Ashes of Loyalty

Serena:

Exhaustion crashed into me like rolling waves as we trudged upstairs.

I peeled my clothes off, starting with my jacket at the door of my bedroom, after laying the file in the desk drawer.

S.A.V.R.E

I tried to put a meaning behind it as I peeled the sweaty, soot-soaked clothes from my hot skin, stepping into the shower.

"Secret Association of Villainous Rubber‑duck Enthusiasts."

"Spectral Alliance for Vengeful Rogue Exes."

"Society for the Advancement of Very Random Experiments."

Nothing made sense, not even as I spoke it into the vanilla-scented steam, not as I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin, not even as I heard three sets of feet pad through my bedroom toward my bed.

When I emerged from the shower, they all three sat looking at me.

Nico.

Luca.

Matteo.

"Hello," I said sleepily, the exhaustion eating me alive at this point.

"We need to figure out what's in that file, sweetest little disaster," Matteo said cooly.

I didn't want to. Something had clenched in my stomach the moment my fingers grazed that file in Dante's vault.

"Can't it wait until I am not so... tired?" Tired didn't feel like a fitting word for how I felt. Hell, exhaustion didn't touch it either.

At this point, I was nothing more than a husk, emptied of everything but breath and incoherent ramblings.

"No, honey wasp. It can't." Nico replied softly, causing a surge of life to burn through me in a stinging way, one that wrapped around my ribs like fire wrapping around paper, licking its way through me until the fog lifted and nothing was left but clarity.

"Why?" I asked.

After we showered, Father, the boss of our family, informed us that the Moretti's had been invaded. What he didn't know was that it was us, which means they have no idea who did it. However, they are in a frenzy, indicating that they have something in that vault worth panicking over. We want to know if it was what you snagged.

I took a deep breath before grabbing the file, turning back to them, and then froze when a picture slipped out and floated to the ground in slow motion, its familiar brown eyes looking at me from the eight-by-ten photograph.

"My mom," I whispered, snatching it from the ground.

When my fingers grazed the picture, other papers fell from the file.

Her schedule, other photos, her whereabouts, her routes, and her favorite restaurants. They were watching her, tailing her every move.

"Serena." Luca's voice pierced the darkness clouding my vision, and I grabbed my sneakers.

"I need some air; I'll take two guards with me." I ran from the room despite their protests. Every muscle in my body was screaming; the exhaustion was replaced by rage and a plan to be their end, the Morettis. I would end the bastards.

One way or another.

Matteo:

She didn't slam the door behind her.

That scared me more than if she had.

Serena moved like a wildfire, like the kind of girl who left ash in her wake. When she didn't rage, when she went quiet—it meant the storm had moved inward. And that meant someone would bleed for it.

I stood slowly, eyes locked on the half-open drawer where the file still sat—gutted now, papers scattered like bones across the floor. Luca crouched to gather them, jaw clenched, always the one trying to fix things. Nico hovered near the door, torn between chasing her and knowing she'd rip his throat out for it. We all wanted to run after her.

But I was the one who would.

"Stay here," I said, grabbing my jacket. "She won't talk if we all come stomping after her like protective uncles."

Luca gave me a look that was more wolf than man. "You think she will talk?"

"No," I admitted. "But she won't have to."

Because I knew that look on her face.

I'd worn it myself once—when my cousin was found facedown in the river with her rings missing and her shoes still on. When the world stopped spinning, I realized the only thing left to do was burn it all down.

She wasn't spiraling.

She was choosing.

By the time I caught up to her outside, she was already halfway down the driveway, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was holding her soul in place. Two guards trailed her like shadows, wisely keeping their mouths shut.

I fell in step beside her. Didn't speak.

Not until she said, without looking at me, "They were watching her."

I nodded once. "They made it personal."

"Too personal." Her voice cracked—not from weakness, but from the kind of fury that leaves you raw. "I don't even know what she's involved in. She left us for a clean life. I thought she was safe."

I stopped walking. So did she.

"It wasn't your job to protect her."

Her laugh was dry. Bitter. "No, it was your father's. But it's my job now."

She turned toward me then—eyes ringed red but blazing with something more dangerous than grief.

Purpose.

Her lower lip trembled just once before she bit down on it like a challenge.

"Do you know what S.A.V.R.E stands for?" she asked, too calm.

I tilted my head. "No idea. But, I have come up with several very useless options."

She let out a breath. Not a laugh. Not quite.

"Same," she whispered.

I reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You really don't know what it means?" She asked me with so much hope that I wanted to fight the world to find out for her.

Instead, I said, "No clue what it stands for. But I'm betting it starts with you tearing them apart and ends with us burying the bodies for you."