CHAPTER 68: THE HEIRESS CLAIM

The summons arrived on cream-colored paper sealed with blood-red wax, the kind of old-world gesture that sent a chill through Aria’s bones the moment she saw it. Luca set the envelope on the table between them like it was a live grenade. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the silence stretching taut across the dining room.

"Who sent it?" Aria asked finally, though she already suspected the answer.

"The Conti elders," Luca said, his voice measured but tense. "Your mother’s family. The old guard that’s been running the remnants of the syndicate since your grandfather died."

Aria’s heartbeat thudded painfully. "They know about me now."

"They always suspected," Luca corrected. "But Matteo’s been stirring waters that should have stayed still. Word’s spread about your bloodline, about who you are. And now they want to claim you."

Her gaze fell back to the letter, its elegant handwriting looping across the parchment. She read it once, twice, three times, but the message was the same:

Aria Valencia, rightful granddaughter of Don Giancarlo Conti you are summoned to the ancestral seat in Florence to accept your birthright and restore the bloodline. The future of the Conti name demands your answer.

There was no "if" in their words. No "should you choose." It was a summons cloaked as a choice and refusal would not be taken lightly.

Three days later, they arrived at the Conti villa, a sprawling estate of marble and stone perched above the Arno River, its grandeur as intimidating as it was breathtaking. Aria had never seen it before, but something about the place felt eerily familiar, like echoes of a life she was never meant to remember.

Luca walked beside her, hand firm on the small of her back. "Remember," he murmured as they climbed the steps. "They’ll try to manipulate you. They’ll speak of duty, of blood, of legacy. But you owe them nothing."

She nodded, but her heart was racing. Nothing wasn’t entirely true. Part of her did feel something, a pull deep in her chest, like the house itself was whispering, welcome home.

The doors opened before they could knock. A tall man with silver hair and a face carved by decades of power greeted them. His black suit was immaculate, his expression inscrutable.

"Aria," he said, his Italian accent rich and old-world. "I am Don Marcelo Conti Your mother was my niece. It is... strange, seeing her eyes again."

She swallowed. "Thank you for receiving me."

He smiled faintly. "We do not receive you. We call you. Because you are one of us."

They led her into a grand hall where portraits of past dons loomed over a long mahogany table. Men and women in expensive suits sat in solemn silence, their gazes sharp and assessing. It felt like walking into a tribunal and in a way, it was.

"Aria Valencia," Marcelo announced, his voice booming. "Daughter of Vanessa Conti Granddaughter of Giancarlo Conti Blood of our blood. You have been hidden from us too long. Today, we offer you what is yours by right, leadership of the Conti Syndicate."

The words hit her like a blow.

"Leadership?" she echoed. "I, I don’t even know your world."

"That is not your fault," said a woman to Marcelo’s right, severe, regal, her gray hair twisted into a crown-like bun. "It is the fault of those who kept you from us. But blood remembers. Blood calls."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

Another man leaned forward. "The Conti line has fractured since your grandfather’s death. Without a direct heir, the families grow restless. Rival clans circle like vultures. But you... you can unite them. Your bloodline commands loyalty. Your name can bring order."

Aria’s pulse quickened. "And if I refuse?"

A cold smile curved Marcelo’s lips. "Refusal is your right. But understand this: if you do not take your place, others will. Pretenders, opportunists, men with no claim. And they will use your existence against us or worse, against you."

It wasn’t just an offer. It was a threat wrapped in tradition.

That night, back in the suite they’d been given, Aria paced the length of the room, the words still echoing in her skull.

"Luca," she said finally, "what if they’re right? What if my bloodline isn’t something I can just ignore?"

He looked up from where he stood by the window, his face unreadable. "And what if stepping into their world paints a target on your back so large you never sleep safely again?"

"It already has," she whispered. "The moment they learned who I am."

"Then let me deal with them." His voice sharpened. "Let me make it clear they’ll answer to me if they try anything."

Her chest tightened. "This isn’t your fight alone."

He crossed the room in two strides and cupped her face in his hands. "It becomes my fight the moment it touches you."

She held his gaze, searching for the truth behind his steel-gray eyes. "You’re afraid I’ll choose them over you."

His jaw worked, but he didn’t deny it. "I’m afraid they’ll twist you into something you’re not. That they’ll turn the woman I love into a pawn for their games."

