Chapter 5 – Fire in Her Veins

Amara's POV

Mornings in the Romano estate didn’t start with silence.

They started with war being built.

The sun climbed lazily over the courtyard, spilling light across the cobblestone path where Luca’s men trained like clockwork—boots striking ground, guns being checked, orders being shouted in low voices. It was the rhythm of power, steady and dangerous.

I stood at the window with a mug of coffee warming my hands, my silk robe brushing against the tops of my thighs. Alessio’s soft laughter carried through the hallway behind me, cutting through the steel of the world outside like a beam of light.

Five years ago, I’d woken up to loneliness.

Now I woke up to this—power wrapped in quiet, and a little boy with Dante Moretti’s eyes.

“Mama!” Alessio’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by quick footsteps.

I turned just in time for him to barrel into the room, holding a toy plane in one hand and dragging one of the house cats with the other. His dark hair was a mess, his little tuxedo shirt already untucked from the night before.

“You’re awake too early,” I said, crouching down to smooth his hair.

“I wasn’t sleepy anymore,” he said, his voice small but bright. He leaned into me with the easy trust only children knew how to give. “Uncle Luca said we’re going to the garden later.”

I smiled softly. “We are. But first, breakfast.”

“Can I have pancakes?” he asked, hope wide in those gray eyes.

God. Those eyes.

Every time I looked into them, I saw Dante’s. Not softened by time or distance—exactly the same. Sharp, gray, burning. Except Alessio’s didn’t hold cruelty. His eyes were everything Dante’s never managed to be.

“Of course you can,” I said quietly.

I kissed the top of his head. He smelled like soap and sugar, like innocence. I’d built an entire empire of steel and strategy around this little boy. For him. Because of him.

Luca appeared in the doorway, his usual tailored black shirt rolled at the sleeves, revealing the tattoos curling down his forearms. He didn’t smile often, but when he saw Alessio climbing onto the couch like it was his throne, something softened in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re up early, piccolo,” Luca said, stepping inside.

Alessio grinned at him. “Uncle Luca, can we make pancakes?”

Luca raised an eyebrow at me, pretending to sigh. “Pancakes again?”

“Yes!” Alessio insisted.

“Fine.” Luca tapped his shoulder lightly. “But you’re helping.”

Alessio ran toward the kitchen like a rocket, already yelling something about chocolate chips. The house’s morning shadows seemed to brighten with his noise.

Luca turned to me then, his gaze sharp in the way it always was when it landed on me. “You didn’t sleep.”

“No,” I admitted, placing the empty mug down. “I was thinking.”

“About him.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

Luca walked closer, his voice steady and low. “He saw the boy.”

“Yes.”

“And he won’t let it go.”

“I know.” My fingers curled against the windowsill. “That’s why we need to move faster.”

Luca tilted his head slightly. “Faster how?”

“Dante built everything on loyalty and fear,” I said, turning back to the window. The men outside moved like chess pieces on a board only a few of us could see. “The loyalty can be broken. The fear can be turned against him. I want his walls to crumble before he even realizes who’s holding the match.”

Luca’s gaze flickered with something between pride and quiet danger. “You’ve been listening.”

“I’ve been planning,” I corrected softly.

There was a time I would’ve avoided saying Dante’s name. It used to burn in my mouth. Now it only burned in my blood. A slow, patient fire.

“I want his most trusted lieutenants,” I said. “The ones he thinks would never turn. They’re the cracks. Everyone bleeds when loyalty is tested.”

Luca nodded once. “I can get you names.”

“No,” I said quickly, meeting his eyes. “I want to choose them myself.”

Something sharp glimmered in his gaze. He liked that answer. Not because he liked control—but because he liked me when I took it.

“You’ve become dangerous, Amara.”

I smiled faintly. “You made me dangerous.”

“No,” he said quietly. “He did.”

