MasukThree days. It takes me three whole days to find him.
Three days of asking questions without making it obvious I'm asking questions.
Three days of smiling at people while my heart pounds in my chest every time someone looks at me too long.
Three days of pretending I'm just a curious girl who wants to learn about the family business.
Three nights of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'm about to make the biggest mistake of either of my lives.
But I find him.
I always find him.
---
The docks are ugly in the daylight. Rusty containers stacked on top of each other like dead giants.
Workers who never look at you twice. The constant sound of metal hitting metal, over and over again.
But at night, the docks change. They become something else. Something darker.
Fog rolls in off the water, thick and cold. It swallows the light from the few lamps that still work.
The water looks black, endless, like it could pull you under and never give you back. The air smells like salt and diesel and rust.
And underneath all that, something older. Something that's been here longer than any of us have been alive.
I pull my coat tighter around me and keep walking.
The pier groans under my feet. Old wood. Soaked through by a hundred storms. Still holding. Still standing.
Just like me, I think.
Then I see him.
He's standing at the very edge of the pier, staring out at the black water. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.
His shoulders are tight, tense. Like he's bracing for something. Something he knows is coming but can't stop.
He doesn't turn when I walk up. But I know he knows I'm here. He always knows.
"You shouldn't have come," he says. His voice is flat. No warmth in it at all. But I can hear something underneath. Worry, maybe. Or fear.
"I had to," I say.
He turns then. His eyes find mine in the darkness. They're hard. Unreadable. But I've known him long enough to see past that now. I can see the exhaustion. The guilt.
The weight of everything he's been carrying for years and years.
"Why?" he asks.
I step closer. The fog swirls around my feet. I can feel the cold seeping through my shoes.
"Because I need your help."
He studies me for a long moment. I can feel him weighing my words. Trying to decide if I'm telling the truth.
His eyes search my face, looking for something I'm not sure he'll find.
"Help with what?" he asks.
I take a breath. This is it. This is the moment I've been waiting for since I woke up in that bed with the rabbit sheets.
"Vittoria," I say. "The ledger. The way she runs everything."
His face goes still. Too still. Like someone just pressed pause on his whole body.
"What do you know about the ledger?" he asks. His voice is careful now. Measured.
"Enough to know it's dangerous." I hold his gaze. "Enough to know it's going to get me killed."
His eyes go wide. For just a second, the mask slips. I see real fear underneath.
"Killed?" he says. "Elena, what are you talking about?"
I move closer. Close enough to see the shadows under his eyes. Close enough to see the tension in his jaw.
"I know she writes futures in it," I say. "I know she decides who lives and who dies."
My throat goes tight.
"And I know my name is already in there."
He stares at me. All the color drains from his face. He looks like someone just knocked the wind out of him.
"How do you know that?" he asks. His voice is rough. Barely above a whisper.
"Because I've seen it."
He drags a hand through his hair. It's a nervous habit I've never seen him do before. I can see him trying to process what I'm telling him.
"You shouldn't have gone looking," he says.
"Someone had to."
He shakes his head. "You don't understand what you're getting into."
"Then tell me."
He looks at me for a long moment. The fog moves between us. The water slaps against the pier below.
Then he turns away. Stares out at the water.
"Vittoria isn't just some old woman with a book," he says. "She's the reason this family hasn't torn itself apart.
She's held everything together for decades. If she goes down, everything goes down with her."
"Maybe it should."
He turns back. Something new in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or fear.
"You mean that," he says.
"I've never meant anything more."
Silence stretches between us. Fog drifts around our feet. Water keeps slapping against the pier.
"What do you need from me?" he asks finally.
Something in my chest loosens. He's actually listening.
"I need information," I say. "I need to know who else is sick of living under her control. Who else might help."
He gives a short, bitter laugh.
"You're asking me to turn on my own family," he says.
"I'm asking you to help me survive." I hold his gaze. "There's a difference."
He looks at me for a long time. I can see him fighting with himself. I can see the weight of everything he's been carrying pressing down on him.
Then he nods.
"Okay," he says. "I'll help you."
Relief hits me so hard I almost sway.
"Thank you," I say.
"Don't thank me yet." He steps closer. "If she finds out, we're both dead."
"Then we make sure she doesn't."
He laughs. Short. Surprised. Like he hasn't done it in a while.
"You're crazy," he says.
"Maybe." I smile. "But I'm also right."