Aria’s heart ached at the rawness in his voice. "I’m not leaving you, Luca. Not for them. Not for anyone."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Then we’ll figure this out. Together."

The following day, the council reconvened but this time, they weren’t interested in discussion. They presented her with documents, ceremonial scripts, even a custom-made ring bearing the Conti crest. It was all so formal, so heavy with expectation.

"You would be the Donna," Don Marcelo said. "The first female head in our history. And with your union to Don Luciano DeLuca..." His eyes flicked to Luca, seated beside her. "...our empires would be unstoppable."

The room murmured in approval. Power. Alliance. Blood and steel.

But one man, young, sharp-eyed, and radiating barely concealed hostility spoke up. "Or she could refuse, and we remove the threat she poses before others decide to exploit her name."

The words sliced through the air. Luca was on his feet in an instant. "Say that again."

The man didn’t flinch. "I said, if she is not with us, she is a liability. A living claim others could rally behind. Better she vanish quietly now than fuel a war later."

"Over my dead body," Luca growled.

"And that," Marcelo said sharply, "is precisely what we wish to avoid. Enough." He turned to Aria. "You see now, child, what is at stake. Your existence is not a question. It is a fact. And facts cannot be erased. Only claimed or used against you."

The room fell silent. All eyes were on her.

Aria rose slowly, her hands trembling but her spine straight. "You speak of blood like it’s everything. But blood alone doesn’t make a leader."

A murmur rippled through the table, but she continued. "You want me to take a throne I never asked for, to rule people I’ve never met. But leadership isn’t about birthright. It’s about choice. And if I do this, if I become what you want, it will be because I choose it. Not because you summon me like a ghost of your past."

The silence deepened. Even Luca stared at her, pride flickering in his eyes.

Marcelo nodded slowly. "Spoken like a Donna."

"I haven’t said yes," she countered.

"No," he agreed. "But you will. Because you understand what refusal means."

They left the villa two days later with no decision made, only a deadline. Thirty days. That was how long the Conti would wait for her answer. After that, they would choose another heir or eliminate the problem altogether.

On the jet ride back to Naples, Aria stared out the window as the Tuscan hills vanished beneath the clouds. Her mind was a storm.

"What are you thinking?" Luca asked softly.

"That if I accept, I could unite two of the most powerful families in Europe." Her voice was distant. "But I could also paint the biggest target on my back the mafia world has ever seen."

"And if you refuse?"

"Then I live the rest of my life knowing I turned my back on something my mother’s blood built." She sighed. "There’s no safe choice, Luca. There never was."

He reached over and took her hand. "Then choose the one that feels right. Not the one that scares you least."

She looked at him, her chest tightening. "What if what feels right pulls me deeper into a world that destroys everything good in us?"

"Then I’ll follow you into the fire," he said simply. "Because there’s no world I want if you’re not in it."

The next week was chaos. Word of her possible claim spread like wildfire. Some factions pledged allegiance before she’d even decided. Others threatened violence if she accepted. Anonymous messages arrived at the DeLuca estate daily, warnings, offers, threats.

But one night, as Aria stood on the balcony watching the sea crash against the rocks below, something in her heart shifted.

This wasn’t just about her anymore. It wasn’t even about Luca. It was about the legacy her mother had died protecting, the name she had been forced to hide. If she didn’t claim it, someone else would someone without her mother’s fire or her father’s heart. And the world they built together would be twisted into something unrecognizable.

Luca found her there, lost in thought. "You’ve already decided, haven’t you?"

She turned to him, her eyes steady. "Not completely. But I think I know what I can’t do anymore."

"And what’s that?"

"Run."

Two nights later, she called Marcelo. Her voice was calm, steady, older somehow.

"I haven’t decided whether I’ll accept," she told him, "but I will come back to Florence. I want to see the people I’m meant to lead. I want to understand what this would mean."

Marcelo’s voice held the faintest hint of satisfaction. "Then you are already halfway there, Donna Aria."

When the call ended, Luca wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Whatever path you choose," he murmured against her hair, "we’ll walk it together."

Aria looked out at the night sky, her heartbeat steady for the first time in weeks. She still didn’t know what her decision would be. But she knew one thing: the little girl who had once believed she was powerless was gone.

She was Aria Valencia. Daughter of Vanessa Conti. Blood of two empires. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t just reacting to the chaos around her.

She was preparing to shape it.