Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Fifteen

Elara hesitated outside Alessandro's study door, the sharp curve of polished wood catching the afternoon sun. She could hear the low murmur of voices inside–her mother's soft cadence and Alessandro's deeper growl underneath it.

She inhaled.

Then knocked.

There was a pause before Isabella's voice floated through, calm and affectionate. "Come in, my darling girl."

Elara stepped inside to find Isabella perched on the arm of Alessandro's leather chair, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Alessandro sat rigid, arms crossed, jaw clenched in a way that meant he was already annoyed.

"How'd you know it was me, Mom?" Elara asked.

"You're the only one in this family that would knock." Isabella laughed as she walked over to Elara and gave her a tight, motherly hug.

"Ciao, papà," Elara said with a cheecky grin as she turned to Alessandro. "You look very handsome today."

Alessandro's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want?"

"I was invited to a sleepover. This Saturday with Anastasia Vasiliev and Olivia Cameron. At Anastasia's penthouse. There will be no boys. Just movies, facemasks, gossip. Normal things."

Isabella smiled instantly. "That sounds wonderful."

"No," Alessandro said almost instantly.

"Sandro," Isabella sighed.

"She just had a very traumatic experience with people she was taught to trust since she was a little girl, Isabella. Less than twenty-four hours ago. You want her out of this house again already?"

"I want her to feel like a normal fifteen-year-old girl," Isabella replied smoothly. "Besides, the Vasilievs' penthouse has more security than any  normal estate."

Alessandro snorted. "If she's not under my roof, she's a liability. Period."

Before Elara could argue, the door creaked open again and Salvatore strolled in, a protein shake in hand.

"Talking about Lara?" he asked casually. "She should go."

Alessandro's head whipped toward his eldest son. "Why?"

"Because she deserves one good night. She's been through enough."

As if summoned by the conversation, Raffaele appeared next, his button-up half untucked and a granola bar in his mouth. "Wait, is this about the sleepover?" he mumbled. "Yeah, she should go. The penthouse has retinal scanners."

Alessandro looked personally betrayed. "Retinal scanners? You trust machines more than me?"

Elias leaned into the room without fully stepping inside. "I think she should stay."

Salvatore rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

"I just think… maybe she needs rest. Not glitter and pillow fights."

"Oh, so now you care," Raffaele said, raising an eyebrow.

"Boys," Isabella warned.

Next came Matteo, who sauntered in while scrolling through something on his phone. "What's happening?"

"Elara wants to go to a sleepover, at the Vasiliev Penthouse." Alessandro said, voice tight.

"Oh, with Anastasia?" Matteo said, glancing up. "Yeah, she's fun. Let her go."

Alessandro looked like he was about to combust.

Luca pushed the door open further and walked in backwards, dragging in a chair. "Okay, this sounds important. Everyone's yelling. I brought snacks."

Dante followed him. "Are we voting on something?"

Nico was the last to arrive, a notebook under his arm. "Wait, wait, I'm here! Is this the family council?"

"It's not a council," Alessandro snapped. "It's my office."

"You let everyone else speak," Isabella said sweetly, patting his shoulder again. "Seems like a council to me."

"I vote yes," Salvatore said.

“Yes," Mateo agreed.

"No," Elias said, still leaning in the doorway.

"No," Alessandro growled.

"I vote yes," Raffaele said, flopping into an empty armchair.

"Neutral," Dante mumbled through a mouthful of chips.

"No, because I'm not invited," Nico added.

"Jealousy isn't a valid reason," Isabella scolded gently.

"I vote yes," Luca said. "She deserves it."

Alessandro rubbed his face with both hands. "This isn't a democracy."

"It is when the family gangs up on you." Isabella said, rising and walking toward Elara. "Darling, I'll call Anastasia's mother myself and confirm all the security protocols. You'll be safe. You could use the fun."

Elara smiled softly. "Thanks, Mom."

Alessandro grumbled something under his breath about face masks and assassins.

"Papà," Elara said gently, throwing an arm over Alessandro's shoulders. "I'll be safe. I promise."

Alessandro looked up at her, then at Isabella, then at the gathering of sons who were now sprawled around his study like a mafia-themed boy band. Finally, he grunted. "You may go. Only for one night. No funny business."

"None," Elara agreed quickly.

"And if anything, anything, feels off, you call one of us, preferably Salvatore if you can't reach me."

"I'll have my phone on me the whole time you're there."

"And no glitter near your eyes. I don't trust it."

Elara blinked. "Okay?"

Isabella leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Go on. Shoo. Start planning your outfit."

The brothers started to file out, grumbling about hug bribes and group chats.

As Elara reached the door, Alessandro called out quietly, "Lara."

She turned.

He didn't smile, but his voice softened just enough. "If anyone tries to mess with you again, don't be polite."

Elara nodded. "I won't be."

He gave a tight nod in return, and she slipped out, heart a little lighter.

---

The private jet touched down with a soft jolt, the tarmac of the secluded airfield shimmering with heat.

Thalia Drakos descended the steps without waiting for assistance, her heels sharp and sure against the metal. The sun glinted off the diamond clasp of her scarf as she adjusted her sunglasses with gloved fingers.

A long black car waited for her at the bottom. Her assistant, Petros, opened the door and murmured, "The girl is in Italy. We've confirmed her mother married into the Calviero family. The files were real."

Thalia didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she stepped into the backseat, set her handbag down, and pulled out a folder.

Inside is photos. Surveillance . School documents. Even a short video from the skating rink–Elara gliding across the ice, hair a pale flame, eyes stark in her delicate face.

She shut the folder sharply.

"Prepare the car to leave for Rome tomorrow," she said. "I want to see her. Not from a screen. Not in a file."

"Yes, Mrs. Drakos."

Thalia looked out the tinted window, her reflection barely visible.

The car began to move.

And far away, in Italy, the girl with her eyes was laughing in the sun with her friends, unaware that her world was about to shift again.