Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Twenty-One

Max grunted in agreement without lifting his eyes from the coffee machine.

"The fashion model is Remi," Andre added, nudging the blonde. "And the scary one with opinions on everything is Zane."

Zane gave a little mock bow. "Charmed."

"And Thiago is around here somewhere," Elias added, dropping onto a stool next to Elara. "Probably pretending he's not eavesdropping."

"He's in the hallway," Max mumbled. "Said the estrogen levels in here are too high."

Anastasia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Tell him the testosterone in here isn't doing much better."

Just then, Thiago strolled in like he owned the floor – dark curls slicked back, sleeves rolled up, chewing gum like he had nothing better to do. "I came for the croissants."

"They're mine," Elias said automatically.

"You snooze, you lose." Thiago snagged one, winked at Elara, and bit into it with exaggerated glee.

"Why are you all here anyway?" Leo asked, sipping something from Elara's mug.

"Because," Anastasia said, dragging out the word, "we're going to the mall. There's a drop. I told you already. Vintage shoes. Possibly enchanted."

"You're not going anywhere without protection," Elias said flatly.

"Oh, please, you sound like my brothers," Anastasia groaned.

"Why not?" Elara asked, honestly curious.

Before Elias could answer, Zane leaned forward, arms crossed on the island. "Do you know how many people would love to take out a girl from one of the five families? Now multiply that by two. And now multiply that by the fact that you two are the daughters of Vasiliev and Calviero. Add the daughter of a powerful senetor to the mix. You are high-tier targets."

"I'm also a black belt," Olivia pointed out mildly.

"And I stabbed someone with a heel once," Anastasia added.

"Not helpful," Elias gritted.

"We'll come with," Thiago said with a shrug. "You're going anyway, right?"

Elara nodded hesitantly. "We can't not go. Anastasia already promised her soul."

"I did," she confirmed. "In writing."

Elias sighed, glancing at Nico, who had just wandered in with a sleepy expression. "You're coming too."

"I just woke up."

"Exactly," Elias said. "You're extra rested."

---

The black SUV pulled up in front of the high-end Galleria district just before noon, reflecting sunlight off its polished exterior like a warning. As the doors opened, the group poured out–equal parts fashion-forward and lethally alert.

Anastasia practically bounced out in a cropped denim jacket and platform boots, sunglasses already perched. "I can smell the vintage leather from here."

"You say that like it's a good thing," Zane muttered, adjusting his sleeves.

Olivia stepped out next, elegant as ever, checking her reflection in the window before slipping on her oversized sunglasses. Elara followed in a soft dove-gray sweater dress and ankle boots, a bit overwhelmed but amused by the energy around her.

"Alright," Elias said, stepping out last, his voice calm but carrying weight. "We stick together. No wandering off. This isn't your average Sunday shopping trip."

"It's not a mission either," Max mumbled, sipping from a thermos he had miraculously brought along.

Inside, the mall gleamed with polished marble floors, glass storefronts, and the scent of designer perfume. The boutique Anastasia had obsessed over was tucked in a quieter corner, nestled between a gelato cafe and a concept jewelry studio.

Remi whistled as they walked. "You guys realize we look like a teenage mafia, right?"

"We are a teenage mafia," Thiago said, hands in pockets, scanning casually.

"With excellent taste," Anastasia added.

They made stops at three shops before arriving at DeLuca Vintage. Elara admired a delicate leather bag while Olivia tried on a wide-brimmed hat. The boys hovered outside or loitered in corners like stylized shadows—never in the way, but always watching.

Remi offered commentary. "That hat makes you look like a mysterious heiress."

"That's exactly the vibe," Olivia said approvingly.

Zane pointed at a pair of knee-high boots. "Are those made of actual dragon hide?"

"They're just textured leather," Anastasia said. "But I'd kill for them."

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

It was so subtle, for a moment no one paid it attention. But then the boutique's front doors slammed shut. Loud. Final.

Four figures stormed inside—black jackets, balaclavas, and one shouted, "Nobody move!"

A woman screamed. Someone dropped their purse with a clatter. Elara barely had time to react before Thiago's arm shot out, pushing her gently but firmly behind him. The others moved like pieces on a chessboard, deliberate and practiced.

This wasn't panic.

It was response.

One of the robbers waved a weapon, probably a gun. "Empty your bags. Jewelry, phones, money. Now."

The lead gunman barked, "Anybody moves, and you die!"

He jabbed his weapon toward the boutique clerk. "You–take out your phone. Call the police. I want to talk to whoever's in charge."

No one spoke. The tension pulsed like static in the air.

The gunman's voice cut through the silence, cool and low.

"This is a hostage situation."