The Wilson estate was restless that night. Men moved through the halls with rifles slung across their shoulders, their boots heavy on the marble floors. Every phone call, every knock at the door, carried tension.
In the study, Isabella stood over a map spread across the desk. Red pins marked Racci warehouses, safehouses, and money-laundering fronts. Her finger tapped one spot in particular the docks.
"They hit us in the open," Isabella said. "So we hit them where they think they're safe. No warning. No message. Just blood."
Marcus sat opposite her, rolling a cigar between his fingers but not lighting it. His face was hard, but there was a flicker of pride behind his eyes.
"You're learning," he said. "A man like Vittorio doesn't fear words. He fears seeing his empire burn while he's powerless to stop it."
Sebastian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his bandaged arm tucked close to his side. He didn't say much, but his eyes never left Isabella. When she glanced at him, he gave a short nod silent approval.
"Then we move tonight," she said.
The door opened, and two elders stepped inside Caruso and DeLuca, old men with expensive suits and sharper tongues. They had been at the earlier meeting, the ones who whispered that Isabella was too young, too reckless.
Caruso spoke first, voice dripping with disdain. "This is reckless. You bleed more men in the streets, and the city will turn on you."
DeLuca nodded. "Wars aren't won with theatrics, girl. They're won with patience. With negotiation."
Marcus straightened, his tone cold. "She's not a girl. She's the Black Rose. And she doesn't need permission from fossils who've forgotten what war smells like."
Caruso's face flushed, but he didn't retort.
Isabella's eyes stayed locked on the map. Her voice was steady, unshaken. "You think this is recklessness. It's not. It's control. Vittorio struck first. If I sit quiet, he wins. If I strike back, he bleeds. The city won't turn on me they'll remember I don't fold."
She looked up then, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "And if either of you doubts me again, I'll remind you why La Rosa Negra isn't just a name."
The room chilled. The elders left without another word.
Marcus smirked faintly. "You've got your father's mind and your mother's tongue. But sharper."
Hours later, three black SUVs rolled silently down the waterfront. The night was damp, fog curling off the water, the smell of salt and oil thick in the air.
Racci guards paced near the warehouses, rifles slung casually. They weren't expecting company.
From the lead SUV, Isabella watched them through tinted glass. Her pistol was in her hand, her sword sheathed across her back. Marcus was beside her, shotgun resting on his knee. Sebastian drove, his eyes steady on the road, jaw tight with focus.
"Quick and loud," Isabella said. "No survivors."
The SUVs stopped. Doors opened. Wilson soldiers spilled out, weapons raised.
The first shots cracked like thunder. Guards dropped before they could even shout. Chaos erupted the air filled with gunfire, shouts, and the metallic stench of blood.
Isabella moved through it like she was born for it. She shot a man between the eyes, then cut another across the stomach in the same fluid motion. The black steel of her blade glistened under the dock lights.
Marcus blew a hole through a Racci's chest, barking orders to the men. "Flank left! Keep the pressure!, go"
Sebastian was relentless. He moved like a shadow, every shot clean, every movement protecting Isabella's as she moved with ease. A bullet grazed his leg he didn't flinch. He just reloaded and kept firing.
Inside the warehouse, the real slaughter began. Crates splintered under gunfire. Men screamed as they fell. Blood pooled across the concrete floor.
Isabella walked straight through it, firing, slashing, never stopping. She wasn't reckless she was controlled. Every step, every strike, deliberate.
At one point, a Racci soldier dropped to his knees, hands raised. "Please don't"
Isabella's eyes didn't soften. One clean shot, and he was gone.
The Wilson men saw it. They didn't question it. If their boss showed mercy now, the Raccis would smell weakness.
Fire and Smoke
By the time the gunfire died, the warehouse was a ruin. Bodies littered the floor, the smell of gunpowder and blood thick in the air. Crates of weapons and cash burned in the flames.
Marcus stood over the wreckage, his shirt spattered with blood, smoke curling from his shotgun. He looked at Isabella, and for once, his expression wasn't skeptical it was proud.
"You just started a war," he said quietly.
Isabella wiped her blade on a dead man's coat. Her eyes were calm, unshaken. "No. Vittorio started it. I'm finishing it."
Sebastian limped in from outside, his face grim. "They'll retaliate. He won't take this lying down."
Isabella sheathed her sword, her voice steady. "Good. Then we'll see who bleeds faster."
The Black Rose stepped out into the night, the flames rising behind her, her men at her back. The docks belonged to the Wilsons now, but the city knew what that meant.
War was no longer coming.
War was here.
And they didn't wat to be part of it.
Back in the upper part of the city, people talked about the war that had begun between the Racci's and Wilsons. some supported the Racci's and Some the Wilsons. Some wasn't going to choose sides.
They didn't want any of that to come close to them.
Back at Alistair's house, Damian could be seen lounging on the sofa, eating grapes while scrolling through his phone. Allistair could be seen looking through documents. Suddenly Damian shot up and looked at him. "Don't you ever get tired of reading that, it's not like you'll die if you don't read for a day"
Alistair said nothing and just raised his brows. Damian taking the opportunity mentioned the war Between the Racci's and Wilsons.
Alistair replied coldly "I don't care what happens, as long as i'm not involved"
"I thought you liked Isabella" Damian said, furrowing his brows Alistair said "Just because i admire her talent doesn't mean i like her"
Damian laughed and asked casually "who do you think would fall first"
"I don't know and i don't care"
But very soon he would care, because deep down he was worried about her.