer. “Power does not wait for the weak.”

His words lingered like smoke. Around the room, the men watched, waiting for me to speak, to rise or to fall.

I felt Isabella’s gaze on me again from across the table—steady, unreadable. She gave a small nod, almost imperceptible. It grounded me.

“Listen to him,” she had said earlier. “You don’t have to like it. But you can’t ignore it either.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe refusing would only make things worse.

Luca leaned in, his voice low. “Don’t trust anyone, Adrian. Not Marco. Not the council. Not even the people who swear loyalty. They all want something from you.”

“I know,” I muttered, jaw tightening. “But I can’t ignore them either. If I refuse… chaos will spread. Innocents could die.”

“And?” Luca pressed.

“And I won’t be like him,” I said, my voice firm. “I won’t become my father. I won’t kill innocents for power. But I’ll lead—on my terms.”

Luca studied me, lips pressed into a line. “On your terms,” he echoed, and there was something like approval in his tone.

I turned toward Marco, my expression calm but my eyes sharp. “I’ll lead. But I make the rules. Innocents don’t die by my hand.”

Marco’s smile widened, his amusement cold and cutting. “We shall see, Adrian. We shall see.”

The council murmured their reluctant acceptance. I could feel the weight settling on my shoulders. Heavy and suffocating, but it was mine.

Marco stepped forward and handed me a small box. Inside lay my father’s ring, still stained with blood from yesterday. I stared at it for a long moment, then picked it up. The metal was cold, the weight immense. A symbol of power. Of duty. Of vengeance.

I slipped it onto my finger. The boy they had known was gone. I was no longer just Adrian Moretti, the son. I was Adrian Moretti, the man they would learn to fear.

Luca clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be a storm, Adrian. A real storm.”

I nodded, my voice steady. “Then let it begin.”

Across the room, Isabella’s eyes lingered on me, her expression unreadable. I couldn’t tell if it was pride or calculation. Maybe both.

The villa was quiet again, but not for long. Shadows lingered, whispers grew. The crown had been placed, and war was coming.

Let them come.