Inheritance Redefined

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thiago gave a nod to his father, Henrique Moreira, who stepped forward with a subtle tight-lipped nod of approval. Then, he turned to Elara and gave her the smallest, rarest of smiles.

"You did good," Thiago said quietly.

"Thanks to you," Elara whispered back.

A few feet away, Anastasia launched herself into the arms of a tall man in a black coat – Sergei Vasiliev. He looked like he'd walked out of a war zone, all sharp cheekbones and haunted eyes.

But the moment his daughter touched him?

He melted.

"Moya radost," he breathed, clutching her like he might never let go. "Are you hurt?"

“I’m fine, Papa,” Anastasia said, her voice shaking for the first time. "It's over now."

Elara, standing nearby, hesitated.

Sergei noticed. He looked up  and offered a surprisingly warm, genuine nod.

"You're the Calviero girl my daughter won't stop speaking about," he said.

Elara nodded. "I'm Elara."

Sergei extended a hand, not like a don… but like a father. "Thank you for watching my daughter."

"She was the one watching me."

Sergei actually smiled. "Then perhaps you should both watch each other."

Mikhail and Nikolai Vasiliev joined Anastasia and their father a few moments later. Broad-shouldered, calculating eyes, but the way they softened when they saw Anastasia said everything.

Elara found herself suddenly in the center of a circle – brothers from every direction. Calvieros. Vasilievs. Thiago. Her, Anastasia and Olivia in the middle. The press couldn't get past the barricade.

---

The convoy of black vehicles idled by the barricades, polished and waiting like a royal fleet. The moment the chaos had cleared, Elara found herself gently herded toward one of them – her brothers flanking her, voices low and steady.

"Let’s get you home, sorellina," Salvatore said softly, rubbing circles on her back. "We've got you."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight for a week," Raffaele added.

Dante cracked a grin. "A week? Try a lifetime."

Nico opened the car door, and Elara turned once, only to spot Anastasia holding onto her father, her brothers gathered around her like shadows.

Alessandro stepped up beside them.

"You're all coming with us," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The Calviero estate is secure and quiet. You'll rest there."

Anastasia blinked and looked up at her father. "Papa–?"

Sergei smoothed a hand over her hair. "It's all right. Your brothers will be with you. You need time. I trust them." He glanced toward Elara and Olivia and added, "And I trust them."

Henrique Moreira appeared then, with Thiago beside him, calm as ever.

"I'm coming too," Thiago said simply, already climbing into the vehicle.

Henrique nodded. "My son stays with his own."

Alessandro addressed the whole group, "We'll join you later. Henrique, Sergei, and I have business to finish."

Elara nodded slowly. She already knew what "business" meant. She wasn't afraid of it.

Before they could leave, Elias spoke quietly, gesturing toward his group of friends standing near the edge of the lot.

They weren't from any of the five families, but they had helped. Without  obligation, they had shielded the girls.

Alessandro turned to them.

"You four," he said. "You're coming too."

Remi blinked. "Sir?"

"We'll call your parents. They can collect you at the estate. Until then, you rest. You've all earned it."

Remi nodded, stunned. "Thank you, Mr. Calviero."

Alessandro's eyes softened – but just for a moment. "Don't thank me. Thank her."

He nodded toward Elara.

She gave them a tired, grateful smile – and the boys straightened like they'd just been knighted.

The doors closed, the engines purred to life, and the Calviero fleet rolled into the night.

---

The car doors opened with a soft click. Boots stepped onto gravel. Suits brushed against wind.

Warehouse 17 stood silent and cold beneath the moonlight, all steel and shadows and memory. The outer walls bore the scars of age, but the inside had been modernized – reinforced, secured, watched.

Alessandro Calviero led the way.

Henrique Moreira followed, hands in his coat pockets, face unreadable.

Sergei Vasiliev came last, cigarette flickering like a single ember of hellfire.

They said nothing as they approached the reinforced door.

A guard stepped forward. "They're inside, sir. All of them. Separated. Just as you ordered."

Alessandro nodded once. "Good."

The three men paused at the threshold. They exchanged a look – not with words, but with the shared understanding of powerful men who'd waited long enough.

Henrique cracked his neck. Sergei exhaled a plume of smoke. Alessandro rolled his shoulders once.

The guard opened the door.

The corridor was long. Dimly lit. Silent, except for the faint buzz of overhead lights.

At the end, a steel table waited.

Laid across it was different tools.

A knife. A wire. A cloth. A bone saw. Nothing too fancy. Just practical.

Alessandro walked up first and reached for the knife.

He held it in one gloved hand, felt the weight.

His voice was soft.

"Let's begin with the one who scared my daughter into crying."

Henrique smiled an unsettling smile. "Let's."

Sergei cracked his knuckles. "I've cleared the next few hours off my schedule."

The door to the first cell opened with a slow creak.

The man inside screamed before they even stepped in.

Outside the room – the warehouse stood silent as the grave.

And inside, the heads went to work.