The chapel was hidden deep within the olive hills of Calabria, veiled by trees older than memory and guarded by silence. It had once been a convent—until the war turned prayers into ashes. Now, it served a different purpose: a place to hide secrets too dangerous for the city's stone and smoke.
Casey sat on the edge of a rusted pew, her fingers brushing over the coin Ivan had given her. It hung on a thin chain now, tucked beneath her sweater like a fragile promise.
Mirella paced the dusty aisles, arms crossed. "Two days. Two whole days and not a word from Ivan."
"He said he'd call," Casey replied quietly.
Mirella scoffed. "He also said he'd keep you safe in the city. Look how that turned out."
Casey smiled faintly, more out of exhaustion than humor. "Do you always complain this much, or is it a special gift?"
Mirella stopped. "Only when the woman I'm protecting keeps staring out windows like she's waiting for a ghost."
"Maybe I am."
They both turned when the chapel door creaked open. A man stepped through—no gun, no threat in his posture. But there was something sharper in his presence than steel. Something too still.
He was tall, draped in a charcoal trench coat, hair black as oil slick, and eyes that didn't blink enough.
Mirella's hand hovered over her holster.
The man raised his hands. "Relax. I'm not here to kill anyone. Yet."
"Comforting," Mirella muttered.
The man looked directly at Casey.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Casey frowned. "Should I?"
He smiled faintly. "We were children. Orphans. I taught you how to pickpocket. You taught me how to lie better."
Casey blinked slowly, then gasped. "Luca?"
He gave a soft bow. "In the flesh. Though not exactly the street rat you remember."
"No," Mirella said warily. "You look like you run your own cartel now."
"I freelance." Luca winked.
Casey stood, her heart pounding. "How did you find me?"
"You're not easy to track. But Silas made it easier. He's been hunting you like a wolf, and wolves leave footprints." He looked at Mirella. "I'm not here to hurt her. I'm here to offer her a deal."
Mirella rolled her eyes. "That's always a great opening line."
Casey's voice was cautious. "What kind of deal?"
Luca stepped closer, his tone lowering. "You want to disappear from Silas? I can make it happen. But you'll owe me."
Casey felt her chest tighten. "What do you want?"
"Nothing… now. Just a favor. For the future." His eyes glittered. "When I call, you answer."
Mirella stepped forward. "She's not making any shady deals while she's pregnant with a mafia heir."
But Casey shook her head. "What's the catch, Luca?"
He gave her a long, unreadable look. "You still think there are catches? No, Case. There are just choices. And you're running out of them."
Casey glanced at Mirella, then back at Luca.
"I'll think about it."
"You don't have long."
He turned and walked back out into the trees, vanishing into the silence like he'd never been there.
That night, as Mirella locked the chapel's doors, Casey sat alone by the altar, staring at the single flickering candle.
Everything inside her felt like broken glass.
Ivan was silent. Silas was circling like a shark. Luca was back from the dead. And her child—innocent, growing, real—was stuck in the middle of it all.
She touched her belly. "I'll protect you. Even if I have to burn the world down."
But even as she said it, she heard the voice in her head again.
"Debt doesn't vanish just because you're playing house."
And somewhere far away, Ivan Park stood in front of a bloodied wall, breathing hard, whispering her name like a warning—like a prayer he never wanted to say out loud.