He shakes his head. But I can see the start of a real smile now. A small one. But it's there.
"Okay," he says. "What's the plan?"
---
We talk for over an hour.
I tell him everything. The ledger. The date written next to my name.
The ink that seemed to move while I watched it. Spreading across the page like it knew I was there.
Then I tell him the thing I've been carrying since I woke up in that bed with the rabbit sheets.
I tell him about dying.
I tell him about the hands around my throat. The cold water closing over my head. My lungs filling. The world going black.
The feeling of being pulled under and knowing, somehow, that this was it. This was how it ended. Alone in the dark. No one there to save me.
He doesn't interrupt. His face stays calm. But I can see his hands shaking at his sides.
"The first time," I say, "I didn't fight. I just let them take me."
I look at him.
"I won't make that mistake again."
He's quiet for a long time. The fog swirls around us. The water keeps lapping against the pier.
"You really think we can do this?" he asks. "Burn the ledger. Stop her. Walk away."
"I know we can."
"And you think I'm the one to help you?"
I meet his eyes. "I know you are."
Something shifts in his face. Guilt, maybe. Or pain. Something raw and real.
"Elena," he says, "there's something I never told you."
"What?"
He steps closer. His voice drops to barely a whisper.
"The night you died... I wasn't late by accident."
My stomach drops.
"What do you mean?"
"Vittoria sent men to stop me." His voice is rough. Heavy with pain. "She knew you were going to die. She knew I'd try to save you."
His jaw tightens.
"She knew I loved you."
The words land like a wave. I can't breathe for a second. I feel like the water is closing over my head again.
"Matteo..."
"I should've been faster," he says. "I should have—"
"Matteo." I reach out and take his hand. It's cold. "It wasn't your fault."
His eyes are wet. But he doesn't let it fall.
"I held you while you died," he says. "I'll never forgive myself for that."
"Then don't forgive yourself." I squeeze his hand. "Just don't let it stop you from fighting now."
He looks at me a long moment. I can see him fighting with himself. Trying to decide what to believe.
Then he nods.
"Okay," he says. "I'm with you."
---
We stand there in the dark, holding hands. Fog moves around us. Water laps below.
For the first time in either of my lives, I don't feel alone.
"What now?" he asks.
"Now we find more allies."
"You think anyone else will help?"
"I know they will."
He thinks for a moment.
"My sister," he says. "Isabella."
"Isabella?"
"She hates the way Vittoria runs things. She's just never thought there was a way to fight back."
"Then we show her there is."
He looks at me. "You really think we can do this?"
"I know we can."
He's quiet for a moment. The fog swirls around us.
"I've been alone a long time, Elena," he says. "I forgot what it feels like to have someone on your side."
"Now you do."
He smiles. A real smile. The kind that changes his whole face.
"Come on," he says. "I'll walk you back."
---
We walk through the fog without talking. The silence doesn't feel heavy anymore. It feels shared. Like something we're both carrying together.
When we reach the edge of the estate, he stops.
"You should go," he says.
"I'll be fine."
"I know." He steps closer. "I'm just worried."
"About what?"
"About what happens when she finds out."
I smile. "Then we make sure she finds out too late."
He nods slowly.
"Okay."
I turn to leave.
"Elena?"
I look back.
"Be careful."
I smile. "Always."
---
I walk home with my heart pounding and my hands shaking.
I did it. I actually did it.
Matteo is on my side. For the first time in either life, I'm not alone.
I walk through the fog, feeling the cold harbor air on my skin.
The sound of the water follows me the whole way. Steady. Endless.
It reminds me of drowning.
But it also reminds me that I'm still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
Somewhere in that cold house, Vittoria is probably sitting in her study. Writing futures into her ledger.
She has no idea what happened tonight. No idea I found an ally. No idea the fight has already started.
But she will.
And by the time she finds out, it'll be too late.
I walk through the fog, and I smile.
The game has begun.
