Chapter 1: The Forgotten Heiress

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.

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