The night was quieter than it should have been. Rome slept beneath a thin veil of fog, its streets silvered by the moonlight, its heartbeat muffled beneath the distant hum of the city. Luca stood by the window of his father’s old study, the same room that had once smelled of cigars, oak, and power. Now it smelled of dust, burnt memories, and something darker—like smoke that never left.The desk still bore his father’s mark: neat, ordered, and precise. Papers stacked with military discipline, letters sealed with the Romano crest, and a silver lighter engraved with the initials V.R. But behind that order was chaos—a life built on silence, loyalty, and blood.Luca traced his fingers over a photograph left lying face-down. When he turned it over, he froze. His father stood beside Emilio Marcelli, smiling. Both men were younger, standing in front of what looked like the ruins of an old monastery. There was a mark carved into the stone behind them—a symbol he had seen only once before. A circ

The drive back from the monastery felt longer than it should have. The rain had started again, steady and cold, like the sky itself was washing away everything I thought I knew. My hands were tight on the steering wheel, my mind replaying Rian’s words until they echoed louder than the thunder outside.“Someone inside your house let him in.”That sentence wouldn’t leave me.I’d faced death, betrayal, and shadows that crawled through my veins—but nothing compared to that single possibility. That night my father died, the blood spilled wasn’t just because of enemies outside the gate… but because of someone inside.I pulled over near the cliffs outside Verona, the same place I used to go with my father when I was a boy. Back then, we’d come here to breathe, to look out at the city lights and imagine the world wasn’t as broken as it was. Now it just looked like ashes in the rain.I leaned against the car and tried to steady my thoughts. The curse pulsed faintly beneath my skin, restless, as if

The rain had softened to a drizzle, but the air still carried that electric charge—the kind that comes right before something terrible happens. Rian stood at the edge of the courtyard, the wind tugging at his coat, his silhouette framed by the broken arch where the old Romano crest still hung. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.For a long moment, neither of us moved.I could hear Valeria’s breath behind me, shallow and uneven. My pulse beat like thunder in my ears. The last time I had seen Rian, he had been nothing but a ghost in the shadows—a name my father used to whisper like a curse. Now he was real. Flesh, blood, and danger.I took a step forward, mud squelching under my boots. “You shouldn’t be here.”He chuckled quietly. “Neither should you. But here we are—back where it all ended.” His gaze drifted across the ruins, as if he were admiring the handiwork. “Leonardo always did know how to throw a grand party.”The mention of my father’s name made my fists tighten. “Don’t talk about him.

The rain fell over Rome like a confession. The city lights blurred through the downpour, turning the streets into rivers of gold and shadow. Luca stood before the old Romano mansion, his coat soaked, the weight of the ledger still heavy in his hand. Inside it were pages his father had hidden, names that had shaped the bloodlines of both loyalty and ruin. But it was the final entry that refused to leave his mind.Trust no brother. The curse feeds through betrayal.The words were written in Vittorio’s hand, uneven, almost desperate.A flash of lightning tore across the sky, and suddenly Luca was no longer standing in the rain. He was a boy again, ten years old, sitting on his father’s desk as the Don signed papers under the dim glow of the chandelier.“Why do you write so much, Father?” Luca had asked, swinging his legs.Don Vittorio looked up, smiling the way men rarely smiled in their world. “Because, my son, ink remembers what people choose to forget.”He tapped the page with his pen. “One

The night smelled of rain and old smoke. I stood on the balcony of the apartment, staring down at the city that never seemed to rest. Lights flickered below, people moved like restless ghosts, and in their noise, I could almost hear my father’s voice again—faint, buried beneath the weight of memory.It had been years since that fire. Years since I watched the only man who ever made me believe in strength turn to ash. But the past had a way of following me, of clawing at the edges of my mind like a shadow that refused to die. And tonight, it was back.The letter had arrived at dawn—no name, no signature, just a seal burned into the corner. The same symbol that had been carved into the door the night my father died. A serpent eating its tail. A mark of silence.My hands trembled as I unfolded the parchment again.“The fire wasn’t an accident. Seek the one who walks in firelight.”The words had haunted me all day. Every breath I took felt heavier. Every whisper of wind sounded like a warning.