Betrayed. Murdered. Reborn.

Isabella De Luca had everything—wealth, power, and a future as the heiress to Italy’s most formidable business empire. She was beloved by those who served her and feared by those who opposed her. But beneath the lavish facade of the De Luca dynasty, treachery festered.

Her own sister, Bianca, driven by jealousy and greed, orchestrated her downfall. With a poisoned glass of wine and a whispered lie, Isabella’s life ended in agony. As darkness closed in, she swore a final oath—to return and make them pay.

Fate was listening.

Reborn into the slums of Naples as Alessia Moretti, she grew up in hardship, her past life buried beneath the struggle for survival. The girl who once wore silk and diamonds now knew hunger and desperation. But destiny is not so easily erased. Fragments of memories plagued her dreams—whispers of betrayal, flashes of a life stolen from her. As the pieces fell into place, so did her fury. She was Isabella De Luca. She had been murdered. And she would have her revenge.

But vengeance is not for the weak.

To take back what was hers, Alessia needed power, and power came with a price. That price had a name—Dante Valenti. Feared across Italy, he was a man whose name sent shivers through the underworld. Ruthless, calculating, and as deadly as he was alluring, Dante recognized the storm in her eyes and the hunger in her heart. He offered her an alliance—his resources, his influence, his army. In return, she would be his weapon, a queen forged in the fire of vengeance.

Together, they carved a path of destruction through the De Luca empire. No betrayal was left unpunished, and no enemy was left standing. Bianca, once so certain of her throne, began to feel the walls closing in. The same poison she had poured into Isabella’s goblet now seeped into her empire, piece by piece until all that remained was fear.

But amidst bloodshed and war, something unexpected took root.

Alessia and Dante were bound by more than vengeance. The passion ignited between them, fierce and undeniable. He was the darkness to her fire, the blade to her fury. She had sworn to reclaim what was stolen, yet found herself facing a new battle—one of the heart. Love was never part of the plan, but neither could resist the pull between them.

With every enemy that fell, Alessia reclaimed a piece of herself. No longer just a girl with a vendetta, she became something more—unstoppable, untouchable, the ruler of her destiny. The De Luca empire would bow before her, or it would burn.

But revenge is never without cost.

As the final battle loomed, Alessia stood at the precipice of everything she had fought for. Bianca, the sister who had stolen her life, awaited her reckoning. Would she take back her throne, or had she become something else entirely?

One thing was certain—she was no longer the girl they had killed.

She was fire. She was fury. She was reborn.

And this time, no one would take her destiny from her.

The narrow streets of Naples reeked of desperation and survival. Alessia Moretti wiped the sweat from her brow as she balanced a tray in one hand and shoved open the café’s rusted door with the other. The shift had been long, the customers rude, and the pay barely enough to buy bread.

She had never known luxury. Raised in an orphanage with no knowledge of where she came from, she had learned to fight for everything. Yet, strange dreams haunted her—images of grand halls, silk dresses, and a sister with a smile sharper than a dagger.

But dreams were just dreams. Or so she thought.

Everything changed the day she met him.

Dante Valenti.

A name that made men tremble and women swoon. He was ruthless, powerful, and had eyes that saw through her like glass. When he walked into the café, the air itself thickened. He was the kind of man who never entered a place like this unless he had a reason.

And his reason was her.

"Alessia Moretti," he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "You are not who you think you are."

She froze, her pulse hammering in her throat. The tray in her hands trembled as she turned to face him fully. He was dressed in an impeccable black suit, the fabric stretching over broad shoulders. Every inch of him screamed control, wealth, danger. But it was his eyes that held her captive—piercing, calculating, a shade of deep stormy gray that sent a shiver down her spine.

"What do you mean?" she managed to ask, though her voice was barely a whisper.

A smirk ghosted over his lips, dark amusement flickering across his face. "You have the look of someone who doesn’t belong here. And that’s because you don’t."

Alessia took an unsteady step back. "I think you have me mistaken for someone else."

"No, Alessia." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter between them. "Or should I say, Isabella De Luca?"

The breath left her lungs in a violent rush. She felt the world tilt, felt the earth shift beneath her feet. That name—it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

He watched her reaction carefully, as though confirming something he already knew. "Ah," he murmured. "So you do remember."

