The edges of the photo quivered between Mariluna's fingers.
That little girl, those were her eyes. Her smile. The faint dimple etched just beneath her left cheek. And standing beside her, taller, broader, undeniably him, was Lorenzo Rossi.
Younger. His face still soft, not yet shaped by time or the weight of cold decisions. But his eyes… those hadn't changed. Still distant. Still unreadable.
Her voice broke the silence, thin and disbelieving.
"This isn't real."
But it was. The evidence stared back at her.
Her father stood on the opposite side of the girl, his smile stretched into something unnatural, something forced. Now, it made her stomach twist. The three of them in the frame, two men on either side of a chil, she looked like the thread binding them. A delicate, unsuspecting bridge between two opposing forces.
And echoing in her head was the note she couldn't unsee:
"She was never yours to protect. She was always mine."
Her knees gave way beneath her. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the photo slipping from her hand and fluttering to the floor like a dead leaf.
Something inside her broke.
She got up. Fast. Her breath caught, pulse racing as she stormed out of the room. Each step pounded against the marble floor. The corridor felt different now, each shadow a secret, each corner watching her.
She found him in the study. Lorenzo stood by the fireplace, glass of whiskey in hand, his tie loosened. At ease. Too much at ease.
He turned when he sensed her, and for a second, there was something, surprise, maybe even softness. But the moment his eyes landed on the photo in her hand, it vanished.
"You knew," she said, voice low and sharp like a knife's edge. "You were there. In my life. Long before I even knew who you were."
He didn't answer.
"You lied. Again."
"I never lied," he said, quiet but firm.
"You stood beside me. As a child." Her voice cracked. "My father let you close. Why? Why were you even there? Why was I?"
Lorenzo set the glass down and faced her fully. The fire behind him cast long shadows across his face, flickering like truth about to be revealed.
"I wasn't just your father's associate," he said. "I was his rival. His enemy. And once… his equal."
Mariluna instinctively took a step back.
"No. That's not true. He never, he never mentioned you. Not once."
"Because he swore he wouldn't," Lorenzo replied.
She stopped breathing for a second.
He stepped forward. "Sebastian Valez lived a life carved from secrets. He was part of something once. A brotherhood not of blood, but of fire. And betrayal. He turned his back on that world, built a fortune off broken pacts and blood-soaked promises. When I confronted him about it… he didn't run."
Her throat tightened.
"He made me an offer," Lorenzo said. "Something I never asked for."
She could barely get the word out. "What?"
"You," he said, his eyes locked on hers. "He offered you."
Mariluna froze, her entire body stiff.
"He what?"
"I refused," Lorenzo said. His voice darkened. "You were a child. But he brought you anyway. Told me that if anything ever happened to him… I had to protect you. Because others would come. Eventually."
"And you agreed."
He didn't try to deny it.
"Not for him," he said softly. "For you."
Her hands trembled. Her chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
"All these years… I thought you were the one who bought me. Who controlled me. And now you're telling me you've been waiting for me?"
"Watching," he corrected gently. "Making sure your name never appeared on any list. Lists that would've gotten you killed."
Mariluna's voice shook with quiet fury. "You should've told me."
"If I had," he said, "you would've run."
And he was right. She might've.
Maybe she still should.
"So what now?" she whispered. "What am I to you? A prize? A possession?"
He reached her in a single step.
"No," he said, voice gravel-low. "You're the storm I never saw coming."
He touched her cheek, just lightly, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. His hand lingered there, warm, trembling.
"I've buried men for far less than what you make me feel," he said. His voice was raw.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Her heart was a battlefield of chaos. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hate him.
But all she could do was stand there, feeling his touch like it mattered. Like she wasn't just someone caught in a game she didn't understand.
Like she wasn't his.
But his equal.
And maybe that was even more dangerous.
Elsewhere…
At the edge of the city, deep in a warehouse pulsing with flickering monitors, someone else looked at the same photograph.
Veritas leaned back in his chair, gloved fingers drumming on the desk's edge.
"Phase one is complete," he said into his earpiece. "The girl knows."
On one monitor, Mariluna's face flickered. Her expression cracked and raw. Beautiful in her confusion.
"She'll either burn everything down…"
He smiled faintly.
"Or build something new. In my name."
That night, Mariluna couldn't sleep.
She sat near her window, wrapped in silence and memory. Something pulled at the edges of her mind.
The leather journal. The note. That photograph.
She slipped to the floor, pulled aside the rug, and pried up a floorboard.
Her breath caught.
Inside was a velvet pouch.
She opened it slowly.
A ring.
Black. Heavy. Its gold engravings shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
The Rossi family crest.
And beside it, her own.
Together.
Her father had planned something.
Long before she ever had a choice.
Not just a secret.
A legacy.
She hadn't just inherited a war.
She was born of it.
Of both sides.