Chapter six: The Ghost in the frame

The past had teeth.

Serena Vale had felt its bite before—first in the bloodline she never asked for, then in the bullets fired through glass in a garden meant for beauty. But nothing prepared her for the ache that bloomed in her chest the moment she opened the envelope Mara left on her table.

It was cream-colored.

Unmarked.

Inside: a photograph.

A woman. Young. Regal. Auburn hair spilling across her shoulders like fire, eyes fierce and familiar.

Serena’s breath caught.

Her mother.

There was no name written on the back. No message. No date. But Serena would’ve recognized that face anywhere—because it was hers, twenty years earlier.

But this version wore something Serena never had.

Power.

And behind her, in the photo’s blurred corner, stood a man Serena did recognize.

Arturo Bianchi.

Her heart slammed in her chest, threatening to jump out.

---

She didn’t wait for guards. Didn’t wait for Mara. She walked straight down the corridor, wrapped in a storm of questions, and headed for the one person in the estate who had answers: Matteo.

He was alone in his office, sleeves rolled to his elbows, leaning over blueprints of security upgrades.

She didn’t knock.

He looked up.

“Sera—”

She threw the photo onto his desk.

Matteo stilled.

“Where did you get this?”

“You tell me,” she snapped. “That’s my mother, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. Not immediately. Not with his usual cold countenance.

He sat back, eyes on the photo.

“Her name was Isadora.”

Serena blinked.

“You knew her?”

Matteo’s jaw clenched. “Everyone in our world knew her.”

That only made the pit in Serena’s stomach deepen.

“Then why have I never heard her name?”

He didn’t look at her. “Because she disappeared before you turned two.”

Her skin chilled. “She died.”

“No,” he said softly. “She vanished.”

Serena’s blood turned to ice.

“What?”

“She left your father. Abandoned him. And you.”

“No. No, she wouldn’t have—”

“She did.” Matteo stood. “And she didn’t run to a quiet village. She ran to the Bianchis.”

Serena’s body reeled.

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I were.”

He walked to the corner of the office and pulled a drawer from the antique filing cabinet. Inside—dozens of files. Photos. Reports.

He handed her one.

A surveillance still: her mother exiting a black car. Arturo Bianchi at her side. His hand on her lower back.

Serena staggered back, her world spinning sideways.

“She was with him?”

Matteo nodded. “They were lovers.”

“No—she loved my father—”

“She used your father.”

The words felt like a hammer against her skull.

Matteo’s voice was sharp now and cold.

“She was working for Bianchi from the start. Married into the Valentino name for power. But when Lorenzo figured it out, it was too late. You were already born. And she was already passing information.”

Serena dropped into a chair, legs numb.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You want the truth?” Matteo pulled another file. “Your father didn’t die in an accident. He was targeted. Because the council believed he’d betrayed us. But he didn’t.”

He held up another paper. A signed letter. A confession.

Serena read it through tears.

Her mother had fed intel to the Bianchis.

Her mother had orchestrated the leak that got Lorenzo Valentino killed.

Her mother was still alive.

And no one had told her.

---

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, voice hollow.

Matteo crouched beside her now, his tone gentler.

“Because I wanted to protect you from the truth. But if Bianchi is making moves, and if that photo found its way to you… then someone wants you to know what kind of blood you really come from.”

She stared at the image again. Her mother. Smiling beside a monster.

Everything inside Serena fractured.

“I thought I was Valentino,” she whispered. “But half of me is her.”

“No,” Matteo said firmly. “You’re nothing like her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said, voice low. “Because you chose to stay. You chose loyalty. She never did.”

---

Later, back in her room, Serena sat on the floor with the photo in one hand and the necklace Matteo gave her in the other.

Two legacies.

Two bloodlines.

One built on betrayal. The other, revenge.

She didn’t know who she was anymore.

But she knew who she’d become if she let the anger win.

Her mother had lied. Disappeared. Abandoned her. Then helped the very man now trying to kill her.

But what haunted Serena most wasn’t the betrayal.

It was the truth that she could still feel the ache of missing her.

Even now.

Even after all of it.

---

That night, she went to the wine cellar.

She needed air. Solitude. A place the house hadn’t claimed yet.

The cellar was carved into the cliffside below the estate—cold, quiet, and endless. She didn’t expect anyone else to be there.

But when she turned a corner, Matteo was already leaning against a column, sipping something deep red from a crystal glass.

She froze.

“I should go.”

“Stay,” he said. “I won’t talk unless you want me to.”

She stayed.

They sat in silence on an old leather chaise, feet barely touching. He poured her a glass of dark Amarone and didn’t look at her.

Finally, she asked, “Did you love her?”

Matteo blinked. “Who?”

“My mother.”

A pause.

“No. But I hated her enough to wonder if it was the same thing in reverse.”

Serena stared at him.

“She broke more than one family,” he continued. “She shattered the council’s trust. Turned men into weapons. Your father went mad for a time. Blamed himself. Took you and vanished into the hills before the kill order reached him.”

Serena took a shaky sip of wine.

“She never came back for me.”

“No,” Matteo said. “She traded you for safety.”

The wine burned her throat. “And what about you, Matteo?”

He looked at her now.

“What about me?”

“You hate lies. You punish betrayal. But you still play games.”

He didn’t deny it.

So she leaned in, closer than she ever had before.

“If I became like her,” she whispered, “would you kill me?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

“No.”

“Even if it meant breaking your oath?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked her dead in the eyes.

“Because I’ve already made peace with the devil I’d become for you.”

---

She didn’t kiss him that night.

But when he walked her back to her room and stood in the doorway, something passed between them—an almost-kiss.

A slow breath.

A silent, burning promise.

And when she turned away, she knew the game was changing.

Because now, it wasn’t about loyalty or revenge or survival.

It was about choice.

And Serena Vale was finally beginning to choose.