Memories slammed into her all at once. The scent of jasmine on silk sheets. The sound of laughter echoing through marble halls. The betrayal in Bianca’s eyes as she poured the poisoned wine. The searing pain, the cold grip of death. And then—nothing.

Alessia stumbled back, gripping the edge of the counter. "No. That’s not… I don’t…"

Dante reached out, catching her wrist in a firm but gentle hold. "You were murdered, Isabella. Stolen from the life that was yours. But fate is not without a sense of irony—it gave you another chance. And now, it’s time to take back what was stolen."

Her vision blurred, emotions warring within her—fear, disbelief, fury. But beneath it all, something ancient stirred. Something relentless. Something hungry.

Revenge.

She looked up at Dante, at the man who held her fate in his hands, and felt the first spark of power ignite within her.

"Tell me everything," she whispered.

And just like that, her past came rushing back to claim her future.

The moment his words left his lips, something inside her shattered.

Visions flooded her mind—painful, vivid, real. She was not Alessia Moretti. She was Isabella De Luca, the rightful heir to the De Luca empire.

And she had been murdered.

It had been a lavish evening, a grand ball in honor of her twenty-first birthday. The chandeliers dripped with crystals, casting a golden glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The scent of roses and champagne filled the air as the orchestra played a waltz, the melody a haunting lullaby of a night destined for betrayal.

Her father had stood at the head of the grand hall, his voice filled with pride as he raised a toast. “To my daughter, Isabella, the future of the De Luca empire. May she lead with grace, strength, and wisdom.”

Glasses clinked, laughter rang out, and Isabella had smiled, basking in the warmth of the moment. But envy is a poison more lethal than any blade. And hidden behind the smiles and applause was a darkness she had failed to see.

Her sister, Liliana, had always been envious. It was in the way she glared when their father favored Isabella, the way her lips curled into something bitter when Isabella excelled. But she had never thought her capable of murder.

Until the wine turned to fire in her throat.

The moment she sipped from her crystal goblet, a searing pain ripped through her chest. Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, her vision blurring. She gasped, but no sound came. Around her, the world carried on—unaware that she was dying before their very eyes.

Liliana was the last thing she saw. Standing there, her lips parted in a mockery of concern, but her eyes—those cold, dark eyes—betrayed her.

The realization struck Isabella in her final moments: her sister had done this.

Then, the world went dark.

Alessia’s body trembled as the memories clawed their way to the surface. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart hammering against her ribs. Dante watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing, something patient.

He had expected this reaction. Perhaps he had even anticipated the storm raging within her now.

“I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Dante leaned in, his presence a steady force against the chaos unraveling inside her. “Good.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Good?” Her voice was raw, laced with fury. “I was murdered. My own sister poisoned me. I lost everything—my family, my legacy, my life.”

Dante studied her, his expression as sharp as the knife strapped beneath his suit jacket. “And now, you have a chance to take it all back.”

A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something darker. The weight of injustice settled in her chest, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it, something began to burn.

Rage.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Liliana had stolen her throne. Stolen her future. And she had gotten away with it. Isabella had been erased from history, buried beneath the ashes of betrayal.

But not anymore.

Dante must have seen the shift in her eyes because his lips curled into something dangerous—something approving. “Revenge is a blade best wielded by those who have suffered,” he said. “You, Isabella, have suffered more than most.”

The name—her name—sent a fresh jolt through her. She was no longer Alessia Moretti, a nameless girl struggling to survive. She was Isabella De Luca.

And she was going to make them all pay.

Dante reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek black envelope. He slid it across the café’s worn counter, the contrast stark against the dull wood. “Inside, you’ll find everything you need—documents, names, places. Proof of what happened to you that night. Proof of what your sister has done since.”

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the envelope. Inside lay her past, her future, and her path to vengeance.

“You have a choice,” Dante said, his voice softer now. “You can walk away, forget everything, and live as Alessia Moretti. Or you can reclaim what was stolen.”

Isabella took a breath, steadying herself. There was no choice to be made. Her fate had been sealed the moment the poison touched her lips.

She met Dante’s gaze, steel in her voice. “Tell me what I need to do.”

His smirk deepened, a silent promise of destruction. “Good,” he said again. “Then let’s begin.”

And with that, Isabella De Luca stepped back into the world—not as a victim, but as a storm ready to tear down everything in her path.