Chapter 12 - The Hidden Truth
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The morning light filtered through the shattered windows of the lower levels, but the penthouse remained a quiet, isolated sanctuary.
Nadia sat at the dining table, watching Dante pour coffee. She took a deep breath, sliding the leather-bound journal across the table toward him.
“I didn't just save you because of my training yesterday,” Nadia said quietly.
Dante frowned, picking up the fragile book. “What is this?”
“It’s Isabella Leone’s diary,” Nadia explained, watching his face closely. “Read the final entry. And look at the photograph.”
Dante’s eyes scanned the elegant, faded handwriting. As he read the words about the hidden daughter, the baker in Brooklyn, his brow furrowed. He turned the page and stared at the photograph.
He looked up at Nadia, the realization hitting him with staggering force.
“Your grandmother,” Dante breathed, connecting the dots instantly. “You aren't just an assistant. You are Isabella’s great-granddaughter.”
“The dress didn't fit me by accident, Dante,” Nadia whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “It didn't fit me because of a magical legend. It fit me because it was tailored for a woman who shares my exact genetics. I am the true bloodline of this family.”
Dante sat back in his chair, completely overwhelmed. The implications were earth-shattering. The traditionalist capos wouldn't just accept her; they would worship her. She had a stronger blood claim to the empire than he did.
“Does anyone else know?” Dante asked, his tactical mind instantly racing.
“Only you,” she said.
May you like
Dante stood up, walking around the table, pulling her up into his arms.
“Don Rizzo is trying to kill a peasant,” Dante smiled, a dark, terrifying, beautiful expression. “He doesn't realize he just declared war on the rightful Queen of the city. We are going to destroy him.”
