The downfall of the Rich Family was swifter and more thorough than anyone had imagined. When Alessandro Vitale's fury was fully ignited, it transformed into a storm that swept across the entire city, precisely eradicating the malignant tumor that had entrenched itself for years, along with all its roots. Overnight, a mafia empire that had once rivaled the Vitale Family turned to dust in history. Those traitors who had once pledged loyalty to Marco, as well as all opportunists who tried to profit from the chaos, met their deserved, cold fate before dawn arrived.

The rule of the Vitale Family, after experiencing this bloody baptism, became unprecedentedly stable. Alessandro declared to everyone in the most direct way: he was the sole monarch of this kingdom, and anyone who dared to touch his reverse scale would be crushed.


However, at the center of this storm, in that estate once soaked in blood and gunpowder, everything was returning to order in a gentle yet resolute way. Isabella did not choose to leave. When Alessandro offered to send her to any safe, peaceful place in the world to start a new life, she simply shook her head quietly, then with her blood-stained hand, gently caressed the wound on his face.

She said: "My world is right here."

She didn't break her promise. In the days that followed, she became the true mistress of the Vitale Manor. She was no longer the delicate guest who needed to be protected in an ivory tower, but a commander who personally supervised every repair work. She would wear a simple white shirt and jeans, roll up her sleeves, and calmly and clearly give instructions to the workers amidst the ruins of the building. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. She knew which marble floor tile needed to be custom-ordered from Florence, which tapestry damaged by the flames of war needed to be sent to Paris to find the best restorer.


Those guards and servants who once only cast curious or contemptuous glances at her behind her back now look at her with genuine awe and admiration in their eyes. They witnessed firsthand how, when Alessandro was busy handling the family's external affairs, it was this seemingly fragile woman who, with astonishing efficiency and determination, restored this nearly ruined estate to its former glory and vitality day by day.

The first thing she did was to visit Luca in the hospital during his recovery. That loyal man had nearly died, and though his life was saved, one of his legs was left with permanent damage. When Isabella walked into the hospital room carrying a bouquet of white lilies, Luca struggled to sit up.


"No need, Luca." Isabella quickly stepped forward, gently pressed down on his shoulder, placed the flowers on the bedside table, and then pulled up a chair to sit down. "You should rest properly."

"Miss Isabella..." Luca's voice was still somewhat weak, he looked at her, his eyes filled with complex emotions. There was gratitude, guilt, but more than anything, a new kind of appraisal. He saw the resilience that had settled in her features after her youthful naivety had faded.

"Just call me Isabella." She smiled, personally pouring a glass of water for him, "I came to say thank you. For Alessandro, and for me."

"It was my duty, Miss." Luca said softly, avoiding her gaze, "But I... I couldn't protect you properly."

"No, you did protect me." Isabella's tone was utterly sincere, "You bought me the most precious time. And, Luca," she raised her head, looking directly into his eyes, "I am no longer someone who needs constant protection. Now, it's time for us together to protect this family."

At that moment, Luca saw in her eyes the same kingly radiance that belonged to Alessandro. He was silent for a moment, then solemnly nodded.

"As you command, Madam."

From that day on, the title "Madame Vitale" was accepted without objection by everyone within the entire family.

Several months later, when the autumn sunlight bathed the entire city in a warm golden hue, everything had returned to tranquility. Isabella's antique bookstore reopened.

The store's decor remained the same as before, with the air still permeated by the mixed fragrance of old book pages and dried flowers and herbs. But some things had changed forever. She was no longer that lonely administrator who would feel uncomfortable because of a disrespectful glance from a customer. She still wore comfortable cashmere sweaters, sitting quietly behind the counter with a collection of Yeats' poems in her hands, but her very presence radiated a powerful aura that discouraged anyone from acting improperly.

Occasionally, some uninformed rich young men would be attracted by the style of this small shop and the beauty of its female owner, attempting to approach her. But often, before they could even speak, they would be intimidated by the black car seemingly casually parked at the corner, from whose windows sharp eyes always watched. More frequently, prominent figures of the city would enter the bookstore with utmost respect, not to buy books, but to pay their respects to "Madame Vitale" and offer rare, anonymous antiques as "small gifts."

They all understood that this small bookstore was the core of the entire underground kingdom. And this quiet woman reading books was both the king's weakness and his armor. Touching her would have consequences far more serious than directly declaring war against Alessandro Vitale.

That evening, Isabella sent off the last customer and hung the "Closed" sign at the door. She didn't leave immediately, but instead stood quietly for a moment under the warm light, her gaze sweeping across the rows of neatly arranged bookshelves. This place had once been her sanctuary from reality; now, it had become part of her strength. She no longer feared mediocrity, for she possessed the most intense passion; she no longer doubted herself, for she was revered like a deity by the most powerful man in the world.

