Smoke hung still over the ashen carcass of the Caruso estate, billowing in sickly gray whorls, like the last breath of a dying god. Matteo lurked just beyond the police perimeter, his jaw tight, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, the sun rising over a ground of the rubble that was a legacy.
The landscape was painted in chaos with flashing red and blue lights. Firefighters had drenched the smoldering stubs of the east wing, but it was the forensics tent that caught Matteo's eye. A gurney was being rolled out — shoeless, charred, unidentifiable.
"Unidentified female victim recovered," one of the officers replied. "No dental records yet. A ring on her finger indicates that she may be the Caruso girl."
The words hit like a hammer to the chest. Matteo's breath hitched.
"Fingerprints?" he asked, his voice gravel.
"None. Burned clean. However, the ring is the same as the one she was pictured in at the engagement party. Emerald cut, platinum band. One-of-a-kind."
Mateo turned his back so the hollowness wouldn't show. His hands shook inside his jacket. His lungs wouldn't fully expand. As if the fire hadn't simply destroyed the estate — it had hollowed him out.
"You sure it's her?" he asked quietly.
The officer hesitated. "It fits. Dario Caruso's missing. Her father's confirmed dead. That ring … it's enough for the papers, if not the morgue."
Matteo nodded briefly and moved toward his car. The door clanged closed behind him with a telltale finality, the stillness within stark against the din just beyond it.
He pulled out his phone. No new messages. No calls. Like she had fallen off the face of the earth.'
And maybe she had.
He sat there staring at the screen, praying for her name to show up. Isla. Tell me you ran. Tell me you're safe.
But there was nothing.
Only silence.
Then the first alert came through.
Breaking: ISLA CARUSO Presumed Dead After Mafia Bloodbath
The headline was all over the place. Matteo reread it over and over, the words swimming as the screen rattled in his hand.
He turned off the phone.
Outside, the wind seized ash and petals equally. Where the rose garden had been — just the burnt black stumps now. And where they had once kissed beneath the moonlight stood a grave.
What if I was wrong? The idea crept into his mind like poison. What if it wasn't just their Romani traitor amongst their ranks? What if the betrayal was deeper…?
And what if... they were betrayed?
A knock on the window startled him. His cousin and second-in-command Alessandro knelt by him, concern spreading across his features.
"You need to go home," Alessandro said. "You look like hell."
Matteo opened the door, emerged. "She's gone."
Alessandro paused, searching her face. "You don't know that for sure."
"I do." Matteo's voice was low and ragged. "I would feel it if she was alive."
"You sure about that?"
He hesitated.
Then—"No."
Alessandro nodded slowly. "There's a sighting of a smuggler's boat down the southern Corsican track. Last night we left Naples before the harbor lockdown. Solo passenger."
Matteo's gaze snapped to him. "Details?"
"Nothing solid. Only that a woman had been on board. Didn't speak. Hooded. Didn't give a name. The captain said she was mute from trauma."
Matteo stepped closer. "You think it was her?"
"I don't know. But it came at the right time. Whoever she was, she made her payment in Caruso bearer bonds."
Matteo's blood ran cold.
There were only four people who knew about those bonds. Isla. Dario. Her father. Me.
"You get me that captain," he said.
"We're trying. But Corsican ports don't speak lightly. The man's vanished."
Matteo's throat was dry. "Then find him. "I don't care if you have to drag every harbor rat in the Mediterranean out."
Alessandro looked hesitant. "Matteo… if she's alive… do you really think she wants to be found?"
The question hit me like a knife. Matteo looked away.
He didn't answer.
Out on the sea far away, a small fishing boat cut through gray waves.
Isla crouched toward the front of the boat, covered in a frayed blanket. But the smuggler had provided her with dry things — baggy jeans, a much too large sweater, a scarf to conceal her face from prying eyes. Her ring was gone. Her hair, which had been neatly teased and curled, hung in a tangle of waves down her back. She hadn't said a word since she stepped on the boat.
Jacques, the Corsican captain, looked back at her from the helm. "You got a name?"
No reply.
"You're safe now, girl. I don't ask questions. But I have smuggled people before. You're much more the ghost than most."
Still nothing.
He sighed. "We'll arrive in Bonifacio before nightfall. Someone will meet you there. Friend of Dario's. You're lucky that guy's got long arms."
The mention of Dario's name made her flinch. Lucky. The vocabulary had a hollow reverberation in her head.
Jacques increased the volume on the radio. It was an Italian broadcast, crackling through the waves.
"…Heiress Isla Caruso… identified among casualties in last night's coordinated attack… a ring matching her engagement band recovered from an unidentified corpse… fiancé Matteo Romano spotted leaving the estate in tears. Authorities confirm—"
Isla squeezed her eyes shut.
She wanted to scream. To rage. To make the world know she was alive, that she'd seen one of those who'd killed her family wearing a Romano ring. That Matteo had lied. That he'd known.
But she said nothing.
She was dead now.
Isla Caruso had burned there with her family. All that was left was dust and quiet.
And revenge.
Back in Rome, Matteo sat, alone, in the crypt under the old Romano chapel, where generations of his blood lay buried. A solitary candle flickered next to him.
He set the emerald ring — her ring — onto the altar stone.
"I should have protected you," he whispered.
The door creaked behind him.
Alessandro walked in, with a burner phone. "You need to hear this."
Matteo looked up.
"We intercepted a call on the Corsican line. "From someone using Dario's code signature."
Matteo froze, heart racing.
Alessandro hit play.
A woman's voice. Tired. Hollow.
"I'm dead. Let me stay that way."
And then—click. Silence.
Matteo's fists curled at his sides.
"She's alive."
Alessandro nodded. "What now?"
Matteo gazed down at the ring on the altar. "Now… we see who turned her against me."