Rose stared at the flickering light above her, eyes fixed but her mind far away. The documents spread on the table in front of her were more than just names and figures. They were graves. Graves she intended to dig one by one. Names of shell companies. Transactions coded in currencies that whispered of blood and betrayal. All linking back to the Mancinis. All stained.
The silence in the penthouse was thick, except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass windows. Cassian had left hours ago after they went through the files together. He hadn't said much, but his presence lingered like heat after lightning.
Rose picked up the ledger again, fingers tracing the edge of a particular page—one with her father's name on it.
Paolo DeLuca.
Receipts. Transfers. A trust fund wiped clean a week before his mysterious "accident."
She closed her eyes. The room spun.
This was what they did. Lorenzo, his father, maybe even his mother. They had robbed her of everything, piece by piece, then painted her crazy when she screamed.
But no more.
No more paper dolls in their game.
She stood up, tying her robe tighter, bare feet silent on the marble. Her fingers reached for the burner phone Cassian had given her, dialling quickly.
A sleepy voice answered. "Boss?"
"It's time," she whispered. "I want phase two in motion. Start leaking pieces of the ledger. Small stuff. Enough to cause noise. I want panic. Controlled chaos."
"Consider it done."
She ended the call and looked out at the city.
Let them run in circles trying to plug leaks while she took down the dam.
—
Meanwhile, across the city, Lorenzo Mancini stood in his father's old office, tension crackling in his spine.
"This is getting out of hand," he muttered, throwing a file across the desk. His assistant picked it up carefully. It was a printed article, discreet but damning, detailing a shell company's suspicious activity linked directly to Mancini Pharmaceuticals.
"Do we know the source?" Lorenzo asked coldly.
The assistant shook his head. "Anonymous. They used encrypted servers routed through the Balkans. Whoever it is… they know what they're doing."
Lorenzo leaned back, face hard. For months now, things had been slipping through his fingers. First the investors pulling back. Then the halted shipments. Now, this?
And the rumors—oh, the rumors. That she was back. That Rose DeLuca wasn't dead.
He hadn't believed it until the night at the penthouse.
Her face. That look. It had been her.
He had wanted to believe it was a ghost. A hallucination. But no, it had been very real, and she had played him like a goddamn violin.
Something sharp sliced through him—rage, guilt, lust. All mixed.
She wasn't the girl who used to wait for him with wine in her hand and love in her eyes. No. That girl had died. He'd killed her.
And the woman who'd risen from those ashes?
She was here for blood.
—
Back at Cassian's private tower, Rose leaned against the glass balcony, the wind playing with her hair. Cassian stepped out behind her, his eyes tracing the curve of her spine through the silk of her robe. But he didn't speak. He waited.
She turned slightly. "You were right about the ledger."
A small smirk tugged his lips. "I'm always right. Painfully charming trait."
She snorted. "Asshole."
He walked up to her, close but not touching. "You sent out the leaks."
"Yeah. Enough to keep them chasing shadows. Lorenzo is paranoid. If we keep this pace, he'll lose his allies before he figures out what's really going on."
"You're getting good at this."
She looked at him, serious now. "This isn't a game to me, Cassian. I'm not just trying to win. I want them to burn."
"I know," he said, softer. "But you don't have to burn yourself with them."
She didn't answer. Just looked back out at the skyline.
She wasn't sure there was a version of this story where she didn't end up in flames too.
—
Three Days Later
The internet was boiling.
Anonymous blogs, finance whispers, and dark web threads were all buzzing with pieces of the Red Ledger. Investors began pulling away from anything remotely tied to Mancini holdings. Partners called emergency meetings. Shares dipped lower than they had in years.
Lorenzo knew someone was playing chess. And he was the damn pawn.
He slammed his fist against the table. "Find her," he growled. "I don't care what it takes. I want Rose DeLuca found. Alive or dead."
—
Meanwhile, Rose was already three steps ahead.
Wearing a crimson blazer and a new black wig, she walked confidently into an investment firm once linked to Mancini's Europe branch. With Cassian by her side—posing as a new investor—they sat across from a sweaty junior exec who had no clue he was meeting the storm before the crash.
She smiled sweetly. "I believe your CEO might be interested in these." She slid a folder across the desk, filled with black-and-white scans of the shell companies and a few offshore accounts.
He opened it, paled.
Cassian leaned in. "I'd advise jumping ship. While there's still a ship to jump from."
—
That night, she sat in her room, exhausted but alive. Cassian brought in takeout and dropped beside her on the couch.
She raised a brow. "You're staying in?"
"Darling, I wouldn't miss watching the world fall for anything."
She chuckled. "And here I thought you were just here for my charming personality."
He leaned closer, eyes teasing. "I like the way you say revenge. It sounds like poetry."
Rose rolled her eyes but didn't push him away when he stayed beside her.
Because in this dark, twisted climb back to power… it felt good not to be alone.
But somewhere deep in her, the fear whispered.
That love—real, raw, messy—wasn't built for people like her anymore.
Not after what she'd seen.
Not after what she planned.
And not with blood still wet on her hands.