She locked the store and got into the Maserati waiting at the entrance. Alessandro wasn't sitting in the back seat; instead, he personally opened the passenger door for her. He was dressed particularly formally today, in a custom-tailored dark gray suit that outlined his broad shoulders and upright posture. There were no longer any visible scars on him, but in those deep eyes settled a love more intense than ever before.

"Going home?" he asked with a smile, his voice deep and gentle.

"Home." Isabella smiled back, taking his outstretched hand.

Back at the mansion, they shared a quiet dinner like an ordinary couple. No luxurious dishes, just a few homemade favorites they both enjoyed. After the meal, Alessandro wanted to hold her and go to the terrace to watch the stars as usual.

But tonight, Isabella gently pushed away from his embrace.

"Darling," she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and tenderness he had never seen before, "tonight, I want to go somewhere."

Alessandro didn't ask where. He just gazed at her deeply, then nodded, his eyes showing unconditional indulgence.

She held his hand, leading him through the long corridor, down the winding staircase, and finally, stopped in front of that deep red door.

That game room.

Alessandro's heart skipped a beat. Since that bloody battle, they had never set foot in this place again. This had once been his sanctuary where he maintained order and unleashed darkness, but after that catastrophe, he feared everything here would evoke painful memories for her.

Isabella, however, seemed to see through his thoughts. She turned around and gently smoothed his slightly furrowed brow with her finger.

"It's alright," she said, "it's all in the past."

She pushed open the door and walked in first.

The room was spotless, with the familiar scent of leather and premium fragrance permeating the air. But something seemed different—there was less of the cold, oppressive atmosphere, replaced by a hint of warmth filled with anticipation and expectation.

Alessandro didn't move, just leaned against the doorframe, watching her. He saw her look around like a queen surveying her domain. Her gaze swept over the cold, metallic tools on the wall without the slightest trace of fear, but rather with curiosity and appreciation.

Then, she saw the massive black leather chair in the center of the room, throne-like in its presence. She turned her head and gave Alessandro a playful smile.

"Go sit there and wait for me."

A flash of surprise crossed Alessandro's eyes, but immediately, a deeper, more ardent emotion welled up. Obediently, even with a hint of anticipation, he walked over and sat down in that chair that symbolized his absolute authority.

Isabella took a deep breath, as if making an important decision. She slowly walked toward the wall hung with various tools. Her fingertips lightly traced over the cold metal shackles, over the coarse hemp rope, over those intimidating leather paddles and whips.

Finally, her fingers stopped on a soft, smooth black silk tie.

She took it down.

She turned around, holding the silk tie in her hand, and walked step by step toward Alessandro who was sitting on the throne. Her gait was elegant and determined, the sound of her high heels striking the floor, in the silent room, was like the drumbeat of some ritual, beating upon his heart.

She walked up to him without stopping. She directly straddled his legs, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her body completely against his burning chest. She could feel his breathing instantly becoming heavier, and the beast within him immediately awakening.

"Alessandro..." She leaned close to his ear, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear. Her breath was warm and sweet, like the finest wine, intoxicating him.

"Hmm?" His voice had already become hoarse, filled with the texture of desire. His large hands caressed her back, feeling the trembling of every inch of her skin through the thin fabric of her clothes.

"Tonight," she lifted her head, those beautiful brown eyes gleaming like burning stars in the dim light. Her gaze was incredibly firm, yet filled with a tenderness and love that could melt everything, "I set the rules, my king."

These words struck like lightning, breaking the final shackle deep within Alessandro's soul. He looked at her, at this woman he loved to his very core, at the confidence, strength, and love radiating in her eyes. He had always thought what he needed was submission and control, until this moment when he suddenly realized that what he truly desired was a queen who could stand beside him as an equal, or even take the reins.

An unprecedented, almost tear-inducing ecstasy overwhelmed him. It wasn't the pleasure of conquest, but the happiness of being conquered, of complete devotion. A brilliant light welled up in his eyes, showing absolute adoration, unconditional indulgence, and willing submission.

He smiled. A genuine smile so radiant it could make the entire world pale in comparison.

Then, he made a gesture that Isabella never expected.

Slowly, he rose from that throne symbolizing supreme power, held her waist to steady her. Then, under her gaze, this dark lord who made the entire city tremble, slowly and solemnly knelt on one knee before her.

He raised his head, gazing at her devoutly with his flame-burning eyes, like the most loyal knight gazing at his deity. He took her hand and placed a hot, respectful kiss on the back of her hand.

"As you command," he looked up, his voice deep and hoarse, yet carrying the power of a sacred oath, "my Queen."