The night broke with chaos.
Alessia's phone rang at 2:17 a.m. — one of her guards, breathless and panicked.
"Miss Romano — they hit the shipment. We've lost two trucks near the border!"
She was out of bed in seconds, no hesitation. The silk of her nightgown vanished beneath a dark jacket as she barked orders, her voice steady, controlled.
"Pull the remaining convoys back to the main warehouse. Lock down the eastern routes. I want surveillance feeds in the next five minutes."
Her father's empire was under attack — and Alessia knew exactly who was behind it. Marco Vitale.
By dawn, the Romano estate was a storm of motion. Men shouted orders, cars screeched through the gates, and Alessia stood at the center of it all, calm amid the storm. Her eyes were steel, her mind calculating every possible countermove.
"This isn't a warning," she muttered to herself. "He's declaring war."
Her assistant approached, trembling slightly. "What should we do about the retaliation, ma'am?"
Alessia turned, her tone cold. "We don't react. We strategize. Marco Vitale thinks chaos will make me lose control — I'll make him regret that assumption."
Within hours, she'd traced the attack's logistics — suppliers, routes, even one of their insiders who'd been feeding information to Marco's men. When the traitor was dragged into her office, Alessia didn't shout. She simply leaned forward, voice soft but lethal.
"Who paid you?"
The man stammered, eyes wide. "V–Vitale's people. They promised protection."
Alessia's expression didn't change. "No one can protect you from betrayal."
Outside, thunder rolled over the estate — or maybe it was gunfire in the distance. The line between both was thin tonight.
As she watched the chaos unfold through the windows, her phone buzzed. A message.
"Stay calm, my queen. The fire won't touch you — not tonight."
Her breath caught, eyes darting toward the horizon where smoke was rising faintly beyond the city.
How does he always know? she thought, fingers tightening around her phone.
"Ma'am," one of her men interrupted, "the Vitale warehouse has gone up in flames. No survivors."
Alessia turned to him, eyes narrowing. "I didn't give the order."
Silence.
A slow chill crawled down her spine. Whoever had done it had done it for her.
Her phone buzzed again.
"Told you, my queen. I protect what's mine."
She stared at the message — part relief, part fear twisting inside her. The Romano–Vitale war had begun… but Alessia was no longer sure who her true enemy was.