The sky above Sicily didn't look like a night sky anymore. It was a bruised, pulsating orange, the color of a dying star. But the heat licking at my skin wasn't cosmic; it was the incandescent breath of my own history turning to ash.
They say a person's life flashes before their eyes when they die. As I stood on the edge of the lemon grove, watching the Vitale Villa become a gilded crematorium, I realized that wasn't true. My life wasn't flashing; it was melting. The oil paintings of ancestors I'd never met were dripping like black tears into the marble foyer. The grand piano, the one my mother had taught me to play until her fingers grew too tired to hold the chords, was a skeletal silhouette amidst the roar of the inferno.
I took a breath, and the air tasted of sulfur, ancient wood, and the bitter tang of lemon zest.
"Signorina! Please, we have to move!"
The voice was frantic, cracked with age and terror. I felt a small, trembling hand tugging at the sleeve of my silk robe. It was Sofia, the woman who had raised me after the earth took my mother. She looked small against the backdrop of the massacre, her grey hair wild and soot-streaked.
"Sofia, go," I whispered, my voice sounding like gravel. I didn't turn to look at her. My eyes were locked on the master suite balcony, where the curtains were fluttering like the wings of a Phoenix. "Take the path through the lower orchard. The Moretti men won't look for an old woman in the tall grass. Go to the village. Hide."
"Not without you, Bianca," she sobbed, her grip tightening. "Your father... Stefano said..."
"My father is a ghost, Sofia!" I snapped, finally turning to face her. The fire reflected in my irises, a twin flame of fury and grief. "He broke the pact. He signed our death warrants the moment he tried to skim from the Moretti ports. He isn't coming back for us. He's either halfway to South America or rotting in a ditch."
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. Stefano Vitale, the man I had worshipped as a god of the underworld, was a coward. He had built this fortress of marble and blood, and then he'd let the wolves in before slipping out the back door.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed through the courtyard..the sound of the grand chandelier finally succumbing to gravity. It hit the floor with the chime of a thousand crystal bells, a final, mocking symphony for the House of Vitale.
"Go!" I shoved Sofia toward the shadows of the grove. "That's an order, Sofia. Live. For me."
She hesitated, her eyes searching mine for a flicker of the girl she used to dress in ribbons. She found nothing but the cold steel of the woman I was becoming. With a final, choked sob, she disappeared into the darkness of the trees.
I was alone.
I turned back to the house, the heat now so intense it felt like it was trying to peel the skin from my bones. I should have run. Every instinct screamed at me to vanish into the night, to become a shadow in the mountains until the Moretti rage cooled. But the Vitale blood in my veins was thick with a stubborn, poisonous pride.
I started toward the side entrance, the servants' door.
"Bianca, you fool," I muttered to myself, the smoke stinging my throat. "What are you doing?"
I knew exactly what I was doing. If I was going to lose everything, I wouldn't leave behind the one thing that could still burn Dante Moretti.
I slipped inside the kitchen. The heat here was a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs. The copper pots hung like silent bells, glowing red in the light of the encroaching fire. I moved through the hallway, my bare feet flinching against the hot tiles. The house groaned around me, a dying beast shifting its weight.
I reached my father's study. The door was heavy oak, carved with the Vitale crest..a lion entwined with velvet vines. I kicked it open.
The room was already beginning to succumb. Smoke curled around the legs of his desk like snakes. I didn't head for the safe; I knew the Morettis would have emptied that first. Instead, I went to the fireplace. I reached behind the loose brick in the mantle, my fingers searching frantically until they closed around a small, leather-bound ledger.
The Velvet Ledger.
It contained the true accounts..the ones my father had hidden even from his own Consigliere. It was the leverage. It was the only reason I might stay alive for more than an hour once the Iron Don found me.
"Looking for this, little lioness?"
The voice came from the doorway, as cold and sharp as a winter frost. I froze, the ledger pressed against my chest.
Slowly, I turned.
He was framed by the fire in the hallway, a dark shadow in a world of orange light. He wasn't one of the grunts. He wore a suit that cost more than a small villa, charcoal grey and perfectly tailored. His face was a mask of aristocratic cruelty...high cheekbones, a jawline that looked like it had been carved from granite, and eyes the color of a stormy Mediterranean sea.
