The wheels touched down, and Isabella felt her chest tighten. She was home. The city skyline stretched across the horizon, familiar yet heavy with the weight of everything she had left behind. Her phone buzzed, and she saw the message:
"I'm outside."
When she stepped out of the terminal, one of her brothers was already waiting. Avila leaned against the black car, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on her.
"Isabella," he said as she approached. Relief flickered across his face, though it quickly hardened.
"What's going on?" she asked, throwing her bag in the back seat. "Why is everything such a mess? I know my leaving upset everyone, but you were supposed to protect Dad."
Avila exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Everyone chose their own way after you left. That's why this happened."
She paused, her heart aching at his words. "Then call all of them. Tell them to come back. We need to return to what we were."
Avila studied her for a moment, then nodded. "I'll try."
But Isabella's mind was already elsewhere. "Take me to Dad first."
⸻
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and faint despair. Isabella walked quickly down the sterile halls until she reached her father's room. He looked smaller somehow, weaker, but his eyes still carried the weight of command when they found hers.
"Isabella," he rasped, his voice rough but steady. "You came back."
"I did." She sat beside him, taking his hand gently. "Tell me everything."
Her father sighed, trying to sit straighter. "Things have fallen apart. People are circling like wolves. Once I'm discharged, I'll set everything right again."
"No, Father." Her voice was firm, cutting through his resolve. "You need to rest. I'm here now. I'll fix everything. I've already called for the others to return."
He shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure they will. After you left, they were heartbroken. They may not forgive so easily."
"They'll come," Isabella said, her tone unwavering. "Home needs them. They won't turn their backs."
Her father's eyes searched hers, filled with a mixture of doubt and pride. Finally, he whispered, "Then lead them well."
Before she left, she asked the question that had haunted her since Avila's message. "Was it Uncle behind the attack?"
Her father's expression darkened. "No. It wasn't him. I've gathered some information, but not much. They call him the Mask. No one knows who he is. He moves like a shadow, striking without warning. He isn't here just to kill us, Isabella. He wants something more—something bigger."
Her stomach tightened at the words. A masked enemy, faceless and unknown, was more dangerous than anything she had imagined.
She placed a hand gently on his arm. "Rest now. Leave this to me."
⸻
That night, Avila drove her toward the old warehouse. The city blurred past the car windows, neon lights casting fleeting colors across Isabella's face. She sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap, her thoughts heavy.
"Do you really think they'll come?" Avila asked, his voice breaking the quiet.
"They'll be there," Isabella said, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. "They have to be. If they remember what family means, they'll already be waiting."
Her mind slipped into the past, a flashback of the moment she had chosen to leave them behind. She remembered the looks on their faces—hurt, betrayed, broken. She hadn't explained everything then, only that she had to find her own way. And in doing so, she had abandoned them. That guilt had never left her.
But now, she thought, this was her chance to make it right.
⸻
The warehouse doors creaked as they swung open. The air smelled of oil, steel, and old dust. Shadows stretched across the concrete floor, but the low hum of voices told her she wasn't too late.
They were already there.
Seven figures stood scattered around a long metal table, their presence commanding, their gazes sharp as they turned toward her.
Avila shot her a small, almost triumphant smile. "Told you."
Isabella stepped forward, her boots echoing across the floor. Her heart pounded, but her face was calm.
"Dante," she greeted, her eyes locking with the eldest.
At thirty, Dante was all steel and strategy. His stare was sharp, his posture unyielding. "You finally came back," he said flatly. "Do you know what your absence cost us?"
"I do," Isabella replied without hesitation. "That's why I'm here."
Luca slammed his fist against the table. "You left us to fight like dogs while you disappeared! And now you think you can just walk back in?"
"Enough." Marco's cool voice cut through the tension. "If she came back, she has her reasons. Let her speak."
Giovanni, ever the diplomat, added, "She's still our sister. If she has answers, we should listen."
Rafael smirked from the corner, lounging casually but with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "She better have more than words. Talking won't win this war."
Fabio, fists clenched, finally burst out, "You don't get it! She is the answer. We were strongest when Isabella led us."
Avila stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "She's here now. That's what matters."
The warehouse grew quiet, every gaze fixed on her.
Isabella placed both hands on the table, her voice steady and commanding. "I know my leaving broke us. But the time for blame is over. Father is weak. Our empire is cracking. And there's someone out there—a shadow in a mask—who isn't just trying to kill us. He wants everything."
Her words hung in the air like a blade.
Dante narrowed his eyes. "The Mask…"
"We don't know who he is," Isabella continued, her gaze sharp. "But I know this: if we stay divided, we're finished. If we stand together, no one can break us. The choice is yours."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the lights overhead. Then Dante stepped forward, his voice like steel. "If you're truly back, Isabella… prove it. Show us you can still lead."
Her gaze didn't falter. "I never stopped."
The brothers exchanged glances—skepticism, hope, defiance all flickering between them. But for the first time in a long while, they were all here, in the same room.
And Isabella knew: this was where the war began.