Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Twenty

Elara sat up, squinting suspiciously at everyone in her room. "Why?"

Salvatore shrugged, casual. "Thought you'd like it. You've been stuck with school drama, family chaos… I figured you'd want to do something that's actually yours. But not for training, just for fun. And maybe…" he paused, almost sheepish, "you can show us how it works."

"…You want to try figure skating?" Elara blinked.

"Obviously not in tights," Nico said quickly.

"I might," Luca said. "Depends on how dramatic they are."

Raffaele snorted. "You'd wear a tutu if it got you attention."

"False," Luca deadpanned. "I'd wear it if it was funny and dramatic."

Elara blinked when Salvatore set a thermos on her nightstand. Peppermint hot chocolate. Whipped cream. No marshmallows. Exactly how she liked it. She hadn't even said anything."Thanks," she mumbled.
Salvatore just nodded, like it was nothing. But he watched her for a moment longer before turning away.

Elara stared at them, her irritation melting. They'd all gathered like a pack of overgrown puppies. Loud, ridiculous, and weirdly sweet.

She flopped back against the pillows. "Fine. But someone better bring me a breakfast sandwich before I leave this bed."

"Done," Nico said. "But only if I get to be your skate partner."

"You can barely walk on normal ground."

"True. But imagine the drama when I fall."

Elara groaned. "You're all insane."

"We're Calvieros," Dante said smugly. "Same thing."

---

The ice was pristine. Sunlight spilled across the surface from high windows, painting silver trails through the air. Elara stepped onto the rink first, instantly graceful, her movements like water on crystal.

The boys stood on the edge like they were staring into the abyss.

"So… it's slippery," Nico said, moving one toe forward.

"It's ice, genius," Elias said. "It's supposed to be slippery."

"Elias," Salvatore warned, "do not try to slide into a triple spin."

"But I've been watching lots of videos and Elara–"

"No."

"You don't know what I'm capable of."

"Yes we do," Matteo called. "You fell off a beanbag last week."

Elara giggled as she skated backward toward them. "Come on, it's not that scary. I'll teach you."

Elias, the one with actual ice hockey experience, was already skating with smug confidence. "You amateurs are lucky to have me here," he said, spinning dramatically and nearly crashing into Matteo. "I'm an elite athlete. I was born for this."

"I feel like Bambi," Dante muttered, inching forward.

"Bambi had a heart heart," Luca replied. "Be the deer, brother."

Laughter echoed through the rink. Elias fell dramatically after one step and declared, "I died a noble death."

"Ten out of ten for commitment," Elara laughed, skating lazy circles around him. "Negative three for technique."

Raffaele skated with surprising grace – until he tried to copy a spin and nearly collided with Dante. "That's it," Dante snapped, "I'm reporting you to the Olympic Committee."

On the sidelines, Salvatore watched Elara in silence. Not judging. Not calculating. Just… watching her. And when she landed a crisp double loop with a soft glide, his brows lifted faintly – a spark of pride, like he was seeing her for the first time.

And Elara–smiling, laughing, chasing Elias with a snowball someone smuggled in from the freezer—realized that this was what family was supposed to feel like. Loud. Infuriating. Warm.

And hers.

---

Thalia's hands were steady. Her breath was not.

The folder sat unopened on her lap, slim and devastatingly ordinary – the kind of thing you might mistake for school records or medical notes. But Thalia knew better. It held more than facts. It held a future.

A truth.

The truth.

She smoothed her palm over the pale blue cover. Her nails were immaculate, as always, her ring glittering with quiet dignity. She had faced ministers, murders, traitors. She had stared down billionaires and gunmen alike. But this, this little folder, made her heart pound like she was twenty again and terrified of the world.

This was the moment of truth.

If she opened it, there was no going back. She would either be right and the girl with the kind eyes and white-blonde hair was her granddaughter, or she would be wrong, and this whole obsession would shatter into dust and delusion.

And if she was right…

Thalia swallowed hard.

Thalia had always believed in control. In poise. In timing. But now, her hands trembled as she peeled back the flap and took out the contents. A thin printout. A single sheet.

DNA match results.

Two names at the top.

Subject A: Elara [REDACTED]
Subject B: Leonidas Drakos
Result: 99.9987% match – Paternal Child

Thalia's vision blurred.

She blinked once, then again, as if the words would somehow rearrange themselves. But they didn't. They stayed solid. Stubborn. Real.

Real.

The girl was theirs.

Her granddaughter.

Leonidas's daughter.

Thalia let out a shaky breath, pressing the paper to her chest like it might stop her heart from beating straight through her ribs.

Elara was real. Not a guess. Not a maybe. Real flesh and blood. Drakos blood.

And Thalia had been right.

She shot to her feet and crossed the room, heels silent on the marble floor as she reached for her phone.

Not a second of hesitation.

She dialed her husband's number.

He answered on the second ring. "Kaliméra, agápi mou," Dionysios's warm voice hummed through the receiver. "I'm in a meeting with Leo. Is something the matter?"

Thalia stared at the window. Beyond it, the sun glinted off the sea. Beautiful. Calm. Deceptive.

"Where are you and Leonidas right now?"

There was a pause. "Thessaloniki. At the shipping compound."

"I need you both home."

"Thalia, darling, what–"

"There's something I have to tell you." Her voice was low. Weighted. Urgent.

"Thalia–"

"Come home," she said. "Right now."

Dionysios went quiet for a moment, then, "I'm on my way," he said.

Thalia ended the call.

Outside, the wind picked up. Something was changing.

And deep in her chest, a war began.