The Unshaken Throne

Vittoria

The words burned into the screen, dark and calculated, each one laced with venom.

The underworld is not yours, Vittoria. Your uncle, your father, they built it. You'll never sit upon that throne. We'll tear it from your fingers before you ever know power.

I let the glow fade into the blackness of the phone screen, lips curling up in the faintest smile. How many times had men written lines