Page 1 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

Prologue – Dominic

The office smells of old leather and whiskey—a mixture as intoxicating as it is suffocating. The faint sound of rain tapping against the stained-glass windows matches the rhythm of my thoughts, relentless and intrusive. I’ve spent countless nights in this room, but it never feels like mine. It’s my father’s. His ghost lingers in every shadow, in every creak of the floorboards beneath my boots.

The office is steeped in shadows, the soft hum of the old chandelier overhead casting a faint glow across the polished wood. I’ve always preferred the quiet here. The walls, lined with dark oak and books older than my grandfather, hold the kind of gravitas that reminds you of the burden of legacy. The Castellano estate carries echoes of a time when loyalty mattered—when blood and family weren’t just words, but bonds stronger than steel. Now, those echoes feel like ghosts.

I stand behind the massive desk, my fingers tracing the edge of a photograph encased in silver. It’s old and worn, the image slightly faded. My father, my mother, my younger brother, Tobias. The perfect Castellano family. Until they weren’t.

I clench my fists, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air as if my father were still alive, lecturing me about responsibility and power. I had it all once: their love, their trust, the unshakable unity of our name. And then it was taken. Just like the movies my father used to enjoy watching, we were betrayed by someone we thought was an ally.

I close my eyes, and for a moment, the memories rush back like a storm I can’t stop. The screams. Tobias’ pleading voice. The look on my mother’s face as she shielded my little brother, only to fall moments later. I’d been too late to save them, but not too late to see their blood staining the marble floors. It’s a sight that never fades.

They say grief dulls with time, but that’s a lie. It doesn’t dull; it carves itself into you, sharp and jagged, shaping everything you do. And for me, it’s turned into resolve. I’ve rebuilt what was left of the Castellano empire, brick by brick, through deals and blood and the kind of ruthlessness my father would have admired. But the betrayal—that festers. Revenge is the only salve for it. I’ll burn the world down to find the ones responsible. And when I do, they’ll wish for the mercy my family never got.

The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence. My eyes snap open, and I slip the photograph into the drawer, locking it before answering.

“Dominic,” a familiar voice greets me, laced with urgency. It’s Charles, my right-hand man and the only person I trust enough to handle the business when I can’t.

“What is it?” My tone is sharp, clipped. I’ve trained everyone around me to know that wasting my time comes with consequences.

“We have a problem,” Charles says, his words carefully measured. “Someone hit one of our safes in the city.”

I straighten, letting his words sink in. “Which one?”

“The Soho property,” he replies. “They took the DeLuca heirloom. The ring.”

The room seems to still. The heirloom is more than just a ring; it’s a symbol of a pact forged generations ago between the Castellanos and the DeLucas. Breaking that pact would mean war. And now, it’s gone.

“Do we know who?” I ask, though I’ve already made up my mind that whoever it is won’t live to see another sunrise.

“Not yet,” Charles admits. “But we have a lead. A small-time thief, a young boy. But he’s good, Dominic. Too good to be working alone. I think someone’s using him to get to us.”

I pace to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to glance at the moonlit grounds outside. A thief? This wasn’t random. Someone out there is testing me, seeing how far they can push before I push back.

“Find him,” I say coldly. “And whoever he’s working for. Bring them both to me. Alive.”

“What about the authorities? If the DeLucas catch wind of this…”

I turn, my eyes narrowing. “Let me worry about the DeLucas. You worry about making sure no one else hears about this. The fewer loose ends, the better.”

“Understood,” Charles says before hanging up.

I set the phone down and take a deep breath, willing the storm inside me to settle. The Castellano name has been tested before, and we’ve survived. But this… this feels different. It feels personal.

As I return to the desk, I unlock the drawer and pull the photograph back out, staring at the faces of the people who once meant everything to me. I’ve sworn to protect what’s left of myfamily’s legacy, no matter the cost. The thief and whoever sent him don’t know it yet, but they’ve just declared war on the wrong man.

I press my thumb against the silver frame, smudging the glass over my brother’s smile. For him. For all of them.

Revenge isn’t just a promise; it’s my purpose. And tonight, it begins.

Chapter 1 - Isabella

The sunlight filters softly through the slanted blinds, painting warm, golden lines across the wooden floor of my apartment. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of dried paint, turpentine, and the bitter aroma of fresh coffee. I cradle the chipped mug in my hands, savoring the warmth seeping through my fingers. It’s a quiet moment, one of those rare instances when the chaos of life feels distant.

I settle into the worn armchair by the window, gazing at the half-finished canvas on the easel. Swirls of blue and gray stretch across the surface, a reflection of the storm brewing inside me—emotions I can’t quite name, but ones that demand to be expressed.

For a fleeting moment, everything feels calm. The world outside is quiet with the occasional honk of distant traffic and the muffled chatter of my guards below. I sip my coffee, letting the bitterness coat my tongue as I breathe in deeply, savoring the illusion of peace. But peace never lasts long, not in my world.

The sound of hurried footsteps outside my door pulls me from my thoughts. I glance toward it, my fingers tightening slightly around the mug. Before I can react, the door bursts open with a loud bang, slamming against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame.

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