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Elise's POV

The private jet touched down on the small airstrip just as the sun started to set. Two black SUVs waited on the tarmac. I climbed into the back of one, my side still throbbing under the fresh bandages. The driver did not speak much. He just nodded once and drove straight toward the estate I had not seen in seven years.

We turned onto the long private road lined with iron lanterns. I counted them quietly like I did when I was a kid. Thirty eight. Thirty nine. My chest loosened a little with each one. By the time we reached the big iron gates I felt something shift inside me. This was home. Not that cold house with Adrian. This.

The Vitale estate rose up at the end of the drive, lights already glowing in the windows. Don Victor stood on the front steps waiting. He looked older than I remembered. His hair had gone full silver and new lines marked his face, but he still filled the space around him like no one else could. He did not move until the car stopped.

I stepped out slowly, one hand pressed to my side. He looked me over. The hospital bracelet still on my wrist, the blood stain on my dress, the way I held myself careful. Something raw crossed his face for a moment. He opened his arms.

I walked up the steps and went straight into them. For the first time since the cemetery I let everything hit me at once. The bracelet, the slap, the gunshot, the baby I never even knew about. My shoulders shook hard once, then twice. I pressed my face into his shoulder and breathed in the familiar smell of his cigarettes and cedar cologne.

"I have you," he said against the top of my head. His voice stayed low and steady. "I have you, Elise."

I pulled back after a minute and wiped my face with the back of my hand. "I need a doctor first. My stitches tore in the hospital."

He turned right away. "Marco!"

His right hand man appeared from inside the house like he had been waiting for the word. Marco Vitale, my uncle, moved fast and efficient. He guided me into one of the side rooms where the estate doctor already had everything set up. The man worked quick. He cut away the old bandages, cleaned the wound, and put in fresh stitches without asking a single question. I gritted my teeth through the pain and stared at the ceiling until he finished.

When it was done I sat in my father's study. The room smelled exactly the same. Old paper, cedar wood, and that specific cigarette brand he had smoked every evening since I was small. A cup of tea waited on the table. Someone had brought it without me asking. I picked it up and took a sip while I looked at the portrait of my mother on the wall. She died when I was nine. I barely remembered her voice but I still remembered her hands.

Don Victor sat behind his big desk watching me. "The news is moving already," he said. "Three outlets picked up the shooting at the burial. Two of them linked your name to mine."

"Good," I said. I set the tea down. "Let them connect it. I am done hiding."

He looked up at me then. His eyes studied my face the way they always did when he was measuring something important.

"Adrian will panic when this gets out," he said.

"Adrian is already panicking." I leaned forward. "His business runs on connections he thinks belong to him. Half of them were ours the whole time. The second people know who I really am, those investors will start asking questions he cannot answer."

My father stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his desk drawer and placed a matte black phone on the table between us. No case. Just the phone. My old number. The one only the inner circle ever used.

La Signora was back.

I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It felt right. Heavy. Real.

"I need full access to the network," I told him. "Everything. And a briefing on the Greco situation. Marco mentioned in the car that they had an incident with a shipment last week."

Don Victor nodded slowly. "There was. I did not want to worry you while you were still dealing with that bastard."

"Father." I met his eyes straight on. "I am home now. No more protecting me from the truth."

He leaned back in his chair. For the first time in a long time I saw a small spark of pride in his expression. "Tomorrow morning. We meet at eight. Marco will have all the files ready. Rest tonight. You look like hell."

"I feel like hell," I said honestly.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Good. Means you are still alive."

I stood up careful, my side pulling tight. Before I left the study I turned back to him. "Thank you for sending the men today. For the papers. For everything."

He waved it off but his voice softened. "You are my daughter. Go sleep, Elise. Tomorrow you start taking back what is yours."

I walked upstairs to my old room. The bed felt too big and the silence felt too loud, but I lay down anyway. My hand pressed against the bandage on my side. The pain was still there, sharp and real. So was the anger. And underneath it, something else. Something that felt a lot like power waking up after seven years of sleep.

I closed my eyes and let the quiet of the estate settle over me. Adrian Reeds had no idea what he had just lost. But he would learn soon enough.