Chapter 32
The roar of engines faded, replaced by the acrid scent of burnt rubber and fuel.
I grinned, remembering the bike beneath me, wind tearing at my hair. "You almost didn't catch up," I teased.
"Almost? Vee, please. I let you think you had the lead," she shot back, laughing.
I laughed too, sharp and bright.
The memory lingered a moment longer, then reality clawed back, yanking me into the present.
"Wake up, Vee!"
My brows furrowed. Grey eyes, calm and intense, stared down at me.
"What? I was about to whisper your wake-up call," Zorian said, leaning casually over the bed.
"You kept your word," I muttered, still half-lulled by sleep.
"Of course," he said, smirk faint but eyes serious. "I don't break promises."
I shifted, wincing as my arm throbbed beneath its bandage. Bruises sprawled like dark flowers beneath my skin.
"How does it feel?" he asked.
"I don't know, Sherlock. You tell me," I snapped, sitting up and peeling back the sleeve.
"About last night…were you assaulted?" His voice dropped, cautious.
"No," I said, meeting his concern with a glare.
"So, you weren't—" he hesitated.
"Wanna check?" I teased, and his face flamed scarlet. He bolted, muttering incoherently, leaving me to chuckle softly.
The bruises were worse than I'd expected. Long sleeves were the only option if I wanted to survive the day without questions.
Dressing carefully, I crept downstairs. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. Not in the country, naturally.
You're still alive, right?
No, Mother. currently held hostage.
Oh, well, tell them there's no need for ransom. I thank them for taking you off my hands.
I chuckled. Only she could be so casual in the middle of chaos.
Asvika appeared in the doorway, radiant as ever. "Good morning, Vee. You look functional for someone who went partying last night."
I smirked. "Functional? That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me, ever."
Zorian's grey eyes flicked to her. "How did it go with the fanboy last night?"
Asvika rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you all left. That's the short version."
I almost laughed. Almost.
Aurelio appeared then, blue eyes calm, suit impeccable even in the morning.
"Future-in-law!" Asvika called, and he returned her wave with a faint chuckle.
"Hey, Versace. Ready?" he asked. I nodded, stealing a glance at Asvika before leaving with Aurelio and Zorian.
The drive to the Dynasty Council was tense, each bump a reminder of my bruised arm.
I kept the bandage hidden beneath silk, reminding myself that today was about appearances, control, and power—none of which tolerated weakness.
The chamber was formidable, with dark wood and chandeliers casting sharp shadows.
Patriarch Laurent's gaze found me first, deliberate, heavy. But Mr. Kashani, Aurelio's father, spoke with smooth, subtle authority.
"Versace," he began, voice deliberate, slicing through the air. "You've survived what would break most. Yet, what shaped the woman we see before us?"
Was he trying to disregard my upbringing?
"Mrs. Allura Versace is my mother," I said firmly. "She gave me everything I am. Anyone else is irrelevant. Cursed be the names of those who abandoned me."
A ripple passed through the council. Zorian stiffened. Aurelio's jaw tightened. Laurent's gaze sharpened, intrigued.
Dominic sat in the corner, hazel eyes locked on me, his smirk faint and calculating. Silent daggers.
Laurent's words lingered. "The girl who survives is not always the one who fights hardest. But the one who wields her history as a weapon."
I smirked, feeling the subtle shift in power. Vulnerability was camouflage.
The council discussions began, alliances and power flowing like bullets through smoke. Every glance from Dominic, every cryptic nod from Mr. Kashani, demanded poise, demanded independence.
A bathroom break gave me a moment to collect myself. Zorian followed, concern clear, until my arm throbbed too much. I sank to the floor, cradling it.
"Ms. Versace isn't your biological mother?" he asked softly.
"No," I said, recalling our morning messages. "She's my late father's elder sister. Her lover died on her wedding day. When my parents passed, she took me in as hers. She’s, my mother."
Zorian's hand brushed mine, grounding me. "She must really love you."
I let my mind wander to the memories. She made me learn to shoot a gun at seven, swimming until I mastered breath control, chasing dogs until I caught them, and even the teacup thrown at my face.
