The Heiress
The rain had not stopped since the morning Alessandro Romano was buried.
Alessia stood before the massive gates of the Romano estate, dressed entirely in black, watching the rain slide down the windows of her car.
Her father's funeral had ended less than an hour ago.
And already, the world expected her to become him.
She stepped out of the car.
The guards immediately lowered their heads.
"Miss Romano."
Alessia said nothing.
She walked through the gates with her heels striking against the marble path, her expression unreadable.
Inside the estate, everything looked exactly as her father had left it.
The dark wood.
The crystal chandeliers.
The portraits of generations of Romanos staring down from the walls.
And at the center of it all stood the empty chair that had belonged to Alessandro.
Alessia stopped.
For twenty-six years, that chair had meant one thing.
Power.
Now it meant absence.
She swallowed the ache in her throat.
Her father had been many things-feared, ruthless, impossible to intimidate.
But to her, he had simply been Dad.
And now he was gone.
"Ally."
She turned.
Her father's lawyer, Mr. Bianchi, stood several feet away with a folder clutched against his chest.
"I know this isn't easy," he said gently.
"Don't."
His brows furrowed.
"Don't what?"
"Don't tell me it's going to be okay."
Alessia looked toward her father's empty chair.
"It isn't."
Silence settled between them.
Then Bianchi cleared his throat.
"There's something you need to know."
Alessia looked at him.
"The will?"
"Yes."
She frowned.
"My father already told me what I was inheriting."
"Not everything."
Her eyes narrowed.
"What did he leave out?"
Before Bianchi could answer, footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Slow.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Alessia turned.
A man stood at the entrance.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black suit that did little to hide the strength beneath it. A jagged scar ran along the side of his neck and disappeared beneath his collar.
Another scar crossed his jaw.
His eyes were dark and unreadable.
Alessia knew him.
Dante Russo.
Her father's shadow.
For years, he'd been the man standing one step behind Alessandro Romano.
The man who had saved her father's life more times than anyone could count.
The man Alessia had never particularly liked.
Mostly because he never smiled.
And because he always seemed to know when she was lying.
His gaze met hers.
Neither spoke.
Finally, Alessia broke the silence.
"What is he doing here?"
Dante didn't answer.
Bianchi did.
"Your father left specific instructions concerning Mr. Russo."
Alessia's expression hardened.
"What instructions?"
Bianchi opened the folder.
"Mr. Russo is to remain your personal protector."
A humorless laugh escaped her.
"You're joking."
"No."
"I'm twenty-six."
"I know."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
Dante finally spoke.
"Your father thought otherwise."
His voice was deep and calm.
Alessia looked directly at him.
"My father is dead."
For the first time, something shifted in Dante's expression.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
"Yes," he said quietly. "He is."
The words struck harder than they should have.
Alessia looked away.
She hated him for saying it.
She hated herself for wanting her father to walk through the door and tell her this was all some elaborate mistake.
Instead, there was only silence.
And the empty chair.
Bianchi continued reading.
"Mr. Russo is to protect you from all threats, internal and external, until the Romano family is secure."
Alessia scoffed.
"And if I refuse?"
Dante's eyes remained on her.
"You can refuse."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Good."
"I'll still protect you."
Her jaw tightened.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
For the first time, the faintest trace of amusement touched his expression.
It disappeared almost immediately.
Alessia stepped closer.
"You worked for my father."
"I protected him."
"And now?"
Dante held her gaze.
"Now I protect you."
She stared at him.
There was no arrogance in his voice.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
And somehow, that irritated her more than anything else.
"I don't need saving."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like I do."
"I never said you needed saving."
His eyes moved briefly toward the windows.
Outside, the gates were guarded.
The estate was surrounded by security.
Yet Dante's expression remained tense.
"I said you need protection."
Alessia crossed her arms.
"What's the difference?"
Dante looked back at her.
"Saving you means you're already in danger."
A pause.
"Protecting you means I know you will be."
The room went silent.
Alessia's confidence faltered for half a second.
Then she straightened.
"Who?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
His gaze hardened.
"Your father's enemies."
Alessia felt a chill move through her.
"My father had enemies his entire life."
"Yes."
"And they're gone now."
"No."
Dante's voice was quiet.
"They're waiting."
Thunder rolled outside.
Alessia stared at him.
For the first time since her father's death, she understood that the funeral hadn't marked the end of something.
It had marked the beginning.
Her father was gone.
His empire was hers.
His enemies were hers.
And apparently, so was the man who had spent half his life protecting him.
Dante stepped aside as Bianchi closed the folder.
Alessia looked once more at the empty chair.
She had spent her entire life being called the Mafia Princess.
But no one had ever asked whether she wanted the crown.
Now it was hers.
And somewhere beyond those gates, someone was already waiting for her to fall.
Alessia slowly turned away from her father's chair.
If they wanted the Romano heiress to break-
they were going to be disappointed.
Because Alessandro Romano's daughter had just inherited his throne.
And she had no intention of giving it back.
