Chapter Two

The stretched limousine glided in silence, passing through one heavy iron gate after another as they opened slowly.

The estate was broader than imagination, like a giant beast curled and waiting in the night. On both sides were dark trees trimmed into perfect lines. Every so often, someone stood motionless as a statue.

The moment the engine died, the gate slid inward without a sound. An old man in a dark suit—silver hair combed with meticulous precision—stood just inside, bowed slightly.

“Miss Ella. I’m Joseph. I serve your father. He’s waiting for you.”

“You know me?” I asked. My voice was hoarse from exhaustion and the remaining tremor.

Joseph’s expression looked like old parchment pressed perfectly flat—only the necessary respect. “Mr. Costa has always watched you. His only daughter.”

I followed him across the courtyard.

In the study, a man stood with his back to the door, watching the firelight in the hearth. His frame was tall, and pressure seemed to fill the room without him doing anything at all.

“Father?” I said. My voice came out very soft.

Salvatore Costa turned.

His features were deep-set. His gray hair was neat. His gaze was sharp as an eagle’s. He overlapped, instantly, with the blurred shadow buried in my memory.

“Ella.” His eyes flicked over my swollen eyelids and pale face. His lips parted; on his face was a father’s tenderness I didn’t recognize—something foreign.

I waited.

In the end, he only said, “I know what happened.”

“The trial was public,” I answered, because it seemed obvious.

“But I was watching you long before the trial.” His gaze didn’t leave my face. “You have your mother’s eyes, Ella.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees—focused, intent. “Leah hated that I chose this road. She believed it would swallow her in the end, and it would stain you too. So she left. She took you. I let her go. That was the only thing I could do for her purity and courage. But I never stopped watching over you. And I won’t let my daughter be bullied.”

His voice lowered.

“But I still didn’t stop this in time.”

He returned to the desk, picked up a thin tablet, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me without extra words.

High-definition footage played in silence.

The familiar intersection. The familiar figure. The familiar red sports car—no braking, just impact—

and then the moment that made my blood run backward: a brief pause, and the slow, crushing *nudge forward*…

“—Ugh…” I clamped a hand over my mouth. My stomach seized violently. I jerked my head aside and gagged, but nothing came up—only cold acid burning my throat.

Salvatore shut the screen off, extinguishing the image. He came around the desk and stopped in front of me.

“This wasn’t an accident, Ella. It was a vile murder—and an even viler cover-up.” His voice was absolute. “The Vito legal team is skilled. They deleted the key three frames seamlessly. But the original file is here.”

I was breathing too fast. I looked up—tears blurred my vision, but anger burned them dry.

“I can give you power, Ella. Enough to let you take back everything you lost with your own hands.” His gaze held mine, unblinking. “But once you step onto this road, there’s no turning back. You’ll get blood on you. You’ll learn to calculate. You’ll become another kind of person. Even so—are you willing?”

The fire crackled.

I remembered my grandmother’s warm hand. I remembered her body on the ground, no one daring to help. I remembered Luca’s cold *at that age*. I remembered Chloe’s fake tears.

“What do I have to do?”

Salvatore’s mouth seemed to lift in the faintest curve. “Costa reaches into shipping, energy, finance. Luca’s hand has been stretching too far lately—touching what he shouldn’t. And your grandmother’s death…” He pushed another tablet toward me. “Was the last straw that broke my patience.”

On the screen was surveillance ten times clearer than anything shown in court. After Chloe’s car hit my grandmother, there was a distinct pause, and then—one more small movement forward.

My stomach rolled again.

“An accident?” Salvatore gave a short, cold sound. “The Vito team did a clean job deleting the key frames. But the original is here.”

I lifted my head. “What do you want me to do?”

“Learn. Then take revenge.” His eyes burned. “I’ll have the best people train you—law, finance, intelligence, and… necessary force. I’ll make you the most legitimate heir.”

“What’s the price?”

“To carry all the glory and shadow of this surname.” He paused. “And to make Luca Vito—and the woman he sheltered—pay a price you can accept.”

On the tablet, my grandmother’s old cloth shopping bag was still under the car. Blood had turned into endless black.

I closed my eyes. The rain-night street flashed again. Luca’s cold stare. Chloe’s fake tears. The icy fire in my chest burned hotter, harder, until it solidified into something stronger than steel.

“I’m willing.” When I opened my eyes, my voice was steady. “I want Luca Vito to watch his kingdom turn to rubble. I want Chloe Miller punished for her malice. I want every accomplice, every cold-eyed bystander, to pay.”

Salvatore watched me for a long time. On his long-frozen, authoritative face, something like approval flickered—thin as a blade of light.

He nodded once, slowly, solemnly.

“Good.”

Then he raised his hand—broad, heavy, marked by years and power. He didn’t pat my shoulder. He held his palm up between us, suspended—like a ritual waiting to be completed, like a contract formally offered.

“Welcome home, Ella Costa.”

I stared at his hand, drew in a breath, and placed my own into it, steady.

His grip was warm and strong. He squeezed once.

In that moment, I knew the road behind me had vanished completely.