"Yes, my mother loves me very much. I will not tolerate any disrespect toward her."
Zorian softened, giving a nod. "I'll give you some space. I'll wait outside."
I exhaled, relief and tension tangled together as he left.
No sooner had the silence settled than the door opened again. Dominic. Hazelnut eyes calculating, lips curved into that lazy, dangerous smirk.
"You startled me," I muttered, instinctively guarding my arm.
He crouched beside me, fingers brushing my sleeve. "You winced."
"It hurts," I admitted.
Slowly, deliberately, he unrolled the silk, exposing the bruises and bandage beneath. His fingers rubbed ointment over the angry marks.
"I held on that tight so you wouldn't fall," he said quietly, guilt flashing in his eyes.
My mind flashed back, his grip last night, my hands trembling on him in that small bathroom, our breaths mingling.
"Dominic, don't you get it? I hate you," I whispered, voice trembling with frustration and anger.
"Yet you get on my nerves pretty well, Ara," he murmured, pressing a faint kiss to my forehead.
“I apologize for the marks, I never meant–”
“Oh, you definitely meant it. You took the intrusive thought and acted on it.” I snapped, almost on the verge of angry tears as I remembered my life flashing before my eyes.
“I am sorry.” Another kiss to the forehead, Then, just as silently, he stood and left.
I stayed on the floor a moment longer, chest tight, pulse hammering. Outside, the council buzzed with mafia politics, deals, and danger—but inside, I understood something vital: The rules weren't only about power.
They were about survival, and desire.
The council meeting had ended, handshakes exchanged, smiles forced, but the weight lingered like smoke in the corners of the estate. Aurelio and I lingered a moment in front of his father, Mr. Kashani, and Dominic.
"Ah, my daughter-in-law to be. It was refreshing to see you in such a light. Your father would be proud," Kashani said, voice smooth, a knife-edge beneath the politeness.
I bowed slightly, but the thought of my dead parents filled me with cold fire. I didn't want them to be proud. I wanted them to regret leaving me behind.
The council had dispersed, but the empire never slept, and neither did I. Shipments needed approval, contracts signatures, photographs of assets, properties, and potential rivals had to be reviewed meticulously.
Every motion, every signature, was a reminder: Control was not a luxury.
I stamped a batch of papers, stacking them neatly.
Mayami hovered nearby, efficient as ever, intercepting calls, clearing alerts, making sure no distraction breached my bubble.
"Miss Versace, the client called—"
"I said we will not be working with him. Blacklist him. His petty coins don't change my decision." The secretary nodded and dashed off.
Another pile demanded my attention. Signatures. Approvals. Rejections. Each motion of my pen carved authority into the empire I'd inherited.
"Miss Versace, the trainees are practicing in the yard," Maymi nudged my shoulder. "Do you want to observe their drills?"
I glanced at the clock. Time was tight, but discipline couldn't wait. "Yes. I want to see if anyone is careless. Sloppy hands don't belong in my empire."
Outside, the sun glinted off polished metal. Trainees lined up with rifles and pistols, movements sharp yet raw, potential obvious but unrefined.
I walked among them, noting mistakes, correcting stances, and occasionally demonstrating myself.
Every shot fired, every command executed properly, reinforced the empire's rigid discipline.
A young man slacked, laughing mid-drill. I approached, eyes cold.
"Hey, pretty lady." The young man smirked, clearly thinking this was a game. He said again. "Pretty lady."
"Show me your skill. I can beat you," I said, voice low, eyes sharp.
He scoffed. "Come on. I'll go easy on you, babe."
That was the mistake.
I moved like a predator, each step measured.
My first punch struck his shoulder, jarring him, but I didn't stop. A swift kick to his midsection sent him staggering back. His confidence faltered, replaced with raw panic.He lunged at me, trying to grab, but I twisted, grabbed his wrist, and threw him off balance.
I didn't just push him; I slammed him to the ground. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him.
He scrambled, coughing, trying to recover.
