The Crimson Throne

A cold wind swept through the cemetery as Adriana De Luca stood before the open grave, her black veil fluttering in the breeze. The scent of fresh earth mixed with the lingering fragrance of roses, but all she could smell was blood.

Her father's blood.

Dante De Luca had been a feared and respected leader, the head of the De Luca crime syndicate. His reign had been brutal, efficient, and absolute-until someone decided it was time for him to die. The bullet that ended his life hadn't just killed a man; it had shattered the illusion of invincibility that surrounded the De Luca name.

Now, all eyes were on her, waiting to see if she would crumble under the weight of his legacy.

She wouldn't.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Her grip tightened around the black rose in her hand. It wasn't a symbol of grief. It was a promise. A warning.

As she dropped it onto the casket, her voice was barely above a whisper, but Luca Moretti-her father's most trusted enforcer-heard her clearly.

"They will pay in blood."

Luca stiffened beside her, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd gathered around them. The De Luca men stood in formation, their expressions carefully masked, but Adriana could sense their uncertainty. The other mafia families had come, too-watching, waiting. Some out of respect. Others out of curiosity. And a few? A few were here to gloat.

Among them stood Vito Salerno, her father's longtime rival. He approached her slowly, his tailored black suit immaculate, his silver hair neatly combed back. His expression was solemn, but his dark eyes held something else.

Expectation.

"Adriana," he said smoothly, his voice thick with false sympathy. "Your father was a great man. A legend. His loss is a tragedy for us all."

Liar.

She lifted her chin. "Legends don't die so easily."

Vito smiled, the kind of smile a man gave when he thought he was in control. "True. But power is a fickle thing, cara. It requires a firm hand to wield it. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

A challenge. A test.

The other mafia leaders were watching closely now, murmuring amongst themselves. She could see the doubt in their eyes, hear the unspoken question.

Can she lead?

Adriana met Vito's gaze without blinking. "I was born ready."

Silence. Then, a slow, amused chuckle.

"Brava," Vito murmured, patting her shoulder like one would a child. "Let us hope you prove it."

She held herself still until he walked away, but her blood boiled. He thought she was weak. They all did.

That would be their mistake.

The drive back to the De Luca estate was quiet. Luca sat beside her in the backseat, watching her carefully.

"You don't have to do this, Adriana."

She turned to him, her childhood friend, now her father's most ruthless soldier. "Do what?"

"Take the blood oath. Step into his place."

She let out a humorless laugh. "And do what instead, Luca? Walk away?"

His jaw clenched. "We could leave. Start over. I have the resources."

For a moment, she let herself imagine it. A life far away from this madness. No blood, no betrayals. Just freedom.

But that wasn't real. That was a fantasy she had abandoned long ago.

She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes.

"You can never escape who you are, Adriana."

Her father's voice echoed in her mind, a memory from years ago.

She had been fourteen, standing in his private study, watching as he cleaned the blood off his hands. She had seen the fear in the eyes of the man who knelt before him, pleading for mercy.

Her father had given none.

"You were born into this life. Power isn't given-it's taken."

She hadn't wanted to believe him then. But now, she understood.

A fresh wave of grief struck her, but she swallowed it down. She had no time for grief.

Not when her father's murderer was still breathing.

The De Luca estate loomed ahead, its grand gates opening to let them in. As soon as they entered the mansion, Adriana straightened.

The moment of mourning was over. Now, it was time for war.

She strode into her father's study, the room that had been the heart of his empire. The heavy wooden desk. The bookshelves lined with secrets. The scent of expensive cigars still lingering in the air.

For a brief second, she hesitated. Then, she took the seat behind the desk.

Luca exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are going through with this."

She picked up her father's pen-the same pen he used to sign death warrants.

"Call a meeting with the capos. Tonight."

Luca hesitated. "They won't all support you."

"Then I'll make them."

She reached into the drawer, pulling out a burner phone. There was only one number saved.

She dialed.

A deep voice answered. "Is it time?"

She looked up at Luca, her eyes burning with determination.

"It's time."

Luca's expression shifted-half respect, half wariness.

Adriana De Luca wasn't just taking her father's place.

She was taking his throne.

As the call ended, she set the phone down, her fingers drumming against the desk. She could feel the weight of the room-the ghosts of past decisions, past rulers. This was the seat of power. The chair that commanded men to kill or be killed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

This was it. The moment everything changed.

The door creaked open, and a shadow fell across the room. It was Enzo Ricci, one of the senior capos, his eyes wary as he stepped inside. He was the first to arrive for the meeting.

"You've made your decision," he said. It wasn't a question.

Adriana met his gaze steadily. "Yes."

Enzo studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Then let's see if you have what it takes."

He wasn't pledging loyalty-yet.

But he wasn't rejecting her, either.

It was a start.

As the rest of the capos began arriving, Adriana squared her shoulders.

The battle for the throne had begun.