A Violent Kind of Grace

My name is Elvira Rossi, daughter of Don Rossi, head of the Itavelle mafia family.

Three months ago, my father was killed. Our operations were stripped bare, nothing left.

The accounts were draining fast, and the family still had mouths to feed.

Then a DNA report surfaced out of nowhere.

According to it, I was the LaRosa family's long‑lost true heiress, missing for eighteen years.

Money, at last, had found its way to me.

For the sake of my people, I was willing to set aside my pride and play the part of a sheltered heiress.

The car sent to escort me back to the estate broke down halfway up the mountain?

I steadied it with one hand and carried it the rest of the way to the hilltop manor.

The fake heiress dissolved into tears, accusing me of pushing her?

I answered by striking the century-old tree in the courtyard, splitting it clean through.

She went silent immediately.

My fiancé sent bodyguards to "teach me self‑defense"?

My two friends politely introduced them to the concept of being permanently embedded in a wall.

As my so‑called "family" shook in fear, my knuckles cracked softly.

After all, before inheriting the mafia, I inherited my father's favorite rule:

"If violence can solve it, don't waste words."

My fist connected with a solid thud against my opponent's jaw, sending him crashing to the mat. The referee started the countdown, his voice echoing in the charged silence.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

I peeled off my gloves, feeling the sweat slide down my skin.

"Three, two, one–"

Victory was mine as the referee hoisted my arm high. The crowd went wild, chanting my name.

"Rossi! Rossi!"

Cash rained down into the cage, fluttering around me like a blizzard of green.

I stepped out of the ring and into the quiet of the locker room, the door muffling the roar of the fans. I splashed cold water on my face, staring at the woman in the mirror. Below my collarbone was the black ink of a rose wrapped in thorns, the Rossi family crest.

The door swung open, and Marco stepped in, his face serious. "The last payment's in," he said, nodding at the screen.

I glanced at the digits, then back at him.

"The warehouse rent's due next Friday," Marco added, his voice tense. "Old Nick's not messing around. He says if we don't pay, he'll be sending bullets instead of a reminder."

I pushed the phone away. "Understood."

Marco swallowed, clearly holding back more bad news.

"Out with it," I urged, toweling off.

He cleared his throat. "After Don Rossi was gone, the Cosa family took over the docks, and the casino operation was shut down last week after a raid."

I clenched my fist, feeling the metal handle of the wardrobe bend beneath my grip.

I was always the strong one, freakishly so. That was why my dad, the notorious Don Rossi of Newvale City's underworld, had picked me from the litter.

The door buzzed again, and in walked a slick guy in a suit, hair combed to perfection.

"Miss Elvira Rossi?" he inquired.

"That's me," I replied, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"I'm David Conti, attorney for the LaRosa family," he announced, pulling out a folder from his briefcase. "There's something you need to see."

The LaRosa family, high rollers of Newvale City.

He slid the folder across to me. "Please, have a look."

I flipped it open to find a DNA report staring back at me.

"What's this all about?"

"You are the long-lost daughter of Edward and Catherine LaRosa.

"Eighteen years back, Mrs. LaRosa had a brush with death while giving birth on a trip to Itavelle. The baby–well, that was you–vanished without a trace. Three months ago, we matched your DNA, and here we are."

I snapped the folder shut. "And your point is?"

David blinked, caught off guard. "It's time you reclaimed your place. The LaRosas have been searching for you."

I could not help but chuckle. "Reclaimed?" I echoed. "Look, I'm doing just fine. I'm not about to ditch my crew."

"You might not realize, but the LaRosa empire is worth a cool thirty billion."

The room fell silent.

Marco and I locked eyes, both of us catching a glint of something new.

David went on, "Mr. LaRosa says he'll cover all your expenses if you come home."

"Everything?"

"Every last cent." His smile was confident, his nod firm. "You'll be the LaRosa heiress, living large in the manor with drivers, maids, and jewels galore. And let's not forget, you'll have a shot at the inheritance."

"The sole heir?" I asked.

"Well, there are your sisters. Alice, the adopted one, is quite the favorite. And Victoria–she's young, a bit naive."

In other words, Alice was a contender.

I held off on answering, my mind drifting to darker times: the night my father died, his blood painting the concrete, and my brothers' eyes on me.

Marco knelt first.

"Boss."

The rest followed.

That was when I took the reins of the Rossi family.

It seemed I had more to think about for my people.

"Miss Elvira?"

"I'll return," I declared.

David let out a relieved exhale, waiting for my terms.

"However, I'm not going alone."

His eyes popped. "What?"

"My crew. They're coming into the LaRosa estate with me."

David's brow creased. "Mr. LaRosa won't agree to that..."

"Then we're done here." I cut him off, standing my ground. "I can make my own money, even if it takes longer."

David mopped his brow, the stress evident. "I need to check in."

He stepped out to make a call.

Marco sidled up, voice hushed. "Boss, are you sure about this?"

"I haven't fully stepped into my father's shoes yet. I need the cash."

My eyes tracked David at the door. "It's the quickest way."

The door swung open, and David re-entered. "Mr. LaRosa is on board, but you can only bring two."

"Alright." I rose to my feet. "When do we roll out?"

"Right now. The car's outside."

We left the underground fight club behind, a sleek black Bentley waiting curbside.