The morning sun spilled into the Wilson estate, but its warmth did nothing to ease the chill inside. Men lined the walls, stiff and uneasy, their gazes fixed anywhere but the woman seated in the high-backed chair at the head of the room.
Isabella sat perfectly composed, her back straight, legs crossed, her fingers drumming once, twice, against the armrest. Every second of silence drew the noose tighter around their throats.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet and terrifying. "Which of you let my docks burn"
No one answered.
The silence pressed harder. A bead of sweat ran down one man's temple. Another shifted uncomfortably. Not one dared to meet her eyes.
Isabella tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "So no one is responsible? Then, silence is guilt. And guilt...." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. ".... is punishable."
Her hands lifted, about to signal the guards.
The doors burst open. Marcus stepped in, his stride sharp, his expression thunderous. He carried news like a blade in his hand. "Stop. They didn't fail you."
The room stilled. Isabella's eyes snapped to him, cold and expectant. "And does my dear uncle know who did it?"
Marcus stopped at the base of her steps, his jaw clenched. A cruel smirk twisted his mouth, though fury lingered beneath it, "The Racci family. Vittorio sent his men. This was no accident. No mole. it was an order."
Gasps and curses rippled through the room.
Isabella leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. She studied Marcus for a long, silent moment before her eyes drifted to the men around the room.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer and infinitely more dangerous. "The Racci's are getting bold, they want war," she smiled cruelly. " Then let's give them one."
Her tone sharpened, every word precise. "From this moment, hesitation is death. If you flinch, I will make an example of you." Her eyes swept the room. Each man shrank under the weight of her gaze. "... From this moment onward, you are either with me or against me, the Racci's have declared war, we will give them war."
The room froze in silence. Even Marcus, hardened as he was, found himself watching her differently, because in that moment, Isabella's wasn't just her father's heir. She was the storm herself.
The clang of steel echoed through the Wilson training hall. Isabella moved like fire, her blade flashing, her strikes brutal and unrelenting. Opponents dropped one after another, bruised, bloodied, or groaning on the ground.
Her fury hadn't cooled; it had only sharpened into violence.
Camilla slipped in quietly, arms crossed, her expression unreadable as she watched her sister cut down another sparring partner with a vicious twist of her blade.
"You'll break them all before the Racci's even arrive," Camilla remarked, her tone light but edged.
Isabella wiped her brow with a towel, her chest rising and falling steadily. "Better they bleed here than die on the streets," she said flatly.
Camilla stepped closer, her gaze softening just slightly. "Or maybe you're bleeding yourself dry before the real war begins."
Isabella didn't answer. She picked up her blade again, eyes burning colder than ice.
Camilla sighed. "What about the D'Amatos? What if we tell them to help. If we joined forces...."
"No." Isabella cut her off, her tone sharp, final. She turned on Isabella, eyes hard. " Help, when have we Wilsons ever asked for help. And also, this isn't their fight. I'd rather die on my knees than beg."
Camilla studied her in silence, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she stepped back. "Just don't forget, Bella storms burn out too."
Isabella said nothing. She raised her blade and gestured for another Opponent.
The scent of cigars and leather filled Vittorio Racci's office. Reports of the dock fire lay scattered across his desk, ash-smudged and still faintly reeking of smoke.
He read them with detached calm, his face as immovable as carved stone. When he finished, he set them aside and spoke with the weight of finality.
"Good. The Wilsons needed reminding of who I am."
Matteo leaned casually against the wall, a glass of wine in hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You've certainly gotten their attention, Father."
Vittorio's gaze flickered to him, sharp as a hawk's. "Attention was the point. They must be reminded who holds the leash."
Matteo swirled the wine in his hand, his smile never faltering, "Children can be dangerous when cornered.
Vittorio's eyes narrowed. "Then we will break their wings before they have any chance to fly"
Matteo sipped his wine, the smirk still lingering, but in the depths of his gaze, a storm was already gathering.
IN THEUNDERGROUND WORLD
People were already whispering about what had happened to the Wilson's shipment.
Rumors are circulating, and concerns about what the Wilsons might do, The fight that was about to happen and the lives it would take.
At Alistair's office, Damian can be seen laying down on the sofa, reading a magazine and scrolling through his phone. Meanwhile, Alistair was busy sorting out documents.
"Oh my Goodness," Damian shot up from the sofa, mouth open in shock from what he saw.
He looked towards Alistair and said, "Do you know what's happening out there?". Looking up from the files, he gave a "I don't know and I don't care look"
Damian rushed to his side excitedly, like a child taking his first solid food.
(Don't mind what I said there, you understand, right)
Anywayssssssss....
Damian rushed to Alistair's side, showing him the news about what was happening. "Finally, some action. It's been years since i heard anything like this" He said excitedly.
Alistair looked at what he was talking about and lifted an eyebrow "The Wilson's Rage and Racci's act of war," He read out loud, looking at Damian. "What happened?"
"I don't know, something about fires. And the Racci's sending those mercenaries to the banquet," He said thoughtfully.
Alistair smirked, "This is going to be interesting"