Betrayal has a scent.
It's not blood. Not gunpowder. It's the quiet, rotting stink of trust turned sour. And it's thick in the air tonight.
The files are gone.
The evidence Isabelle Romano died to protect, the secrets buried under my family name, the paper trail that could unravel the entire Syndicate—it vanished from a chamber no one outside this house was supposed to know existed.
This isn't a coincidence.
This is war.
I storm down the hall, Leo and two guards trailing behind me. "Search the entire estate. Every wing. Every room. No one leaves. No one comes in. Not without my permission."
Leo nods and peels off. I head straight for the control room behind the wine cellar—where we monitor every security feed across the compound.
Matteo's already waiting, his face pale as he rewinds the surveillance footage.
"Talk," I snap.
"There's a blind spot. Between hallway cam A17 and the lower stairwell. The blackout lasted sixty seconds."
I lean over his shoulder.
The camera fuzzes out—static, then nothing. When it flickers back to life, the door to the hidden chamber is closed. Just like we left it.
Only now… it's empty.
Someone knew exactly when to strike. And where.
"Who had access to the security grid?" I ask.
"Just me, you, and Riccardo," Matteo says.
I freeze.
Riccardo.
Son of a bitch.
I knew he was hiding something.
I just didn't expect him to act this fast.
Or this bold.
I'm halfway to his quarters when Leo's voice crackles through my earpiece. "Boss—we've got a bigger problem. East wing. Aria found a window forced open. There's blood on the frame."
I stop cold.
"The east wing?" My heart spikes. "That's where—"
"Elena was staying. We can't find her."
No.
I'm already moving. Running.
I don't remember grabbing the gun from the shelf. Don't remember kicking open the door to her room. But I'm there—staring at overturned sheets, a shattered vase on the floor, a smear of blood on the wall.
"Elena!" I bellow, the sound ragged in my throat.
She's gone.
The girl I swore to protect. The one I never wanted to love. The only thing in this rotten world that makes me feel human.
Taken.
Stolen from me.
And someone left a message on her mirror, written in red:
Like mother, like daughter.
⸻
I slam my fist into the marble wall, cracking the surface.
"Get every soldier out there," I growl to Leo, my voice low and lethal. "I want roadblocks. Drones. Hell, bring dogs if you have to. Find her. Now."
Leo's eyes widen, but he nods and moves.
Riccardo.
The files go missing, then Elena vanishes.
He knew she was the key to Isabelle's legacy. The leverage.
And now he's using her.
I head to his quarters.
He's gone too.
Of course he is.
He played me. Made me doubt Elena. Made me think the threat was outside these walls.
It was never out there.
It was him.
He's using her as a pawn to trigger a power grab. And if he thinks I'll let that happen—if he thinks I'll let him touch one hair on her head—he's forgotten who he taught to kill.
Because I won't stop.
Not until I have her back.
Not until Riccardo is on his knees, bleeding in the dirt.
And not until this house—this legacy of blood and betrayal—is purged of every traitor hiding behind my family's name.
You don't touch what's mine.
You don't steal what's mine.
You sure as hell don't take her.
Because I will burn this world down to get her back.
And I won't stop until every last enemy is ash.