Ghosts in the Blood

Emilia's heels clicked briskly down the hallway as she left Alessandro's office, her pulse racing. She didn't know what rattled her more — the way he said her father's name, or the way he watched her while she lied.

Victor Blake.

She'd never said that name out loud. Never asked questions. Never dared.

Her mother had made sure of that.

But now it was back — pulled from the shadows by a man who terrified everyone but fascinated her.

Back at her desk, she tried to focus. Her screen glowed with unread messages, but she couldn't see any of them. Her hands trembled just enough to make her slam the laptop shut.

She needed answers. And there was only one place she could get them.

That night, the Blake house sat in silence. Her mother, Elise, was curled up on the couch with a book, the same routine she'd followed for years. But when Emilia entered, there was a stiffness in her step.

"I need to ask you something," Emilia said, no hesitation.

Elise looked up slowly. "You're shaking."

"Tell me who he was," Emilia said. "Victor Blake. I know he was my father."

Her mother's face crumbled — not in fear, but in weariness.

"I always knew this day would come," she whispered. "But I hoped it wouldn't."

"Who was he?" Emilia demanded. "Why did you hide him from me? Why does Alessandro Moretti know his name?"

The silence that followed was heavy — ancient.

Elise finally spoke. "He wasn't just a man, Emilia. He was a king. A king in a kingdom of blood and guns. And Alessandro Moretti was the prince raised to destroy him."

Emilia's world tilted.

"You said he died in a car accident," she whispered.

"I said what I had to say to keep you safe."

Tears gathered in Emilia's eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"I work for him now. Alessandro. I... I don't know what's happening. Why me? Why now?"

Elise stood, placing both hands on her daughter's face. "Because the past has found you. And once the mafia smells blood, it never forgets."

Across the city, in a darker place…

Alessandro stood alone in his underground vault, staring at a faded photo.

Victor Blake.

Elise Blake.

And a baby girl… Emilia.

He crushed the photo in his fist.

"So it's true," he muttered. "The daughter lives."

And in his world, that could only mean one thing.

War or possession.

But one thing was certain: Emilia Blake would never walk away untouched.