Chapter 5 Ghosts of the bloodline

I didn't ask for the storm.

But I had two choices now-drown in it, or learn how to ride the waves.

After Tony's murder, the estate's energy shifted. Windows were sealed. Guards doubled. Doors that were once open were now locked. The air crackled with tension, and for the first time since arriving, I realized something vital.

I wasn't just married to a mafia prince.

I was married into war.

And war had no favorites.

I barely slept.

Every knock on the door could've been the next betrayal.

Every step down the hall echoed like a death sentence.

But worse than the enemy at the gates was the ghost in my mind.

Marco.

My older brother.

The one we never spoke of.

The one who was supposed to be dead.

I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, even though I'd quit years ago.

The voice on the phone had said it. "Your father would be disappointed."

That line had history. Pain. Blood.

Marco had whispered it to me the night he vanished.

The night he burned half the estate down and left three men dead.

Flashback - Ten Years Ago

Luciano, 16 | Marco, 20

"I'm leaving," Marco had said.

My hands had clenched the doorknob. "If you leave, he'll hunt you down."

"He'll try."

"You'll get us all killed."

His eyes had burned like fire. "Better dead than living like this."

And just like that, he disappeared into the night, dragging half the syndicate with him.

The family said he was dead.

I knew better.

And now I had proof.

Luciano wasn't just colder that day-he was quieter.

More dangerous in his silence.

He barely spoke to me except to bark an order or point to something. When I pressed him about Tony's death, about the message, he shut down.

"I'm handling it."

That was all I got.

I tried to stay out of his way.

But I also watched.

Learned.

And in between every closed-door meeting, every flash of a gun holster beneath a suit jacket, I realized something.

This world didn't protect its women.

It taught them how to survive without anyone's permission.

So I found Marco's name in the estate archives.

Tucked away like a scar no one wanted to remember.

Disowned.

Erased.

Except by Luciano.

She brought me coffee that night.

Said nothing.

Just sat beside me on the patio overlooking the gardens.

For a moment, we were just husband and wife.

Two strangers with wedding bands and broken pasts.

"I read about Marco," she said softly.

I flinched.

Of course she had.

"He's back, isn't he?"

My jaw tensed. "He's not stupid enough to come here himself. He sends men. Sends messages."

"Why now?"

Because you're here, I thought.

But I didn't say it.

Instead, I met her gaze.

"My father always said Marco was the devil's child. He was right. But even devils bleed."

She didn't blink.

"He's coming for you."

"He won't get far."

"You think bullets will stop him?"

I paused.

"No. But I've got something better."

She leaned in. "What's that?"

"You."

He said it like a threat.

But it felt like something else.

A confession.

A vow.

Maybe even a warning.

But I didn't flinch.

I met him head on.

"I'm not your weakness," I said.

"I never said you were."

"But you think it."

"I think you make me hesitate."

"And that scares you."

He looked away.

Didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

The Next Day

Luciano called an emergency meeting.

Five lieutenants.

A single locked room.

And me-watching from the balcony above, hidden behind blackout glass.

His voice was lethal.

"I want the traitor found. No one moves without my order. No deals, no alliances, and no loose mouths."

One man raised his voice.

"It's a bad idea, Luciano. Going after Marco right now-he'll burn us from the inside."

Luciano stood.

Walked to him slowly.

Then shot him in the knee.

The man screamed.

Luciano didn't blink.

"Anyone else?"

Silence.

The meeting ended in blood and obedience.

When he returned to me, hands still stained with powder, he didn't explain.

He didn't apologize.

Just stood in the doorway of my room like some dark myth.

I rose from the bed.

Walked up to him.

And whispered, "Teach me how to fight like you."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because if I'm bait in this war, I want to be the kind that bites back."

He stared at me.

Then slowly-he smiled.

The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.

But made my spine shiver anyway.

"Tomorrow morning. Be ready."

The First Lesson

He didn't go easy.

The training mat was unforgiving.

Every move, every step, every strike-I missed more than I landed.

But I didn't stop.

And he didn't stop pushing me.

"You're not a flower, Aurora," he snapped when I winced at a blow. "You're the blade that hides beneath it."

By the third hour, my limbs were shaking.

My lungs were on fire.

But when he knocked me flat on my back again, I reached up, grabbed his collar, and flipped him.

Hard.

He hit the mat with a grunt.

I gasped.

And then-laughed.

So did he.

A real laugh.

It was terrifying how beautiful it sounded.

But fleeting.

Like peace in a war zone.

That Night - An Envelope Arrives

No return address.

Just a single red wax seal.

Inside?

A photo.

Marco.

Alive.

Standing in front of my father's old grave.

And scribbled across it:

"You took my birthright, Luciano. Now I'll take yours."

I crushed the photo.

But I couldn't crush the fear.

Because I knew what he meant.

He wasn't coming for the estate.

He was coming for her.