His Lost Heiress Her Fatal Vendetta Chinese Drama

Alessia POV

The cold March wind howled against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti penthouse, but it was nothing compared to the ice running through my veins. I stared at my reflection in the antique silver-rimmed mirror. Just minutes ago, I had died a gruesome death. Now, I was breathing. I was back. Back to the exact morning my death warrant was signed.

"The Don wants you gone before breakfast."

Angelina’s shrill voice shattered the silence. The maid slammed a thick manila folder onto my white marble vanity. An expulsion agreement.

My loyal maid, Lucia, gasped, her face draining of color. Beside her, Silvana, my personal guard and a sworn Soldier of the family, instantly stepped in front of me, her hand hovering over the concealed holster beneath her blazer.

"Watch your tone, Angelina," Silvana warned, her voice a low, lethal growl.

Angelina sneered, emboldened by the secret backing of Dante’s adoptive mother and my treacherous half-sister, Bianca. "I take my orders from the Don. He doesn't want to see a woman of your dirty blood anymore. Sign it and get out."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry like the pathetic, heartbroken girl I was in my past life. I slowly stood up, my gaze locking onto Angelina’s. The sheer, murderous weight in my eyes made her falter. She took a step back, her arrogant facade cracking.

"Where is my husband?" I asked, my voice eerily calm.

"He... he is in his private office," she stammered, unable to withstand the pressure of a true Mafia Queen.

I picked up the papers—the very documents that had sealed my doom once before. I walked past her, heading for the door. Angelina, foolishly trying to regain her footing, stepped into my path in the dim, heavy-carpeted corridor.

"You can't just barge in there—"

I didn't even break my stride. "Silvana, teach her respect. Twenty times. Make sure she can't speak ill of her Queen again."

"With pleasure, *Signora*," Silvana replied.

Before Angelina could scream, Silvana grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her face into the gray marble wall. The maid dropped to her knees. Silvana’s leather-gloved hand struck Angelina’s cheek with a sickening crack. One. Two. Three.

As the brutal slaps echoed through the corridor, Silvana leaned in, her voice a deadly whisper meant only for the bleeding maid. "You dare disrespect the mother of the next Moretti heir? You're lucky she's merciful."