Chapter 7 - The Viper's Revenge
The peaceful Sicilian bliss was shattered three months later on the eve of their royal wedding.
Despite being incarcerated in a high-security federal facility in upstate New York, Isabella Vance had not surrendered. Using her vast family wealth and remnant loyalists, she had engineered a daring prison break, fleeing the United States on a smuggled cargo vessel bound for the Mediterranean.
Obsessed with revenge and driven mad by the loss of her fortune and status, Isabella allied herself with an exiled Sicilian mafia clan—the Strozzi family—who had long sought to claim the Moretti territory in Taormina.
The night before the wedding, as a soft rain fell over the olive groves, a silent infiltration took place at the lower docks of the estate.
Sophia was in her private dressing room, admiring the lace wedding gown hanging from the mahogany wardrobe, when the lights suddenly flickered and died.
Before she could reach for the emergency radio, the balcony glass shattered into a million pieces.
Two armed men burst into the room, followed by a woman wrapped in a dark, wet trench coat. When the woman pulled back her hood, Sophia’s blood ran ice-cold.
It was Isabella Vance. Her once-gorgeous face was gaunt, her golden hair tangled and dirty, and her eyes burned with psychotic malice. In her right hand, she held a suppressed pistol aimed straight at Sophia’s heart.
"Hello, little maid," Isabella sneered, her voice trembling with unhinged rage. "Did you really think you could wear my crown? Did you think you could take my husband, my empire, and my life, and just live happily ever after in paradise?"
Sophia backed up against the wardrobe, keeping her composure as best as she could. "Isabella... it’s over. Damiano will destroy you if you do this."
"Damiano is currently dealing with a fire at the north perimeter," Isabella laughed bitterly, taking a step closer. "By the time he reaches this room, he will find his precious bride bleeding out on her wedding dress. And as for your little brat—"
"Don't you dare touch my daughter!" Sophia screamed, her motherly instinct instantly overriding all fear.
"Where is she?" Isabella hissed, raising the gun to Sophia’s forehead. "Tell me where the little snitch is hiding, or I’ll blow your brains across this mirror!"
Suddenly, a small voice echoed from the shadowed corner of the room near the curtains.
"I'm right here, shiny lady."
Isabella spun around in surprise. Standing by the velvet curtains was six-year-old Emma, holding a heavy marble antique paperweight she had grabbed from the writing desk.
Before Isabella could react, Emma threw the heavy stone with all her strength, striking Isabella squarely in the kneecap.
Isabella shrieked in pain, her leg buckling beneath her as she stumbled backward.
Sophia didn't waste a millisecond. She lunged forward, tackling Isabella to the floor. The gun went off with a dull pop, the bullet slamming harmlessly into the ceiling plaster. Sophia grabbed Isabella’s wrist, smashing it against the marble floor until the weapon slipped from her fingers.
At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors of the bedroom were kicked entirely off their hinges.
Damiano strode into the room like an unleashed demon, flanked by Lucian and a dozen Sicilian guards. Seeing Isabella pinned under Sophia, Damiano’s eyes flamed with absolute death.
In one swift movement, Damiano pulled Sophia and Emma safely behind him. Lucian’s men instantly disarmed and pinned Isabella’s remaining mercenaries to the ground.
Damiano stepped toward Isabella, who lay groaning on the floor, clutching her shattered knee. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply looked down at her with pure, cold disgust.
"You have intruded upon my home for the last time, Isabella," Damiano said softly, his voice chilling the entire room. "Take her away, Lucian. Hand her over to the Italian anti-mafia tribunal. Ensure she spends the rest of her natural life in a windowless cell beneath Rome."
"Damiano! Please!" Isabella shrieked as guards dragged her away, her desperate cries fading into the dark corridors of the castle. "I loved you! She’s just a servant!"
Damiano didn't even turn around to watch her go. He immediately dropped to his knees, pulling Sophia and Emma into a fiercely tight embrace, trembling with profound relief.
"Are you hurt? Either of you?" he asked, his voice cracked with emotion.
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"We are okay," Sophia whispered, resting her head against his chest. "We protected each other."
Damiano pulled back, looking at Emma, who gave him a proud, fearless smile. He let out a breathless laugh, kissing the top of Emma’s head. "You truly are a Moretti, little one."
