Page 104 of Brutal Heir

In this, at least, I could be honest. “No, dolcezza, you won’t.”

CHAPTER 28

SABRINA

I’d learned the hard way that there was no point in arguing further.

Once again, Sebastian Diamanti had gotten his way.

I leaned my chin on my hand and stared out the car window, taking in my first glimpses of Rome.

Rome seemed alive—every street and every corner strained under the weight of centuries.

The cobblestones shimmered faintly under the glow of streetlamps, as if the city itself still carried the whispers of a thousand confessions and ancient betrayals.

The car slid past the Trevi Fountain, its marble figures frozen mid-motion, their carved expressions illuminated by golden light. The fountain less like a place of innocent wishes and more like a shrine to despair.

As Sebastian’s motorcade snaked through the narrow streets, the city closed in, its ancient walls pressing against me, reminding me that this was Rome, a city that had conquered nations and consumed empires.

The ruins of the Forum flashed by in a blur of muted gray and ghostly white. Even in the darkening light, I could feel its power, a graveyard of ambition and betrayal.

I couldn’t help but think of the stories my mother had told me, warnings laced with bitterness.

Rome is a city of gods and monsters, she had said.

A city that would devour anyone who dared underestimate it.

A city she’d fled and sworn I would never see.

And yet, here I was.

Against every promise I had made to her, I was here, trapped in this maze of power and shadows.

Rome wasn’t just a city.

It was a predator, watching and waiting.

And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face it.

Sebastian broke the silence. “My home is on the right.”

The palazzo loomed ahead, its silhouette cutting sharply against the twilight sky.

My mouth opened as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to take in as much as I could.

It looked more like a medieval fortress than a home.

It took up an entire block, rising five imposing stories high. And not five charming stories of balconies and arched windows—five stories of solid stone with iron bars on the lower windows. In the shifting shadows, I could have sworn I saw men with assault rifles patrolling the roof.

The car stopped, and two men dressed in black suits stepped out of the arched doorway to open my car door. Massive iron doors guarded the entrance to the palazzo, each with a three-dimensional lion’s head knocker the size of a basketball.

Sebastian placed his hand at my lower back, and I instinctively huddled closer to him.

Inside, a flight of white marble steps rose before us, wide enough to accommodate twenty people standing side by side. On each step stood a uniformed staff member, silently bowing their heads in greeting to Sebastian.

At the top of the stairs, he led me into an elegant hall.

He looked down at me with a smile. “This is the sala dei mappamondi, my favorite of all the halls.”