It had been smoldering for two years — buried beneath layers of silk, diamonds, pleasure, and the overwhelming safety of Vittorio's arms. But after that midnight visit to Luca's cell, the small flame had begun to burn brighter, hotter, more insistent.
Liora could no longer ignore it.
She went through her days as the perfect queen. She hosted luncheons, attended strategy meetings at Vittorio's side, wore the gowns he chose, and surrendered to him every night with moans and whispered declarations of belonging. She let him take her on the dining table, against the windows overlooking the city, and in the shower until she was trembling and sobbing his name.
But in the quiet moments — when Vittorio was in meetings or asleep — she thought of Luca.
She thought of his hollow eyes.
She thought of his broken smile.
She thought of his final words: Come back to me before it's too late.
And the ember whispered back: Blood calls to blood.
Three weeks after that secret visit, Liora made her first quiet move.
She waited until Vittorio left for a long afternoon meeting with the capos. Maria was occupied with household duties. The guards outside the penthouse had grown used to her wandering the upper floors freely.
She took the service elevator down to the basement levels, heart pounding so hard she felt sick. The guards at the cell block recognized her and let her pass with only a slight hesitation — Vittorio had long ago given orders that she could see her brother whenever she wished, as long as she remained under watch.
Luca looked up when the lights flickered on. He was thinner than before, but his eyes still held that stubborn fire.
"You came back," he said quietly. No accusation this time. Just exhaustion and a faint spark of hope.
Liora pressed her palm to the glass. "I can't stop thinking about what you said. About blood calling to blood."
Luca stood and walked to the glass, pressing his forehead against it opposite hers. "Then you're not completely gone yet."
"I don't know what I am anymore," she whispered. "I love him, Luca. In a way I can't explain. He makes me feel safe. Wanted. Powerful. But every time I look at you, I remember who I was before all of this."
Luca's voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "Then help me. Not to escape — not yet. Just… get me information. A layout of the tower. Guard shift changes. Anything that could help when the time comes."
Liora's breath caught. "If he finds out…"
"He won't," Luca said fiercely. "Not if you're careful. You're the queen now. You have access no one else does. Use it. For me. For the sister you used to be."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. The ember roared to life inside her chest.
"I'll try," she whispered. "But promise me you'll stay alive. No more fighting the guards. No more provoking him. Just… wait."
Luca nodded slowly. "For you, I'll wait. But don't take too long, sis. The old families are quiet, but they're not dead. They're watching. And one day soon, they'll move again."
Liora left the basement with her heart in her throat and a dangerous secret burning in her chest.
That night, Vittorio took her with his usual possessive intensity.
He bent her over the dining table where they had once entertained the families and fucked her hard and deep, one hand fisted in her hair while the other gripped her hip.
"You were quiet today," he growled between thrusts. "Distant again. Tell me what's in that beautiful head of yours, my queen."
Liora moaned, pushing back against him even as guilt clawed at her insides. "Just… thinking about the empire. About how far we've come."
Vittorio's pace faltered for a split second, then resumed harder. "Good. Because this empire is ours. And I will burn anyone who tries to take it — or you — from me."
He reached around to rub her clit until she shattered around him with a broken cry. He followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside her as he held her tight against the table.
Afterward, he carried her to bed and held her close, stroking her hair as he always did.
"You are mine," he whispered against her temple. "Completely. Never forget that."
Liora nodded against his chest, but inside, the ember burned brighter than ever.
She had made her choice two years ago.
Now she was making another — quieter, more dangerous, and far more treacherous.
She would help Luca.
Not to run. Not yet.
But to survive.
And maybe — just maybe — to one day remind her that blood still called to blood.
As Vittorio fell asleep with his arm locked possessively around her waist, Liora lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The queen had been crowned.
The devil loved her.
But the last ember of Liora Rossi refused to die.
And in the darkness of the tower, a new, secret war had just begun — this one fought not with guns and explosions, but with whispers, loyalty, and the fragile, flickering flame of a heart that had never fully surrendered.