Chapter 2
1831 Words
The heavy silence of the lobby lingered long after the elevator doors closed on Damien’s final words.
Resume tomorrow.
A cold, corporate directive tossed over his shoulder as he walked away, his hand casually resting where Camilla’s fingers gripped his arm. He left the air behind him, thick with unsaid things and choking tension.
Alessia stood frozen on the polished marble. Her nails bit so deeply into her palms that she was certain she would draw blood. She hated him. She repeated it like a mantra, desperate to make it true. But the terrifying reality was that hearing his low, gravelly voice had violently awakened a part of her soul she thought she had successfully cremated five years ago.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Isabella muttered nearby.
Alessia slowly turned her head, her gaze dropping to the younger girl. The warmth they had shared as teenagers was dead, replaced by the jagged edges of a blood feud.
“And yet, here I am,” Alessia said, her voice smooth glass.
Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her heel and walked toward the exit. But even as the cool night air hit her face, she could still feel the phantom weight of Damien’s eyes burning into her back. A ghost wearing the suit of a king.
The De Luca estate sat on the jagged outskirts of Manhattan, a sprawling fortress of stone and wrought iron.
Damien stepped into the grand living room long after midnight, pulling the knot of his silk tie loose.
By the fireplace, his mother, Donatella, paused with her wine glass. “So, thrumoursrs are true. Alessia Romano.”
From the shadows of an armchair, his father, Arthur De Luca, stirred. His face, lined with decades of calculated power, darkened instantly. “Have you lost your mind, Damien? Have you forgotten what that girl did to you? The humiliation?”
Damien’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle leapt.
“She walked away when the Romanos fell,” his father hissed, stepping into the firelight. “She left you standing in the rain like a fool after everything you risked to protect her. She branded this family as murderers before vanishing into the night.”
Damien stared down into his amber glass, the memory hitting him like a physical blow. The tarmac. The torrential rain. Alessia’s tear-stained face looking at him with such profound, lethal hatred that it had hollowed him out completely. He had tried to reach for her, but the guards had pulled him back. She hadn't even given him a chance to speak.
“She is a trained designer,” Damien said, his voice level. “The company needs her portfolio to finalize the autumn launch. It’s business.”
Donatella exchanged a calculated look with her husband. “If she is to stay, she needs supervision. Camilla should oversee that department. Let her keep the girl on a short leash.”
The underlying threat was clear: Do not let the Romano girl make you soft again.
Damien swallowed his whiskey in one burning gulp. The memory of Alessia’s defiant face was a fever in his blood. “Fine,” he murmured. “Camilla can supervise.”
Across the city, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Alessia gently pushed open the bedroom door of their leased brownstone. The soft glow of a nightlight illuminated Ava, who was curled beneath a plush pink blanket.
“Mama?” a sleepy voice whimpered.
“I’m right here, my love,” Alessia whispered, her fierce, protective maternal instincts rushing to the surface. She sat on the edge of the mattress, the cold, vengeful mafia princess melting away.
Ava blinked open those striking, familiar blue-grey eyes. “Is work all done? Do you like it there?”
The innocent question brought a bittersweet ache to Alessia's throat. Like it? She had spent the evening breathing the same air as the man who shattered her life.
“No, sweetheart,” Alessia admitted softly, brushing a stray dark curl from Ava's forehead. “I don't think I like it very much.”
Ava’s little brow furrowed. “Then don’t go back. Stay here with me.”
“I have to, Ava.”
Because someone murdered your family. Because their blood is on the hands of the people sitting in our building, and I need to find the proof.
“Because sometimes,” Alessia whispered, kissing her head, “adults have to face things that scare them to make sure the people they love are safe.”
The next morning, Alessia stepped out of a yellow cab in front of the Romano Corporation tower. She was fifteen minutes late.
But as she approached the doors, her pace slowed. Five years ago, she didn't need an ID badge. Her father’s laughter used to echo near the grand fountain in the centre of the lobby. Now, the fountain was gone, replaced by a cold marble sculpture bearing the De Luca crest.
Alessia swallowed the bitter lump in her throat, held her chin high, and stepped onto the elevator to the 14th floor—Creative Design.
