Smoke seized Isla's lungs like tar as she wheezed for breath, the charred earth under her quaking with the tremor of the detonations. Nearby, flames roared as the Caruso estate collapsed, one wing already a skeleton of charred stone and iron. Her ears echoed with an unnatural whine — gunfire, screams, thwack of the roofs crushing their rafters — and then —
"Isla!"
A voice rang out above the shouting. Familiar. Desperate.
Powerful hands clasped her from under the arms and pulled her away from the rubble that was keeping her legs pinned. There was a spasm of pain radiating up her side, but she bit it back as she blinked through the ash and the blinking embers.
"Dario?" she rasped.
His face was covered in blood, a deep scrape along his cheekbone and another wound on his shoulder soaking through his white shirt a bright red. But his eyes — keen, crystal — found hers.
"You're alive," he breathed, incredulous almost.
He dragged her upright despite blinding pain coursing through his own arm. Isla faltered, her knees giving way.
"They're all around," she said hoarsely. "I saw—Marco's dead. Papa—"
"No time," Dario snapped. "We have to move. Now."
But Isla's legs would not listen. Her eyes went wide as more masked men rushed through the flames, striking with deadly precision. They weren't any old attackers. They were too familiar with the estate. Too fast. Too coordinated.
And then she saw him.
Not a face—but a hand. One of the masked men turned to bark an order, and the cuff of his black jacket rose, revealing a flash of gold and emerald on his finger.
Her breath caught.
That ring.
It was old. Ornate. She'd heard it once—long before—when Matteo had played it for her in hiding. A Romano family heirloom, handed down through the generations, never worn by anyone who didn't have the Romano blood running through their veins.
The world spun sideways.
Her voice cracked. "No…"
"What?" Dario demanded.
"Yeah, that ring," she said, paralyzed. "Those are Matteo's family crest."
Dario followed her gaze. His expression hardened. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Her lips quivered, disbelief and betrayal slicing through her like shrapnel. "I know it. I'd never forget it."
The fires' heat could not touch the burn in her chest. Her vision became blurry — not from smoke this time — but tears. Had he known? Had he sent them?
Dario's jaw clenched. "Then there's no time left."
He grabbed her wrist. "We're getting out of here. Now."
They fled, tripping on fallen guards and toppled statues. The lovely rose garden path had turned into a waterlogged blood and ash battlefield. Shouts sounded behind them — orders being barked, heavy boots crashing in pursuit.
"They're rounding up the survivors," Dario whispered, eyes darting about the chaos. "They're trying to make sure that nobody gets away."
In a blur, a bullet whizzed past and pinged against the wall behind them. Isla flinched.
"Faster!" he barked, pulling her through the narrow hedge path toward a hidden escape tunnel behind the vineyard shed.
They crashed through the wooden door just before another volley of gunfire echoed behind them.
Inside was dark, dank and cold. Dario banged the door shut, throttled the latch. He was panting, blood still oozing from his shoulder.
"Keep going," he urged. "Through the tunnel. I'll seal the escape behind us."
But Isla stopped. "Matteo deceived me," she said, her voice flat. "He used me."
Dario turned, something unreadable about his eyes. "We don't know that for sure."
"I saw the ring," she shot back. "His family did this. Maybe even he did."
Bating back as her heart raced and her world tipped. "How could I have been so bloody stupid?"
Dario grabbed for her and wrapped her arms in is vice-like grip. "This isn't the time. If we get caught, it won't matter why it happened."
A long silence hung between them.
And, Isla said, "Is my father …?
"I don't know," Dario said softly. "We got separated. I attempted to reach him, but — there were too many. I thought you were dead."
Hot tears streamed down her face, bitter. "Maybe I should be."
Dario's grip tightened. "Don't say that. You're the last Caruso now. That means something."
They pressed onwards, noting how the tunnel tapered to a taper until they finally burst out into a collapsing storage cellar long past the grounds of the estate. The air was clearer here, flavored with salt from the far-off ocean.
Dario pulled the rusted trapdoor shut and leaned back against the wall.
"We can't remain here more than 20 minutes," he said. "They'll be tracking survivors. Every camera, every informant —"
"I can't run," Isla said dazedly. "They'll find me. They'll kill me."
Dario looked at her, his urgency this time replaced with determination.
"No, they won't."
She looked up, confused.
"Because you're going to die tonight," he said gently.
Isla froze. "What?"
"Not for real." He fished a burner phone out of his jacket, blood-slick fingers dialing. "But the world has to believe you're dead. It is the only way to keep you safe."
"You want me to disappear?" she whispered.
"I want you to live," he retorted. "They're going to hunt down every Caruso. But if you die tonight — if there's a body, a fire, an "unidentified" corpse — we can convince them that you were lost with the others."
He stared her directly in the eyes.
"You disappear. Change everything. Name, face, everything. Until we find who did this and why, you stay dead."
Isla staggered back. "And what happens to you?"
"I'll ensure the fire expands. That your dying is credible, "You know how I work. I'll burn it all down if need be."
Her voice trembled. "You'll be caught."
"I'll survive. But if I don't—" He paused. "You make it count. You remember this. And one day, you'll get whoever did this to us."
He gave her a folded passport and one key. "There's a boat in the marina waiting for you. You sail to Naples, then travel by train. Or "A woman named Marta will help you disappear."
Isla held the things in her hands and stared at them.
"I don't know who I am without my family," she said, her voice a whisper.
Dario gave her a weak, pained smile. "Then find out. Start over. But always remember what was stolen from you."
Footsteps echoed above them. Voices — sharp, quick, close.
Dario moved toward the cellar stairs.
"I'll lead them off. Buy you time."
"No — Dario —" she started, but he was away, lost to the darkness.
Isla turned now, alone, toward this passage that would take her to the edge of all she'd ever known.
She paused, one final time, and turned back.
Then she heard the door above smash open — and the first gunshot fired.