I struck again, a calculated punch to the ribs, a kick to his side, making sure he understood that misjudging me would cost him.
Each motion was precise, brutal, deliberate, designed to crush arrogance with skill, not just strength.
He tried to rise, and I grabbed him mid-step, pulling him down with a sharp elbow to the shoulder. He hit the ground hard, grunting, eyes wide with fear and disbelief.
"B-boss..." he stammered, voice shaking.
"Yes. Boss. Not babe," I said, crouching, face level with his. "Do you understand who runs this empire?"
His eyes widened further. "Y-yes, boss!"
I nodded once, letting him catch his breath. "Good. Now, get up and do it right. Or next time, you won't just get a lesson."
I stood up, dusting my hands with the handkerchief, my gaze cold and unflinching.
The others watched silently, knowing that discipline was not optional.
With Mayami keeping pace with updates and reports, I continued—approving shipments, reviewing photos of new acquisitions, safe houses, and luxury fronts. Every stamp, every signature marked control over a world threatening to spiral.
By mid-afternoon, the sun climbed high. Yet, I moved from task to task. Photos of recruits, rifles, pistols and hand-to-hand drills. A misstep could undo months of careful planning.
"Better," I said to one trainee, correcting his trigger hand. "Control is everything."
Obedience tempered with skill, that was the only respect I accepted.
After overseeing the training yard, I moved to the warehouse, the scent of dust and oil thick in the air. Shipments awaited inspection—some mundane, others high-risk. Every crate, every package, was a test of loyalty, control, and precision.
I scanned the digital manifests and started down the aisles. Box by box, I checked the inventory and noted every flaw. Everything had to be flawless. One tiny slip-up and months of planning would go up in flames.
A crate marked as textiles caught my attention. The packaging seemed off. There were smudges, faint powder traces on the corner. I pried it open slowly, revealing tightly wrapped bundles hidden beneath the fabric. Cocaine.
Someone had been smuggling it without approval.
I straightened, eyes cold, scanning the warehouse. The worker responsible; a young man trying to look busy, froze when he saw me approach.
"Explain," I demanded, voice quiet but lethal.
"I—I thought…just a small shipment."
I stepped closer, measuring the distance, the weight of authority pressing down. "You thought wrong."
I grabbed his arm, sharp and precise, twisting it enough to make him wince without breaking it. "Do you know what happens to someone who jeopardizes this empire?"
He shook his head frantically, sweat beading on his forehead.
I pulled him toward the centre of the floor. "You train harder. You clean every crate until it shines. You think you're indispensable? You're lucky I didn't make this lesson permanent."
Every word, every motion, was deliberate. He nodded furiously, fear and respect intertwining. "Yes, boss. I…I understand, boss."
I released him, stepping back, letting the tension linger. The warehouse was silent except for the rustling of crates and the faint hum of forklifts. I returned to the manifests, stamping each with precision, making sure every shipment was accounted for.
Discipline wasn't about control, it was survival. And in my empire, mistakes were a luxury no one could afford.
DOMINIC
Bastard.
Why did I grab her arm like that? She was smaller, weaker than me. Yet the thought of seeing her aware of my presence, trembling—not weak, just conscious of the danger, made my blood boil.
Tablet in hand, I scanned the details my second-in-command handed me. Perfect timing.
And then I saw it—Aurelio, smug as ever, thinking she was his.
My smirk darkened.
To him, she was his. To me? She was mine. I've never let anyone take what I wanted without a fight.
Aurelio dared to think he could have her. Stupid kid. I would never let him win now.
I considered every detail: A staged emergency, a "classified" shipment requiring her attention, a subtle problem only I could solve. A glance, a touch, a solution she would notice without realizing why she appreciated it, all calculated.
Every empire had cracks. Hers? Control. Her walls? Impeccable. And I intended to wedge myself inside.
"I think I know the perfect surprise," I muttered, a dark thrill coiling through me. My mind drifted to the first time I kissed her, the first time I saw her in that bar. I'd kill to have those moments again.
And Aurelio thought he had her? Let him try. I’d enjoy watching that delusion crumble.