---

The kitchen smelled like butter and sugar, Alessio’s laughter ringing out as he flipped pancake batter with more enthusiasm than skill. Sofia leaned against the counter, watching him like she was half amused, half on alert. She always stood that way—like even a sunny morning could turn into a gunfight.

I sat at the table with a folder open in front of me. Inside were faces. Men. Women. Names tied to the Moretti empire. Every one of them a step toward Dante’s downfall.

“Who’s first?” Sofia asked, picking up one of the photos. “Ah. This one looks like he smells like cheap cigars and betrayal.”

“Matteo Rinaldi,” I said. “He’s been with Dante since before his father died. Old blood. But he gambles. Deep debt. He’ll flip.”

Sofia smirked. “Good. I like desperate men. Easy to break.”

I flipped another photo. “Allegra Costa. Runs one of Dante’s clubs on the North Side. She hates him.”

Sofia raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“Because I used to hate him too,” I said simply.

Sofia let out a sharp laugh. “Touché.”

“Luca’s already moving his men into position on the docks,” I continued. “Once we take his import lines, the

cracks get bigger. No money. No loyalty.”

Sofia studied me for a moment.

“You really are going to burn him.”

I didn’t look up. “I don’t want to burn him.”

She frowned. “No?”

I met her eyes. “I want to make him watch.”

The words left my mouth like they’d been sitting on my tongue for years. Because they had.

---

Hours later, when the house grew quiet again, Alessio was playing in the garden with one of the guards while Luca handled a call upstairs. I sat on the balcony alone, the wind threading through my hair.

It should’ve felt peaceful. But peace was a language I’d forgotten.

I reached into the pocket of my robe and pulled out the small, faded photograph I’d kept for years. A stolen moment—me and Dante, back when I’d still believed he loved me. He wasn’t smiling in the picture. He rarely did. But his arm had been around me. I’d thought it meant something.

“Stupid,” I whispered to the wind, but my chest still tightened.

I looked out over the courtyard where Alessio ran across the grass. My son. The boy who carried Dante’s face, Dante’s eyes. I could hate the man all I wanted, but I could never hate the boy who carried pieces of him.

Sometimes that was the hardest part. The way love didn’t just die. It shifted. It buried itself in places you didn’t want it to be.

“Mama!” Alessio’s laugh carried up to me. He waved from below, holding a stick like a sword. “Look!”

I waved back, forcing a smile. He deserved joy. He deserved a childhood untouched by the war I was building. Even if it was built for him.

“Thinking again?” Sofia’s voice broke through my thoughts. She leaned against the doorway, cigarette dangling from her fingers.

“Always,” I murmured.

She blew out a soft ring of smoke. “You can plan a hundred ways to burn Dante, but if you keep looking at the boy like he’s a wound, it’ll eat you alive.”

I turned toward her, a little startled. “He’s not a wound.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No? Then why do you keep touching it?”

I didn’t answer. Because she was right.

Sofia walked closer, her boots crunching lightly against the tile. “Amara, we’re going to war. Not just with Dante. With everything he built. You need to decide if the ghost of who he was still has a place in your heart.”

I stared down at my hands. “He doesn’t.”

“Then stop letting his face haunt you through your son,” she said simply.

Her words didn’t come from cruelty. They came from someone who’d learned long ago that scars only had power if you fed them.

I nodded slowly. “I won’t let him.”

“Good,” she said, flicking her cigarette into the wind. “Because we’ve got work to do.”

---

That night, the estate transformed. Plans stretched across the table in the strategy room. Maps. Ledgers. Luca stood at the head of the table, his voice calm and cutting.

“This is where we start,” he said.

“One step at a time. No fireworks. Just quiet fire.”

I traced my finger over the map, stopping at the North Side. “I want his home before I take his heart.”

Luca’s eyes locked on mine. He understood what I meant without asking.

Sofia grinned, low and dangerous. “You’re going to crush him.”

“No,” I said softly. “I’m going to make him kneel.”