The sun rose blood-red over the horizon, casting long shadows across the battered grounds of the villa. Smoke still curled from the scorched patches of earth where Matteo's men had clashed with Luca's the night before. The estate bore the scars of war, shattered glass, bullet-riddled walls, the bitter smell of gunpowder woven into the air.
Aria stood at the balcony of the east wing, the morning wind tugging at the loose strands of her hair. She hadn't slept. Sleep was impossible when the world she knew had been burned down and rebuilt overnight. Everything she had believed about herself, who she was, where she came from, what she was capable of, had been shattered. And in its place, something else was rising.
She touched the old signet ring that had been delivered hours earlier, her grandfather's. Heavy gold, engraved with the symbol of the Conti Syndicate, the blood empire her mother had run from and the one that now claimed her by birthright.
"Aria."
