Season 2 Chapter 2
Long Live the Donessa
Estimated reading time:3m read
Emilia
Multi POV
Chapter text
My skin is crawling.
I want to scream.
Each breath is shaky.
Especially here.
I steady.
I brush my hair back.
Straighten my shoulders.
The dried blood is still caked into the marble.
Mine.
For a second—
my vision flickers.
I don’t let it take me.
“Are you trying to make a point?”
Marito’s eyebrow arches.
“Why am I here?” I hiss.
Forza, Emilia.
Don’t let it crush you.
“Ragossi Penthouse,” he shrugs. “Your home.”
“Ha.”
I kick Ciro’s snifter.
It shatters.
Thank God.
“I’m not staying here.”
My steps are unsteady.
My heels stick to the tile.
Booze and blood.
Chokingly sweet.
Panic presses in—
I breathe.
Push it into my spine.
Lock it down.
The suite at the hotel is fine.
I expected theater.
Night life.
A brand I could sell.
Instead—
a hollow in the middle of the city.
“I want Ciro’s Penthouse razed.”
The words come clean.
Decided.
It startles him.
The idiota meant to keep me here.
“Okay,” he says lightly. “You want a designer… or?”
He’s trying on that tone again.
Measured. Controlled.
Don Marchi.
Handler. Not husband.
“Everywhere I look is Ciro,” I say. “I want it gutted. The house. The car.”
I meet his eyes.
“The rest can wait.”
He studies me.
Longer this time.
“We’re not burning anything,” he says.
“I’ll fix the house. The car. My gift.”
A pause.
“You fix the city.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t need to love me.
You just need to trust me.”
I almost laugh.
Instead, I stand.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“You’re not,” I say.
“Fix my assets.”
I move for the door.
“I’m taking one off the board.”
He watches me now.
Really watches.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t need to.
L’orso is already closing Hell’s Kitchen.
Pressing every border.
No way in.
No way to build.
Only out.
By the water.
“Ragossi capital is tied up in that ship,” he says.
I don’t answer.
***
The dock is cold.
Hard under my heels.
And dark.
Good.
The last place I saw L’orso is just beyond the pier.
I don’t look.
The harbor stretches out in front of me.
Black water.
Glass-smooth.
My yacht sits in the distance.
A shape against the dark.
Unmoored.
Waiting.
My hand steadies.
Gooseflesh ripples across my skin.
Pain crawls through every wound.
Something in me rises—
not panic.
Not fear.
Demand.
I let it.
Click.
For a breath—
nothing.
Then—
the explosion splits the night.
Fire blooms from the center.
Light floods the harbor.
The hull fractures inward.
The blaze takes hold.
The engine bay.
Clean.
Efficient.
For a moment—
the pressure in my chest shifts.
Fire choking Ciro.
Water dragging him under.
Not relief.
Clarity.
If the Ragossi Don is dead—
long live the Donessa.
I step back.
Slide into the car.
I leave before the heat reaches shore.
L’orso
Something is off.
I don’t move.
I stand in the center of the room.
Everything is in place.
But it isn’t right.
My gaze shifts to her end table.
The book is exactly where she left it.
Interstellar Redshift.
I pick it up.
A silk bookmark rests halfway through.
I open to the page.
A photo slips free.
I catch it.
The gala.
Emilia in my arms.
Her head tipped toward mine.
Mouth soft.
Not resisting.
Not performing.
There.
My grip tightens slightly.
A choice.
Then—
light cuts through the window.
A blast follows.
I turn.
A boat burns in the harbor.
Ciro’s ship.
I look back at the photo.
Then out at the fire.
…
She’s home.