Chapter four: The snake and the flame

The next morning, Eva awoke to silence.

No footsteps. No voices. Not even the sound of rain. Just an eerie stillness that blanketed the Rossi estate like a held breath.

She dressed slowly—black jeans, a loose sweater, and the locket that had belonged to her mother. Inside it: a picture of Isla holding baby Eva, and a pressed flower she’d never identified. A violet.

Eva traced it with her thumb, then headed down the long hall toward the breakfast room.

But when she pushed open the door, she stopped short.

He was there.

Luca DeFalco.

Sitting at Matteo's table. In Matteo's house.

And smiling like sin.

He looked nothing like Matteo—where Matteo was stormclouds and shadows, Luca was firelight and razors. Sun-kissed skin, honey-brown hair tousled like it never obeyed, and eyes that glinted with something playful… and predatory.

He stood the moment he saw her.

“Ah, la ragazza,” he said with a slow smile. “The girl in the tower.”

Eva didn’t move.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, heart thumping in her ears.

Luca walked around the table, unhurried. “Matteo and I have an agreement. We don't shoot each other before espresso.”

“You stabbed his guard yesterday.”

“Tensions rise. Blood flows.” He shrugged. “And now we talk.”

“Talk about what? Me?”

Luca grinned wider. “Among other things. But yes… mostly you.”

Before she could respond, Matteo entered from the side door.

His face was stone.

He didn’t greet her. Didn’t even look at her. He went straight to Luca.

“You're early,” Matteo said coolly, pouring himself coffee.

“And you're predictable,” Luca replied. “I knew you wouldn’t tell her.”

Eva’s eyes darted between them. “Tell me what?”

Luca looked at her. “About your mother. About the deal she made. The secret she died keeping.”

Matteo finally turned to Eva, but said nothing.

Luca stepped closer to her. “You deserve to know, Eva. Isla Moretti wasn’t just some spy or pawn. She was a courier. She carried information for me—and a child.”

Eva’s stomach twisted. “What are you saying?”

Luca’s eyes gleamed. “That I might be your father.”

The world tilted.

Matteo’s coffee cup shattered on the floor.

“You bastard,” he hissed.

“Truth hurts, doesn't it?” Luca said, not even flinching.

Eva backed away, heart in her throat. “No… That’s not true. My mother never mentioned you. Never.”

“She wouldn’t.” Luca’s voice softened. “She loved you. She wanted to keep you safe from men like me.”

Matteo moved toward him. “Get out. Now.”

“I'm not done,” Luca said, turning to Eva again. “Matteo’s obsessed with you. You think it’s love, but it’s not. It's control. He’s been watching you since you were seventeen. Ask him how many photos he has. How many times he’s made sure your boyfriends ‘disappeared.’”

Eva looked at Matteo.

“Tell me he’s lying.”

Matteo stared at her. Said nothing.

“Matteo?”

Still silence.

Luca smiled. “I’m not the monster, dolcezza. He is.”

Matteo stepped between them. “Leave.”

“You can’t protect her from the truth forever, cousin.”

“No,” Matteo said. “But I can protect her from you.”

Luca chuckled, then leaned close to Eva, his lips near her ear.

“Sooner or later, you’ll come looking for answers. And when you do… I’ll be waiting.”

He turned and left, whistling.