Dante Moretti. The man who had turned my world into a pyre.
"You're supposed to be running, Bianca," he said, stepping into the room. He didn't seem to mind the heat. He moved with a predatory grace, his gaze sweeping over me with a mixture of disdain and something else...something darker that made my pulse hitch. "The others are already halfway to the mountains. Yet here you are, playing in the ashes."
I tucked the ledger into the waistband of my robe, cinching the silk tight. I stood tall, my chin lifted, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't run from my own house, Dante," I spat his name like it was a curse. "Even when it's being burned by a common thief."
His lips curled into a mirthless smirk. He took another step, the distance between us shrinking until I could smell the scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne on him.
"Thief?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. "Your father stole from the Syndicate. I am simply... reclaiming the balance. It's a pity he didn't leave you a map to his offshore accounts. It might have saved you a lot of trouble."
"He left me more than you'll ever know," I countered, my voice steady despite the sweat trickling down my spine. "You think you've won because you have the biggest fire? You've only succeeded in making sure everyone knows the Morettis are afraid of a few missing percentage points."
Dante's eyes darkened, the sea-grey turning to obsidian. He reached out, his gloved hand catching a lock of my hair, twisting it slowly around his finger. The leather was cool against my neck, a terrifying contrast to the heat of the room.
"You have your father's tongue," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "A pity. It's a tongue that gets people killed."
"Then kill me," I challenged, stepping closer into his space. I could feel the heat radiating from him, or perhaps it was just the fire. "Finish the job, Dante. Don't leave a Vitale alive to remember what you've done."
He stared at me for a long moment, the silence between us heavy and charged with a volatile energy. Outside, a portion of the roof collapsed with a thunderous roar, sending a shower of sparks past the window. The room was filling with thick, black smoke now.
"No," Dante said, his voice quiet but absolute. He released my hair, his hand moving to grip my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. "Killing you would be too easy. A Vitale in the ground is just a memory. A Vitale in my service... that is a lesson."
"I will never serve you," I hissed, trying to pull away. His grip was a vice.
"We'll see," he replied. He looked over his shoulder as two of his men appeared in the doorway, their faces obscured by tactical masks. "The house is coming down. Take her. Ensure she's 'prepared' for the transport. I have a guest list to finalize."
"Let go of me!" I screamed, kicking at his shins as the men moved forward.
Dante didn't even blink. He leaned in, his lips inches from mine, his breath a phantom caress. "Save your fire, Bianca. You're going to need it for the auction."
He turned and walked away, his silhouette disappearing into the smoke as if he were the devil returning to the flames. The men grabbed my arms, their grip rough and impersonal.
"You'll regret this!" I yelled after him, my voice breaking as the smoke finally began to overwhelm me. "I'll burn your world just like you burned mine! I'll see you in hell, Dante Moretti!"
I fought them all the way through the burning hallways. I fought as they dragged me across the marble foyer, where the Vitale crest was being licked by blue flames. I fought until we reached the cool night air, where the smell of jasmine was gone, replaced entirely by the scent of ruin.
As they threw me into the back of a black SUV, I looked back one last time.
The villa was a skeleton of fire. The lemon trees were shriveled husks. My past was a column of smoke rising into the uncaring stars.
I didn't cry. Tears were for the weak, and I was a Vitale. Instead, I reached into my robe and felt the sharp edge of the ledger. My hand moved to the small dagger I had hidden in the other pocket—a gift from my mother, a silver blade with a handle of carved bone.
Dante Moretti thought he had bought himself a trophy. He thought he had extinguished the Vitale line with a few gallons of gasoline.
He was wrong.
I sat back in the leather seat, the darkness of the car swallowing me whole. The fire was behind me, but the heat stayed. It settled in the pit of my stomach, a cold, hard knot of vengeance.
The House of Vitale had fallen. But from the ashes, something else was rising.
I closed my eyes, the image of Dante's grey eyes burned into my retinas.
You should have killed me, Dante, I thought, the words a silent vow. Because I'm going to make sure that $50 million bid is the most expensive mistake you've ever made.
The car lurched forward, speeding away from the pyre of my childhood. I watched the orange glow recede in the rearview mirror until it was nothing more than a spark in the distance.
The ruin was complete. Now, the war would begin.