Chapter 10 The

The old chapel on the outskirts of Montierra hadn't seen a real prayer in years.

It stood alone, veiled in ivy and dust, the stained glass windows long dulled by grime and neglect. The wooden pews inside were cracked, the altar stripped of gold. But the walls still remembered. This was where the first truce had been signed between the Ferraros and the DeLucas. A lie sealed in blood and handshakes.

Celeste stood at the front now, surrounded by ghosts.

She wasn't here to pray.

She was waiting.

The sound of footsteps behind her didn't surprise her.

She didn't turn around. "You're late."

A low voice answered, familiar but sharpened with age. "You burned down Matteo's warehouse. That tends to delay meetings."

She turned slowly.

Luca Ferraro stood at the back of the chapel, flanked by two of his men. He wore black like a second skin, his dark eyes watching her with the kind of interest a lion gives a knife that suddenly learned how to bite.

"You're bolder than I remember," he said.

"I'm not the girl you remember," she replied.

"I see that."

Silence stretched between them. Tense. Thick with unspoken history. He looked so much like his father it made her teeth ache. Same cruel smile, same cold ambition.

But Luca wasn't his father.

And Celeste wasn't hers.

"We agreed to meet in peace," he said, raising an eyebrow. "No guns."

"I didn't bring a gun," she said truthfully. "But I did bring a reason to listen."

She stepped forward, slowly, and held out the envelope.

Luca took it, eyes flicking down. He opened it. Read the names.

His jaw tensed.

"These are your father's lieutenants," he said.

"Were," she corrected. "They work for me now. Quietly. They know where the real bodies are buried."

"And you want... what, Celeste? A seat at the table?"

"No," she said softly. "I want to break the table."

That made him laugh-quiet, genuine, and dangerous. "You really are your own creation."

"I am," she said, stepping closer until they were nearly face to face. "And if you don't want to drown with the rest of them, Luca, you'll either help me... or get out of the way."

He studied her for a long, still moment.

Then he smiled. "You sound just like someone who knows they've already won."

"I have," she said, turning away. "You just haven't figured it out yet."

And with that, she left him standing there-between saints and shadows, clutching a list that could end empires.

She didn't look back.

Because she didn't need permission anymore.

She had the power now.

And she was done asking.

The sun was barely rising when Celeste stepped out of the chapel. The cold air hit her face like a baptism, sharp and bracing. She didn't flinch. Behind her, the old wooden doors groaned shut, sealing in a conversation that would ripple across the criminal underworld before dusk.

She slid into the waiting car where Jace sat behind the wheel. He didn't ask if everything went according to plan. He didn't need to. He could see it in her eyes-the fire was still there, but it had cooled into something more dangerous. Controlled. Calculated.

"What now?" he asked.

She looked ahead, past the winding hills and the sleeping town in the distance. "Now we pull the threads."

Jace nodded. He understood her better than anyone. Underneath the warpaint and whispered threats, Celeste wasn't fighting just for revenge. She was rebuilding something from the ashes. Power, yes-but not the kind that rotted men from the inside. She wanted something cleaner. Sharper.

Something no man had ever given her.

She reached into the glovebox and pulled out a thin black ledger. Inside were names. Old enemies. Fake allies. Blood debts waiting to be collected.

Jace glanced at it. "You really think we can flip them all?"

"No," she said. "But we don't need to. Just enough to make the rest start questioning where their loyalty lies."

"And when they realize?" he asked.

Her smile was slow, lethal. "Then they'll be too busy surviving to stop us."

The drive back to the city was quiet, but it wasn't empty.

They were two people sitting on the edge of something massive. Not lovers lost in delusion. Not children playing at vengeance. They were the storm.

By the time they reached the estate, the first call came in.

A traitor on the inside of the DeLucas. Ready to talk.

Celeste answered with a single word.

"When."

Because everything was in motion now.

The fall had already begun.

The estate buzzed softly with motion as they stepped inside. Guards nodded in quiet respect. Eyes followed Celeste, not out of fear, but recognition. She wasn't the daughter of a legacy anymore-she was the legacy.

Inside the study, the map of Montierra was spread across the table, peppered with red ink, circles, names scribbled in tight black script. Jace walked over to it, studying the lines she'd drawn over the past weeks. He knew every mark by heart now.

Celeste peeled off her coat, tossed it over the back of the leather armchair, and stood in front of the fireplace. It wasn't lit. She didn't need warmth. She needed strategy.

"We hit them from the inside first," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "No flashy moves. Just enough pressure to make them sweat."

Jace folded his arms. "Luca might play along for now, but his patience isn't infinite. You humiliated him in that chapel."

"He needed to be reminded," she replied, turning to face him. "He thought I was still that naive girl forced into a seat at a table built by men who didn't expect her to speak."

"And now?" he asked.

"Now," she said, walking to the map, "I make the table mine-or burn it down."

Her phone vibrated once on the desk. A single message.

"They found the second ledger. It's dirtier than we thought."

Jace read over her shoulder. "You sure you want to go that far? That book has names in every family."

Celeste didn't hesitate. "Good. Let them all bleed a little. Nobody stays clean in this world. It's about who hides it best. And I'm done hiding."

She opened a drawer and pulled out a flash drive-one of many. Each one a weapon. A secret. A key.

She handed it to Jace. "Send this to Mateo's brother. Quietly. Let him know his blood was never the favorite. That'll shake his loyalty."

Jace arched a brow. "Divide and conquer."

"No," she said. "Divide and expose."

Outside, the sky began to turn darker, clouds thickening in slow rotation. A storm was coming.

Inside, it had already arrived.

Celeste moved to the window, watching the horizon as if she could see her enemies trembling on the other side.

Let them come.

She'd been underestimated for too long.

Now, they would see exactly what a Ferraro raised in silence and trained in fire could become.

The first crack came that night.

A whisper spread through the underground like smoke: someone had broken into the DeLucas' offshore accounts. Millions gone-vanished without a trace. No alarms. No footprints. Just silence and empty ledgers.

Celeste stood on the rooftop of her estate, the city spread before her in blinking lights and restless movement. She could feel it-Montierra was shifting. The careful balance that had kept the families at a simmer was beginning to boil.

Jace stepped up beside her, his phone still glowing in his hand. "They're panicking. Emilio's making threats he can't afford to carry out. Enzo's pulling out of deals. And Luca... he's too quiet."

She smirked faintly, arms crossed. "Luca knows it was me. But he can't move against me yet. Not without losing the illusion of control. He's a snake. He'll wait."

Jace studied her, his voice low. "You really think you can end this without blood?"

"No," she said without blinking. "But I can choose whose blood it is."

Her phone buzzed again. Another message. This one from her inside man.

"They're calling a summit. All families. Tonight. Luca's request."

Jace looked at her. "A trap?"

"Obviously," she said. "But it's one I'll walk into."

He raised a brow. "Alone?"

Celeste turned, the wind catching her hair like a flag in war. "Of course not. I'll take the truth with me."

Below them, the city waited. And so did every man who had ever bet against her.

Tonight, she would face them all.

Not with a plea. Not with submission.

With a reckoning.