Chapter nine : The city of Ghosts

Geneva was cold.

Not in the way that scraped the skin, but in the way that settled in the bones. It was a city too pristine, too quiet. Beneath the polished streets and mirrored lakes, secrets moved like smoke. Serena found it soulless and boring.

And Serena Vale was done hiding from hers.

The jet touched down under a slate sky, the Alps in the distance like watchful giants. A black car waited on the tarmac. Matteo stepped out first, hand on his gun before his foot even hit the ground.

He never stopped checking doors, scanning rooftops, watching shadows.

But today, it wasn’t his enemies he feared.

It was what Serena might discover.

---

They didn’t speak on the drive.

She stared out the window, her reflection warped by the glass, while Matteo made calls in clipped Italian. He was wearing black again. Always black. Always armor.

But she could feel the difference in him.

He hadn’t touched her since the night on the terrace. Hadn’t kissed her again. As if he was afraid that if he did, she’d vanish.

She didn’t push.

Not yet.

Not when they were only hours away from finding the woman who had burned their worlds down two decades ago.

---

The art gallery was nestled in the old quarter—ivy-covered brick, high archways, and a gold-lettered sign:

Galerie Marelli.

Serena’s pulse thrummed as she stepped out of the car. Her hands were damp inside her gloves. Her heels clicked too loudly on the cobblestones.

This was it.

Inside, soft music drifted from hidden speakers. White walls. Clean light. Sculptures and oil paintings hung with quiet reverence. Everything smelled like jasmine and money.

A woman behind the counter looked up and smiled.

“Bonjour. May I help you?”

Serena cleared her throat.

“I’m looking for Isabella Marelli.”

The woman’s smile didn’t waver. But her eyes sharpened.

“I’m sorry, she’s not in today.”

Serena stepped closer. “I’m her daughter.”

Silence.

The woman blinked, then reached for the phone.

Before she could dial, Matteo stepped forward.

“Tell her Serena is here. And she’ll want to hear this name.”

He leaned in.

Whispered something Serena didn’t catch.

The receptionist froze.

Then stood. Walked to the back.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Serena’s nerves frayed with every second.

Then a door opened at the end of the gallery—and the world stopped.

---

She hadn’t aged.

Or maybe she had, but time had been kind.

Isadora Vale—Isabella Marelli—stood at the threshold in a cream silk blouse and gray trousers, her auburn hair swept up, a pearl at her throat.

She looked like art.

Serena couldn’t move.

Neither could she.

For a moment, mother and daughter simply stared.

Then Isadora spoke.

“My God,” she whispered. “You look just like him.”

The words hit Serena like a slap.

“Not like you?”

Isadora’s mouth opened. Then closed.

She took a step forward.

Serena backed away.

Matteo said nothing, watching from a distance with a face like granite.

“Why did you leave?” Serena asked, voice shaking. “Why didn’t you come back?”

Isadora flinched.

“I wanted to protect you.”

“No,” Serena said, louder now. “You left me. You disappeared. You married a man for power and betrayed him. You gave birth to a child and vanished before she could speak your name.”

Tears filled Isadora’s eyes.

“I made mistakes.”

“You destroyed lives.”

“I saved you from becoming one of them!”

Serena’s voice cracked. “You gave me no choice.”

Silence.

A terrible, aching silence.

Isadora took another step forward.

“I’m sorry.”

Serena trembled. “Do you even know who I became?”

Her mother nodded. “The bride of the Mafia King. I saw the wedding leak. That’s why I sent the photo. I knew the world would reach you before I could.”

“You think a photo makes up for twenty years?”

“No,” Isadora said softly. “But I hoped it might open the door.”

Serena laughed, she sounded broken by what she just heard.

“Then you should know that if you opened it, I’m walking through with fire.”

---

They met in the private room upstairs.

It was a space of shadows and silence, draped in velvet and scented candles. Serena sat across from the woman who gave her life, surrounded by oil portraits and heavy books.

Matteo stood in the corner, arms folded.

“I need the truth,” Serena said. “All of it.”

Isadora looked at her, eyes haunted.

“I was twenty-four when I met your father. He was bold. Brilliant. Everything Arturo wasn’t.”

“You were already with Bianchi?”

“I was his pawn. A whisper girl, trained to seduce and steal secrets. They sent me into the Valentino line to dismantle it from within.”

“And yet you had me.”

“I didn’t expect to fall in love.”

“With my father?”

“Yes,” Isadora whispered. “Lorenzo changed everything. He made me believe I could be more.”

“Then why leave?”

Isadora broke.

Tears slid silently down her face.

“Because I was caught. The council found the files. Matteo’s father wanted me executed. Lorenzo begged them to spare me—for your sake. So they gave him a choice. You… or me.”

Serena’s breath hitched.

“What did he choose?”

“You,” her mother said.

“And you let him?”

“I had to run. If I stayed, they’d have killed him anyway. I faked my death and disappeared. Arturo helped. He owed me.”

Matteo’s voice broke in.

“He owed you nothing.”

Isadora turned to him. “You don’t know what he took from me.”

Matteo stepped forward.

“He took your loyalty. You gave it freely.”

“I was surviving.”

“So was my father,” Matteo snapped. “And yours got him killed.”

Serena stood.

“I don’t care about the old wars. I came for the truth. And now I have it.”

Isadora rose.

“I want to make things right.”

“You can’t,” Serena said. “But you can answer one last question.”

Her mother stilled.

“Did you ever come back to find me?”

A long pause.

Then a whispered answer:

“Once.”

Serena’s throat closed.

“When?”

“You were sixteen. Boarding school. You were walking alone in the garden. I watched from a distance. You looked so much like him I couldn’t breathe.”

“Why didn’t you come closer?”

“Because I had nothing to offer but regret.”

---

They left the gallery just before sunset.

Matteo opened the car door but didn’t speak.

Inside, Serena sat in silence.

Then finally, “I feel like I should hate her.”

Matteo looked at her.

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I think… I needed to hear her say it. Even if none of it fixes anything.”

He didn’t speak. He simply reached for her hand and rubbed small circles on it.

And this time, she didn’t let go.

---

Back at the hotel, Serena stood at the balcony overlooking the lake, the wind tugging at her dress.

Matteo stepped behind her.

“I didn’t expect to admire you more after today,” he said.

She turned. “And?”

“I was wrong.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re not afraid of the way I want answers?”

“I’m afraid of what you’ll do with them.”

Serena leaned against the railing.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Yes, you do.”

She looked up.

“You’re the woman who walked into the enemy’s lair and didn’t flinch. The one who faced the ghost who birthed her. The one who didn’t let pain make her cruel.”

He stepped closer.

“And the woman I can’t stop wanting.”

---

This time, she kissed him first.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

They moved through the suite like flame and silk, clothes falling, breath catching, shadows bending to hold them.

He touched her like she was sacred.

She held him like she wasn’t afraid anymore.

And when they fell into bed, hearts beating wildly, Serena realized something she hadn’t dared believe—

This wasn’t captivity.

Not anymore.

This was choice.

And she'd choose this over and over again.