It had been two years since the last shots were fired in Calderone Tower, and the empire had reached its golden age.
Vittorio's power was absolute. Legitimate businesses generated oceans of clean revenue while the underworld operations ran like a well-oiled machine. New alliances had been forged, old enemies had been buried or bought, and the name Calderone commanded both fear and respect from coast to coast.
Liora had become the perfect queen.
She hosted galas with effortless grace, remembered every face and favor, and stood beside Vittorio with quiet authority that made even the hardest men lower their eyes. She wore the diamonds and designer gowns he chose for her like armor, and the city whispered her name with a mixture of awe and envy.
But inside, the small flame still burned.
It was quieter now — a stubborn ember buried deep beneath layers of pleasure, power, and the intoxicating safety of Vittorio's arms. Some nights it almost went out completely. Other nights, when the tower was silent and Vittorio slept with his arm locked possessively around her waist, it flared back to life, whispering the same three words that had never truly left her:
Blood calls to blood.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The penthouse was dark except for the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. Liora lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling while Vittorio slept deeply beside her, his breathing steady and calm. His arm was draped heavily over her waist, a constant reminder of ownership even in sleep.
She carefully slipped out from under his arm and padded barefoot to the window. The city sprawled below like a kingdom he had conquered for her. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her silk nightgown whispering against her skin.
Two years.
Two years of choosing him every single day.
Two years of learning to love the devil who had burned her old life to ash.
And still, in the quietest hours, she thought of Luca.
She hadn't seen him in months. Vittorio allowed her occasional monitored visits through the glass, but they had grown shorter and more painful. Luca had stopped begging her to run. He had stopped shouting. He simply looked at her with exhausted, hollow eyes and repeated the same quiet words every time:
"I still love you, sis. Even now."
Liora closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
The bedroom door was unlocked — a sign of trust Vittorio had granted her long ago. She moved silently through the penthouse, past the sleeping guards in the outer corridor, and took the private service elevator down to the basement levels.
She knew the route by heart.
The guards at the cell block recognized her immediately. They hesitated, but one look at her tear-streaked face and they stepped aside. Vittorio had given orders long ago: she could see her brother whenever she wished, as long as she remained under watch.
Luca was awake.
He sat on the edge of his cot in the reinforced cell, staring at the floor. When the lights flickered on and he saw her standing outside the glass, his expression didn't change to hope or anger. It was simply tired.
"You came," he said quietly. "At 3 AM. He must be sleeping soundly tonight."
Liora pressed her palm to the glass. "I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about you. About us. About who we used to be."
Luca gave a hollow laugh. "There is no 'us' anymore. You killed that the night you chose him in front of me."
The words still cut, even after all this time.
"I didn't want you to die," she whispered. "I chose to keep you alive."
"You chose him," Luca corrected, his voice flat. "You chose the man who destroyed our family. You chose the bed. The power. The diamonds. The orgasms. Don't dress it up as mercy, Liora. You chose the devil because he made you feel alive."
Tears fell faster now. "Maybe I did. But I still love you, Luca. You're my brother. My blood."
Luca stood and walked to the glass, pressing his forehead against it opposite hers. His eyes were older, harder, but the love was still there — buried beneath layers of pain.
"Then prove it," he said softly. "Help me get out. Or at least stop pretending you're happy playing queen to a monster. Because I see you, sis. I see the flicker in your eyes when you think no one is watching. That small part of you that still remembers who you were before he broke you."
Liora's breath hitched. For the first time in months, the ember flared brightly.
"I… I don't know if I can," she admitted, voice breaking. "He's everything now. My safety. My pleasure. My world. But you… you're the last piece of who I used to be."
Luca's eyes softened with sorrow. "Then you have to decide which piece you want to keep. Because one day soon, the choice won't be yours anymore. The old families haven't forgotten. They're quiet, but they're watching. And when they move again, they won't come for the tower. They'll come for the queen who betrayed her blood."
He reached out and placed his palm flat against the glass, right over where her hand rested.
"Blood calls to blood, Liora. Don't let him snuff out the last flame completely."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. A guard was coming to check on her.
Liora pulled back, wiping her tears. "I have to go."
Luca gave her a sad, broken smile. "I know. Go back to your king. But remember — I'm still here. Still waiting. Still your brother."
As she hurried back to the elevator, Luca's final whisper followed her like a ghost:
"Come back to me before it's too late."
Back in the master bedroom, Vittorio was still asleep. Liora slipped under the covers and curled against his chest. His arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close even in sleep.
She lay there, listening to his steady heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his body, the safety of his possession.
She had everything.
Power. Pleasure. Protection. A man who would burn the world for her.
But as sleep finally claimed her, the small ember deep in her heart flared once more, brighter than it had in months.
Blood calls to blood.
And for the first time in a very long time, Liora didn't try to snuff it out.
She let it burn.