chapter two : the velvet trap

The air inside the Rossi estate smelled of old books, firewood, and danger.

Eva sat alone in the library, a single lamp illuminating the brittle pages of a leather-bound journal she had found tucked behind a shelf. The writing was delicate, slanted — a woman's hand. The ink had faded, but she could still read it.

“The Rossi boy looks at me like he owns the night. I think he knows what I’ve done. If he does, I won’t make it out alive.”

Eva shivered. The date was from twenty-six years ago.

Twenty-six years ago… the year I was born.

She looked over her shoulder. Shadows danced across the walls like watchers. The library was a cathedral of secrets — marble columns, gold-embossed spines, and stories no one wanted read. She had spent her life buried in books, but none of them looked back at her the way Matteo Rossi did.

“You're reading her words.”

The voice came from behind her. Smooth. Low. Inevitable.

She turned. Matteo leaned against the threshold, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, tattoos peeking through like promises of pain.

“Who?” she asked.

He stepped forward slowly. “The woman who tried to betray my family and paid the price.”

Eva’s throat tightened. “She wrote about being watched. About fear. About... you?”

He crouched beside her chair, eyes level with hers. “I was just a boy then. But even boys remember betrayal.”

Her pulse roared. “Who was she?”

His jaw tensed, and for a moment she thought he might lie. But instead, he said the words that made her world tilt.

“Your mother.”

Eva's hand dropped the journal like it burned. “You knew her?”

“Intimately.” The word sliced like ice. “Not the way you think. She was working with one of our enemies—Luca DeFalco. She came here under false pretenses. A spy. A lover. A ghost.”

Eva’s mind swirled. “You're saying my mother was mafia?”

“She was in love with danger. And danger always collects.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Just like you.”

She stood up fast, her chair skidding across the floor. “I came here to work, not to be part of your twisted family history.”

“Too late,” he said, voice low, almost regretful. “The moment you walked through my gate, you stepped into the story. And you’ve always been a part of it, Eva.”

Her skin prickled. “Have you been watching me?”

He didn't blink. “Yes.”

The silence stretched like a scream.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because you looked like her. But you burn like something else. Something I can’t name.”

His fingers brushed a strand of her hair away. She didn’t move. Couldn't.

“I should be afraid of you,” she said.

He leaned in, breath ghosting her ear. “You should.”

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the house — metal against metal. Then a scream. Not hers.

Matteo was already gone, a shadow disappearing through the corridor. Eva followed, instincts screaming, heart thundering.

They reached the grand foyer where a guard lay bleeding, groaning, holding his side. Blood pooled beneath him.

**“Who did this?” Matteo growled.