The study was too quiet after the elders left. Their voices still lingered, sneering in Isabella's head. Words like too young, reckless, not ready.
She sat back in her chair, tapping her finger against the armrest, jaw tight.
"They don't take me seriously," Isabella muttered finally. "To them I'm just my father's daughter sitting in his chair. They think La Rosa Negra is some story, something I didn't earn, I paid with blood."
Marcus leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his face calm but unreadable. He was forty, scarred by enough wars to know better than to flinch at insults.
"You want them to respect you? I've told you before Stop caring what they call you," Marcus said. "Respect comes when they're too scared to do anything else. Doubt is cheap. Blood isn't."
Isabella's lips pressed into a thin line.
Sebastian, who had been quiet near the door, finally spoke. "Then give them something to fear." His voice was sharp, almost too eager.
That made Isabella glance at him, her gaze cool. "Oh, I will." she smirked
The Ambush
By noon, the Wilson convoy was rolling down the industrial strip. Two SUVs, crates of guns in the back. Nothing flashy just what they needed to keep their men armed.
Marcus hated that Isabella insisted on riding in the lead SUV. He said so three times before they even started the engines. She ignored him each time.
Sebastian sat up front with her, eyes scanning the streets like he expected trouble. His hand never strayed far from his weapon.
The attack came fast.
A truck barreled out of a side street, slamming into the lead SUV so hard the frame screamed. Another car cut them off from behind. Then the bullets started shattering glass, punching through steel, forcing their men into cover.
"Down!" Sebastian barked, dragging Isabella low as rounds tore through the windshield.
But Isabella wasn't made for hiding. She shoved his arm off, kicked open the door, and stepped into the fight with a gun in one hand and her sword in the other.
The sun caught the edge of the blade, black steel etched with the rose insignia, dressed in black.
Her first shot took a man clean in the throat. A swing of her blade split another across the chest. She didn't hesitate. Didn't blink, Didn't flinch. Blood sprayed across her shirt, but she kept moving.
Sebastian cursed and followed, covering her side with steady fire. He was good, had great precision with his shots but his jaw was tight, almost clenched in frustration. Watching her fight like she didn't need him burned at him more than the graze of the bullet that tore his arm.
One of the attackers lunged at Isabella with a knife. She stepped aside, the movement sharp, clean, then cut him open from jaw to collarbone. He collapsed at her feet, choking on his own blood.
Marcus's voice thundered from the rear SUV. "Left side clear it!" His shotgun roared, blasting a man off his feet. He wasn't just her uncle in that moment; he was a warhound, eyes cold, body steady.
The street was chaos. Their men fell. But the Racci's bodies fell harder. Tires burned, smoke stung the air, and the ground turned slick with blood.
When it was over, only silence remained, broken by the groans of the dying, the scent of mettalic blood filled the air.
Aftermath
The survivors regrouped in a warehouse. The wounded sat against walls, patched up as best they could. Blood still dripped onto the concrete.
Isabella sat on a crate, blade across her lap, watching as Marcus dragged a captured Racci man into the center of the room. He tossed him to the floor like a sack of trash.
"Who gave the order?" Marcus demanded. His tone wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.
The man coughed, spitting blood. "I... I don't know"
Marcus didn't hesitate. He backhanded the man so hard his head snapped sideways. "Try again."
Isabella's gaze stayed fixed, calm in a way that was worse than rage.
The man's lip trembled. "It was.... It was Don Vittorio… it was Vittorio. He said… he said to bleed you in the open. Show everyone you're weak."
The warehouse fell silent.
Isabella rose from her crate, slow and deliberate. Her black boots clicked across the floor as she crouched in front of the man. She tilted her head, almost curious.
"You know what they call me?" she asked, her voice quiet.
The man's breath hitched. "L-La Rosa Negra."
Her eyes glinted. "Do you know why?"
He shook his head, panicked" I... I don't know".
"Because a rose is beautiful. Admired. But roses have thorns. And thorns draw blood, they kill anyone who tries to take them away."
Before he could speak again, her blade slid clean into his chest. His scream was cut short, replaced by a chocked sound as he chocked on his blood.
She pulled the blade free, wiped it on his shirt, and stood up.
The Black Rose
The room was still. Everyone stared, some with fear, some with awe.
Even Marcus, who had seen her grow from child to leader, looked at her differently in that moment. Like the girl was gone and only the Black Rose stood in her place.
Isabella's voice cut through the silence. "Don Vittorio thinks he can rattle me. He thinks I'll sit still. He's wrong."
Her gaze swept the room Marcus, Sebastian, the bloodied men who had followed her through fire and bullets.
"Tonight we remind the Racci's why the Wilson's aren't to be touched. Tonight, La Rosa Negra will make them bleed, we will remind them of who we are"
Sebastian stepped forward, his arm bleeding through the bandage but his voice steady. "Say the word. I'll go through anyone you point me at."
Marcus's lips twitched into something like a smile. "Now that's more like it."
Isabella looked down at the corpse cooling at her feet. Her eyes were cold, steady, unflinching.
"Then this war begins, and we will not be on the loosinfg side."