The morning after the storm, the city woke to chaos. Headlines screamed in bold red letters:
MAFIA BOSS DANTE RUSSO FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME — MURDER SUSPECTED.
Reporters swarmed the gates of the Russo estate, helicopters hovered above the roofs, and the entire underworld buzzed with shock. Some called it justice. Others called it madness. But to Elena… it was silence. The kind she had longed for.
She sat in front of the television, her face unreadable as the newscaster repeated every detail of her father's death. Lorenzo stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed, watching her closely.
"Elena," he said softly, "it's everywhere. The police, the gangs — everyone's talking about it."
"I know," she replied, her voice calm, almost too calm.
He moved closer. "Do you regret it?"
Her lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "No. Not for a second."
"Elena—"
"He took something from me, Lorenzo," she interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. "He took the life I never got to see. He took our child. And he wanted to take me too. Tell me, should I regret killing a man who wanted his own daughter dead?"
Lorenzo stayed silent. He could see the rage in her eyes — not the wild, uncontrolled kind, but a deeper, colder fire that had taken root in her heart.
"He wasn't a father," she continued, standing up. "He was a monster wearing the face of one."
"Elena," he said carefully, "you're starting to sound like him."
She turned to him, her eyes glistening with tears that refused to fall. "Then maybe that's what it takes to survive in this world."
He took a deep breath. "You don't need to be like them. You don't need to carry that darkness anymore."
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "You think I carry darkness? Lorenzo, I am the darkness they created. The one they tried to bury."
Her voice echoed through the living room, leaving a chilling silence behind. Lorenzo watched her walk toward the window, her gaze fixed on the streets below — the same streets her father once ruled.
"I didn't just kill him for revenge," she said after a while. "I did it because I refuse to be hunted again. I refuse to live in fear. He taught me how to fight, how to pull the trigger, but he forgot to teach me one thing — mercy."
Lorenzo stepped closer, his tone softer. "And what about your mother? If she finds out—"
"My mother?" Elena cut in, her eyes sharp. "She left me in his hands. She chose to disappear. If she cared, she would've come back before I became this. So no, I don't care what she thinks."
For a moment, Lorenzo didn't know what to say. The woman standing before him wasn't the same Elena who once cried over her unborn baby. She was stronger now, but also harder — her innocence burned away by betrayal and loss.
"Elena," he whispered, "you don't have to keep pretending to be fine."
"I'm not pretending," she replied, finally turning to face him. "I've accepted what I've done. My father's blood will never wash off, but I'll wear it as a reminder of what happens when someone tries to break me."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. He wanted to hold her, to pull her out of the darkness she was sinking into, but she looked untouchable — almost sacred in her pain.
Suddenly, the door opened and one of his men rushed in, holding a phone. "Boss, you need to see this."
Lorenzo took the phone, his eyes narrowing as he watched a video spreading online — footage of her father's lifeless body being carried out of the mansion. The caption read:
"The king is dead. But who will take the throne?"
He turned the screen toward her. "They're watching you now. You're not just a victim anymore, Elena. You're a threat."
She looked at the video, unfazed. "Good," she said coldly. "Let them watch. Let them fear me."
Lorenzo clenched his fist. "This isn't who you are."
"No, Lorenzo," she whispered, stepping closer until her eyes met his. "This is exactly who I am. You fell in love with the broken girl. But that girl is gone. What's left is what this world made me."
He grabbed her arms gently, his voice trembling. "Then let me love what's left."
Her expression softened for a moment, the steel in her eyes flickering into sorrow. "You'll regret it," she said, her voice low. "You'll look at me one day and see my father in my eyes."
"Then I'll keep looking until I see you again," he answered.
For the first time that morning, her lips trembled. She wanted to say something, but instead, she leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. His arms wrapped around her instinctively — protective, desperate, and full of pain.
They stood there, two souls drowning in the consequences of love and vengeance. The world outside might have seen her as the cold-blooded daughter of a fallen mafia boss, but in Lorenzo's arms, she was still the woman who once dreamed of peace, the woman who had lost everything.
And though she didn't say it aloud, one thought echoed in her heart:
"If I had to choose again, I'd still pull the trigger."
Because to Elena, it wasn't murder. It was survival.