We tell Sal everything the next morning, gathered around his hospital bed for what the doctors have finally agreed will be his last week there before he's allowed home.He listens in silence, his face growing graver with every new revelation — Vittoria's release, the binding ritual, Elena Vane, Giulia's hidden bloodline, the full moon deadline drawing closer with each passing day."You're all insane," he says finally, when Matteo finishes. "You understand that. Every single one of you, walking willingly toward something none of you understand, based on the words of a woman who's spent fifty-eight years lying for a living.""We don't have another option," I say. "Matteo's name is already written. If we do nothing—""If you do nothing, you buy time," Sal snaps, more forceful than I've heard him since before the shooting. "Time to actually understand what you're agreeing to, instead of racing toward a ritual because a full moon happens to be convenient.""Sal—""No, listen to me." He str
I find her in the kitchen again, three nights later, exactly where I always seem to find her when something's wrong."You've been avoiding me," I say, sitting across from her without waiting for an invitation.Giulia doesn't look up from the bread dough she's kneading, though her hands slow noticeably. "I've been busy. This house doesn't run itself, especially not with half the family still recovering.""Giulia.""Elena, please.""I saw you at the window," I say quietly. "Two nights ago, when we came back from the churchyard. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."Her hands are finally still completely. Flour dusts her wrists, and for a long moment she just stares down at the dough like it might offer her an escape route if she looks hard enough."I have something to tell you," she says finally, her voice small. "I should have told you weeks ago. I've been a coward about it, and I'm sorry."My stomach tightens. "Tell me now."She wipes her hands on her apron, sits down across from me, a
I stare at the words until they blur.*Elena Vane.*"That's not possible," I whisper, though I've said that sentence so many times in the past week it barely means anything anymore. "My parents were Marchetti. My whole life, in both lifetimes, I've been a Marchetti.""Your father may have believed that too," Vittoria says quietly, stepping closer, studying the ink with something almost like fascination. "Blood doesn't always follow the name a person carries, Elena. It follows the line it actually came from.""Explain it," Matteo says, his voice tight, his hand not leaving mine. "Now. All of it."Vittoria's eyes move to Cassia, a silent question passing between two women who, until tonight, considered each other enemies across two centuries of buried history."There's only one way this makes sense," Cassia says slowly, working through it out loud. "If somewhere back along your father's line, a Vane married into the Marchetti family and the connection was hidden. Deliberately, probably.
Nobody speaks for a long moment. The wind keeps turning the pages of the little book on its own, faster now, like something inside it is growing impatient with all of us."No," Dante says finally, stepping fully into the churchyard, putting himself between Vittoria and the rest of us. "Absolutely not. We are not discussing rituals with the woman who ordered Elena's murder.""I understand your anger," Vittoria says calmly. "I don't expect it to fade quickly. But anger won't save Matteo if the pattern repeats itself the way it has every generation before this one.""You don't get to use fear as leverage," Matteo says, his voice shaking with barely controlled fury. "Not after everything. Not after Renzo. Not after Isabella nearly died in that dining hall because of you.""I'm not asking you to forgive me," Vittoria says. "I'm asking you to survive."Cassia, who has been silent since Vittoria mentioned her mother, finally looks up. Her eyes are red, but her voice comes out steady. "How do
For one long, terrible second, nobody moves.Vittoria stands in the chapel doorway like she's simply stepped out for evening air, not like a woman who was led away in handcuffs three nights ago, in front of her entire family, in front of the police, in front of everyone."That's not possible," I whisper. "You're supposed to be in custody.""I was," Vittoria says calmly, stepping down into the churchyard, moonlight sliding pale across her face. "For approximately six hours. Then a very old friend of mine reminded certain people at the station that favors, once given, are meant to be remembered.""You bribed your way out," Matteo says, disbelief and fury warring in his voice."I persuaded my way out," Vittoria corrects. "There's a difference, though I don't expect either of you to appreciate it tonight."Cassia hasn't moved from the bench, her whole body rigid, the small leather book still clutched tight in both hands. "You shouldn't be able to find this place," she says, her voice unst
None of us sleep.We ride back to the estate in silence, the graveyard names still burning behind my eyes every time I close them. Elena Vane. Matteo Vane. Taken too soon.I keep turning the words over, trying to make them mean something less frightening, and failing every single time."We should tell Dante everything," Isabella says, the moment we're inside. "All of it. The graves. What the priest said. What Cassia admitted before she stopped herself.""He'll want to come with us tomorrow night," Matteo says."Good," Isabella says fiercely. "He should.""She said come alone, or bring Elena." Matteo rubs his eyes, exhausted. "I don't know what happens if we show up with half the family standing behind us.""Then we don't tell him where," I say slowly. "We tell him everything else. Just not the exact place, not the exact hour. If something happens to us tomorrow night, someone in this family needs to know the truth. Someone needs to keep looking, even if we can't."The room goes quiet.