When the doors slid open, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia hit her. This floor hadn't changed. The expansive drafting tables, the rich fabrics hanging from the walls—it was exactly as her dead brother, Leo, had left it. She closed her eyes for a split second, and another memory slipped through hearmouror. Seven years ago, Damien had snuck onto this exact floor after hours. He had found her hiding in the fabric archives and kissed her until she forgot her own name.
“If your brother catches me here, he’ll kill me,” Damien had whispered against her lips.
A sharp, artificial voice shattered the memory. “You’re late.”
Alessia’s eyes snapped open. Camilla Moretti was standing by the glass partitions, her arms crossed over a pristine white blazer.
“And how exactly is my time management any of your business, Camilla?” Alessia asked.
A sharp smile stretched across Camilla’s lips. “Because as of nine o'clock this morning, the Don appointed me as the director of this department. I am your manager, Alessia.”
Alessia let out a soft, melodic laugh that tasted like pure ridicule. “Interesting. I didn't know the De Lucas handed out executive titles as participation trophies now.”
Camilla’s eyes flashed with venom. “As your superior, I suggest you watch your tone. Unprofessionalism carries consequences. For today, you can start by handling the department's coffee run.”
The office went dead silent. It was a blatant attempt at public humiliation.
“Well, manager,” Alessia purred, taking a slow step forward until she was towering over the other woman, “I hate to disappoint you on your first day, but my contract dictates flexible hours. And I don’t make coffee. For anyone.”
Alessia walked past her, her movements deliberate and regal. As she bypassed Camilla, their shoulders brushed. It was a minor contact, barely enough to jostle a purse.
But Camilla saw her opening.
With a theatrical gasp, Camilla stumbled backward, losing her footing entirely and crashing onto the carpeted floor with a dramatic thud.
Alessia stopped, turning around to look down at her in disbelief. Oh, she is absolutely unhinged.
“Did you just push me?!” Camilla shrieked.
“What is going on here?”
The deep, commanding baritone cut through the room like a guillotine. Damien walked onto the floor, his presence consuming all the oxygen in the room. His eyes swept over the scene—Camilla on the floor, Alessia standing over her.
Before Alessia could speak, Damien strode forward. He knelt, his large hands carefully, almost tenderly, wrapping around Camilla’s waist to guide her back to her feet.
The sight sent a sudden, agonizing jolt straight through Alessia’s chest. Seeing those hands—hands that used to hold her like she was the only fragile thing in a violent world—cradling Camilla made her stomach turn.
Camilla instantly leaned into his chest. “I was just trying to correct her for being late, Damien. She got angry. She pushed me.”
Damien’s stormy blue-grey eyes lifted, locking onto Alessia. The warmth he had shown Camilla vanished, replaced by an icy, judgmental stare.
“You’re no longer the Romano heiress, Alessia,” Damien said, his voice quiet and devastatingly cold. “You don’t get to go around bullying people just because you’re angry at the world.”
The words felt like a physical slap. Years ago, Damien would have burned the city down before letting anyone accuse her of something she didn't do. Now, he looked at her like she was nothing more than a bitter, spoiled brat.
A sharp, hollow smile formed on Alessia’s lips. “Hm,” she let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You know… some things really do change.”
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Without giving him the satisfaction of seeing her break, she turned and walked away.
Inside the empty restroom, Alessia gripped the edges of the marble sink so hard her hands trembled. She stared at her reflection, her eyes wide and burning with unshed tears.
“You’re pathetic,” she whispered fiercely to herself.
Why did his opinion still have the power to cut her open? She turned on the faucet, splashing freezing water onto her face over and over again, washing away the vulnerability until only the cold, hard steel remained. She had come to New York for truth and blood. Not to pine over a boy who was long dead.
A sharp knock rattled the restroom door.
“Miss Romano?” a nervous, young voice called out. “Mr. De Luca wants to see you in his office. Immediately.”
Of course he does.
Alessia calmly tore a paper towel from the dispenser, drying her hands with meticulous precision.
“Tell him,” Alessia said, her voice dropping into a deadly, quiet cadence, “that if he wants to speak to me, he can wait.”
She pushed the door open, sweeping past the terrified employee without a backward glance.
High above the city, in the panoramic penthouse office, Damien stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. His hands were buried in his pockets, his brow furrowed in a dark, brooding storm.
For the first time in five long years, someone had dared to challenge him. Someone had looked into the eyes of the De Luca Don and refused to bow.
And somehow, beautifully and terrifyingly, it was still her.
- Writer
