The invitation was burned into Adrian's palm like a brand.
Not printed—etched. On black titanium. Heavy as guilt.
"Final Selection of the Phoenix Heir."
"What the hell does that mean?" Isabella asked, pacing the safehouse, her mind whiplashing between the truth she just learned—and the one she was about to step into.
Adrian's eyes were locked on the metal card. "It means they've already chosen the next ruler of the Eastern families. And it's not me."
"You think it's Luciana?"
Adrian shook his head.
"She was always a handler. Not a symbol. This—" he held up the card— "this is ceremonial. It means the families are about to unify under a single bloodline."
He looked at her now.
"And you, Isabella… are that bloodline."
Meanwhile — Beneath the Summit Grounds
Luciana Morello stood in the sanctum chamber, surrounded by thirteen masked figures—one for each ruling family. Red candles lit the room like an altar. In the center was a stone basin filled with blood.
"We've all sacrificed," Luciana said, voice echoing. "Brothers. Sons. Lovers. But now, it's time to be reborn."
One of the masked figures spoke. "And if the heir doesn't accept the legacy?"
Luciana smiled coldly. "Then we bury her alongside the last one."
She glanced toward the private holding cell at the back of the chamber, where Isabella's mother—Eva—sat bound.
Luciana whispered to a guard. "Send the photo."
Back at the Safehouse
Isabella's phone vibrated.
Unknown number. No text. Just a single image.
Her mother. Alive. Captive. Chained.
Adrian read the look on her face before she spoke.
"They have her."
She was already reaching for her jacket. "We have to go. Tonight."
"You're walking into a trap."
"I don't care."
He grabbed her arm. "Then let's spring it on them."
Hours Later — Summit Grounds, Upstate New York
The estate was carved into a mountainside—once a monastery, now a fortress.
Adrian and Isabella arrived separately.
He entered through the servant tunnels.
She came through the main gates.
Invited. Expected.
Inside, the room pulsed with tension.
Every Don was here.
Marco Romano.
Don Morello.
Luciana at the head, dressed in ceremonial black.
Even Dante, standing like a specter behind his master.
"Welcome, Isabella," Luciana purred. "You've come to claim your throne."
"I've come for my mother."
Luciana nodded.
Two guards dragged Eva in.
Isabella's breath caught—but she didn't cry. She stood tall. Solid.
Julian's daughter in every way that mattered.
Luciana continued, "Before you stands the Phoenix Council. Bound by blood. Tonight, we vote."
Adrian watched from the balcony above, hidden in shadow, gun holstered, eyes cold.
Luciana raised the ceremonial blade. "Do you accept your legacy, Isabella Romano-Morello?"
Isabella didn't answer.
She stepped forward. Took the blade.
And turned it toward Marco.
Gasps echoed.
"You kidnapped my mother," she said. "You lied about who I am. And you manipulated a war to hide your crimes."
She pointed to Don Morello next.
"And you tried to kill your own son to keep your secrets buried."
She tossed the blade at their feet.
"I don't accept your legacy. I rewrite it."
Adrian's cue.
He stepped forward into the light, gun raised. "The sins end tonight."
Marco moved first—reaching for his weapon.
BANG.
A single shot.
Marco Romano dropped.
Not dead.
Shot in the hand. Adrian's warning.
Don Morello stood now too.
But before anyone else could speak—the power cut.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Red backup lights flickered on.
Smoke poured in.
Adrian spun.
Dante was gone.
Isabella shouted. "They're trying to extract someone—this isn't about me anymore—"
BOOM.
The far wall exploded.
And out of the smoke…
Julian Morello walked in.
Alive.
Bleeding.
But standing.