Chapter 49: The War Begins

The first explosion shattered the night.

The estate trembled as smoke and fire erupted from the eastern gate. Shouts rang through the air, followed by the sharp, staccato rhythm of gunfire. The enemy had arrived.

Alessio barely flinched. He stood at the balcony's edge, watching the chaos unfold below with the cold, calculating expression of a man who had already planned for this moment.

Elena stood beside him, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had been trained for this. Prepared. And yet, the sight of their home under attack sent a sickening wave through her.

Alessio turned to her, his voice steady despite the storm brewing around them.

"No second chances, bambolina." His eyes burned into hers. "Once we step into this, there's no turning back."

She lifted her chin.

"There was never a way out."

Alessio smirked—dark, approving.

Without another word, he reached for his gun, chambering a round with smooth precision. He took one last look at her, his gaze lingering—not with hesitation, but with certainty.

Then, he turned.

And the war truly began.

Inside the Estate

The halls were thick with smoke and gunfire. Their men were already in position, fighting tooth and nail to hold the perimeter. The enemy had come prepared—mercenaries, hired killers, men who had no loyalty, only a paycheck.

But they weren't prepared for him.

Alessio moved through the chaos like a shadow, each shot precise, lethal. He had been raised for war, molded by violence. And tonight, he was in his element.

Elena followed close behind, her own weapon tight in her grasp. The scent of blood and gunpowder filled the air as she fired, taking down a man who had breached the entrance.

Her hands trembled. But she didn't stop.

She couldn't.

A figure lunged toward her—blade flashing in the dim light.

Before she could react, Alessio was there.

His knife plunged into the man's gut, swift and brutal. Blood splattered onto the marble floor as the enemy crumpled, lifeless.

Alessio turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Stay close."

She nodded, swallowing hard. This was it.

They fought their way through the estate, bodies falling in their wake. Every corridor was another battlefield, every room another warzone.

And then—

A scream.

Elena's blood turned to ice.

It wasn't one of their men. It was inside the house.

She and Alessio locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.

Without hesitation, they ran.

The Heart of the Betrayal

The doors to the study were wide open, the once-pristine room now a scene of carnage. Blood pooled on the rug, bodies of their men lying motionless.

And at the center of it all—

One of their own.

Marcello De Luca.

Elena's cousin. The last remnant of her family.

And he was holding a gun—aimed directly at her.

"Elena," he murmured, his voice almost gentle. "You should have given him up."

Alessio's gun was up in an instant, aiming straight for Marcello's head.

Elena's breath caught.

Marcello. Her blood.

Alessio. Her soul.

Marcello took a step forward, his expression pained. "I did this for us. For our family. Don't you see? Alessio will never let you rule—he'll consume you, control you."

Elena's heart pounded.

Marcello was the last of the De Lucas. The last link to the bloodline she had fought to reclaim.

But Alessio—he was her fate.

Marcello's grip on the gun tightened.

Alessio didn't flinch.

"Elena," Marcello whispered. "Choose."

She swallowed hard.

And she did.

Her fingers curled around the trigger.

One shot.

The sound echoed through the study.

Marcello staggered, eyes wide in shock.

Then—he fell.

Elena's hand shook as she lowered the gun, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Alessio moved toward her, his hands steady as they closed over hers. He didn't speak, didn't ask if she was okay.

Because he already knew.

She had chosen him.

And there was no turning back.

The Aftermath

The battle was won.

The estate was in ruins, but their empire stood.

The Valentis and De Lucas were no longer separate forces—they were one.

Alessio stood at the balcony once more, looking out at what they had built, what they had bled for.

Elena stepped beside him, the weight of her choice still heavy in her chest.

He turned to her, his voice quieter than before.

"You killed your last piece of family for me."

She met his gaze, unflinching. "No," she said softly. "I killed him for us."

A rare emotion flickered in his eyes—something deeper than possession, darker than love.

Then, without another word, he pulled her to him, claiming her mouth in a kiss that tasted of blood and victory.

And as the city burned below them, Elena knew—

She had embraced the darkness.

And she would never belong to anyone but him.