Page 104 of Blood Heir

Vittoria’s voice snaps like a whip. “Lies!” she hisses, slamming her hand against the polished table. “You will not listen to this circus of fabrication. These are forged, coordinated to usurp what belongs to this family.”

I meet her venom with calm. “No, aunt. You’re confusing what belongs to you…with what belongs to me.”

The room falls into a tense silence. The council shifts like wolves sniffing out weakness.

Serevin, though still weak, straightens beside me. His voice, raspy but strong, cuts into the tension. “I was once complicit in my aunt’s plans. That is true. But I have stepped aside. My loyalty stands with Fioretta as the rightful heir.” His head turns to the council. “I have no claim above her. I concede everything that belongs to her by blood.”

The room erupts in murmurs, voices clashing, power shifting visibly before our eyes.

Vittoria trembles, forcing another sharp laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re all fools if you believe this. You know what he’s done—where is his proof to clear these allegations of treason? He’s been accused of conspiring with the Russians!”

Stefano folds his hands calmly. “The alleged evidence of treason was planted—by Vittoria’s orders. The records of falsified transactions? Destroyed by her men. But my sources acquired backup documentation before they vanished.” His voice sharpens like a blade as he delivers the final blow: “She aimed to frame both her nephew and her niece, eliminate them entirely, and absorb both their inheritances under her house.”

“Enough!” Vittoria screeches, but she’s unraveling.

And then—another door opens at the far end of the hall.

Heads snap toward the entrance. Emilia steps inside.

Her face is pale, hair disheveled. Her hands tremble at her sides as she crosses the room under the weight of every accusing gaze. Behind her, Cassian follows, steady but battered. Both stop before the council table.

Vittoria’s face freezes. “Emilia—”

But Emilia lifts her head, finally meeting my eyes. Her voice cracks but holds. “They abducted Fioretta. Monte and Gustavo…under Vittoria’s orders.” She swallows, looking at the council now. “I was part of it. I helped lure her out. I have the recordings and messages to prove it.” She pulls out a small recorder from her jacket pocket and sets it on the table.

The blood drains from Vittoria’s face.

The room explodes into chaos—voices shouting, accusations flying, council members standing, slamming fists on the table.

The Don of the Rossi family—a man with a voice like gravel—rises from his chair. His sharp eyes rake over the room, landing squarely on Vittoria.

“This—” he points to Emilia's recorder on the table, “—and everything we've heard tonight…this is not simply a family dispute.” His voice cuts through the noise like a gavel falling in court. “To kidnap a direct heir of the Accardi line…to conspire with Monte’s house to destabilize Melbourne’s order….” His fist slams onto the table. “This is tyranny. Treason against our own Cosa Nostra.”

Heads nod around the council table. The tension grows thicker. The men shift in their seats.

Serevin’s grip tightens on my hand. My chest rises and falls, adrenaline humming beneath my skin. I squeeze his hand in return, steady. For once, we are not alone in this fight.

The Don continues, voice low but heavy, his words gaining weight with every breath. “There will be an investigation. The council will rule. But know this, Vittoria—your time lording over this table has ended.”

Vittoria does not flinch at his words. Instead, her face contorts, her lips curling back like a cornered animal. That glimmer of aristocratic composure she wore like a mask for years finally shatters. I see the desperation swelling behind her eyes.

Her hand moves. From beneath her velvet shawl, a small chrome pistol gleams under the council's overhead light.

Gasps erupt. Chairs screech back. But her eyes are not on the room.

They are on Serevin.

“Traitor!” she hisses, her voice venomous, almost primal. “You would betray me for her!”

Serevin barely has time to react, his eyes widening in shock. The gun raises, her finger curling around the trigger. The muzzle points straight at his heart.

But I move before thought can catch up.

My body lunges. The world narrows into a tunnel of sharp breaths and thundering pulses. I shove him back, stepping directly into the line of fire.

The crack of the gunshot splits the air like lightning. A burst of searing heat rips through my side, knocking me off balance.

The impact sends me collapsing into Serevin’s chest.

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