Napoli wasn't loud tonight.
It was the kind of night cities reserved for secrets.
The kind that curled smoke into the air and carried whispers through alleyways like ghosts.
Rose stepped out of the black Range Rover, hoodie over her curls, lips tinted blood-red even though no one was supposed to see her. Cassian stayed behind the wheel, engine humming low, fingers gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Two streets over, Killian sat in a slick black tech van, fingers dancing over keyboards and monitors, eyes like steel.
Target: Enzo Vitali's private auction.
Only invited dealers, smugglers, and black market diplomats.
Which meant Rose fit right in.
She pulled her hoodie tighter, adjusted the hollowed-out diamond necklace on her neck—glimmering like something pretty but laced with venom. Inside, it held a micro audio bug that fed directly into Killian's network. The second it got close to Enzo's vault room, it would light up like a match in gasoline.
Cassian's voice buzzed through her earpiece.
> "You sure you want to go in alone?"
She smiled faintly, but her eyes were ice. "I need him to feel safe. Men like Enzo only show their dirty teeth when they think you're too soft to bite back."
Killian's voice chimed in a second later, no-nonsense and clipped.
> "We have a ten-minute window. You go in, plant the drive behind his office mirror, and get out before the second shipment arrives. Don't improvise."
She snorted. "Since when do I follow rules?"
Then she pushed open the steel doors and walked into hell.
---
The building was opulence dipped in rot.
Gold ceilings. Velvet booths. Everything reeked of old money and new blood. The kind of place that wanted you to forget it was built on bones. Crates lined the far corners of the room—marked as "Antiques" or "Imported Goods," but Rose knew better. Inside them were weapons, trafficked art, exotic poisons.
And people.
Everywhere she looked: wolves in silk. Snakes in tuxedos. Men who smiled with blood still on their hands and women with knives hidden behind glittering diamonds.
In the center of it all stood Enzo Vitali.
Grey suit. Smug eyes. Holding a glass of dark liquor like a king clinging to his last shred of relevance.
He saw her instantly. Of course he did.
"Rosa DeLuca," he purred, voice like oil. "Or is it Mancini still?"
She tilted her head, eyes sweeping the room. "You tell me, Enzo. Did Lorenzo send you flowers for being the last man standing?"
Enzo chuckled. "Oh, Rosa. I missed your mouth."
"I didn't miss your stench."
Someone beside him—a man in blue silk with eyes too small for his head—snorted into his drink. Enzo waved a lazy hand, dismissing his guards, stepping closer like a man who thought he still had power.
"You've made a mess," he said, sipping again. "Lorenzo's empire is bleeding. The old men in Sicily want to replace him. You might've burned him, cara mia, but you've made enemies bigger than you can carry."
Rose leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to his ear.
"Then I'll set them on fire too."
And she smiled as he blinked, just once.
Fear.
She walked away before he could recover.
---
Behind the auction stage was chaos disguised as luxury.
She moved fast—heels silent, body pressed against shadows. Every detail was exactly like Killian predicted. Crates stacked like puzzle pieces. Guards on a fifteen-minute loop. A hallway lined with crimson wallpaper and dim gold lights. At the end, Enzo's office.
She slipped inside.
The mirror was behind the bar cart. She moved with surgical precision, unscrewed the frame, pressed the flash drive into the wiring.
Done.
Seven minutes left.
She turned, ready to ghost the way she came in—
But a voice stopped her cold.
"I thought you were dead."
She froze.
No.
That voice. That voice did not belong in this building. In this night. In this nightmare.
Slowly, like peeling skin, she turned—and her stomach dropped.
Gianni Russo.
Her cousin.
Her blood.
The boy who used to hold her hand when she cried. The one who helped stage her fake death. The one she paid to disappear.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice came out low, dangerous.
"I didn't sell you out," Gianni said, already on the defense. "I swear, Rosa. I didn't. Lorenzo paid me to stay quiet, and I did. I thought you were gone."
"I was gone."
"Then why the hell are you back?"
"Because someone has to finish what he started."
Gianni stepped closer. "You need to know something. Lorenzo didn't order the hit."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I mean it," he whispered. "He was part of it, yes. But the one who ordered it? Paid the real price?"
"Stop playing riddles, Gianni."
He looked around like the walls had ears. "Lorenzo wanted to scare you. That's it. Someone else turned it into a kill order."
Cassian's voice crackled in her ear.
> "Rose. Get out. Now. Security's doubling. Something's wrong."
Gianni's hands trembled. "He's coming."
"Who?"
He swallowed. "Killian."
Her heart stopped.
"What the hell does that mean?"
But Gianni was already gone.
---
The second she burst through the door, Cassian slammed his out and pulled her into the car. Tires screeched against pavement as he tore them down the narrow street like the whole of Napoli was on fire behind them.
"What the hell happened?" he barked.
"Gianni was there. Said Lorenzo didn't put the hit on me."
Cassian didn't even look at her. His jaw was clenched so hard his neck pulsed. "He lied."
"He didn't look like he was lying."
"He's a professional liar."
"Cassian."
He exhaled. One long breath. "Maybe someone paid him to stir the pot. Throw you off."
Her eyes darkened. "Or maybe there's more to this than we thought."
Killian's voice crackled through the car speaker.
> "Abort mission. Enzo's running. He knows we were here."
Cassian's fingers curled tight around the wheel. "Let him run. We got what we needed."
Rose's voice was a blade. "No. We're not done."
---
Back in Killian's war room—cold lights, colder truths.
Rose slammed her palm against the glass table. "Tell me the damn truth. Did you know?"
Killian didn't flinch. "About Gianni? No. About the hit? I knew there were other bidders."
She froze. "Bidders?"
Killian nodded slowly. "When men like Lorenzo want someone dead, they don't send a single assassin. They post it on the dark net. The underground job circuit. Like an auction."
She stared at him like he'd just spoken in reverse.
"Who else wanted me dead?"
Killian hesitated.
Then: "Your father."
The words hit her harder than any bullet.
Silence snapped the air in half. Even Cassian didn't move.
"My father's dead," she whispered.
"No, he's not," Killian said calmly. "He faked it. Years ago. Right after your mother died. Changed identities. Moved east. Became something else. He's been watching you since the day you were born."
Her voice cracked. "Why would he want me dead?"
Killian looked away. "Because you remind him of her. Of what she did. And because you're more dangerous than she ever was."
Something shattered inside her.
---
Later, alone in the balcony, Rose stood barefoot, staring at the city like it was just another battlefield. The wind tugged at her hoodie. Her hands were clenched.
Cassian joined her. Quiet. He didn't say anything at first.
Then— "You don't look okay."
She laughed softly. "I haven't been okay since I was nineteen."
"I mean it."
"I know."
A beat of silence. Then— "Why didn't you tell me your dad was alive?"
She exhaled. "Because I didn't know. And now that I do… I kind of wish I still didn't."
He stepped beside her. "Do you believe Killian?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore."
Cassian leaned closer. "But you believe in you, right?"
She looked up at him. "What if I'm not the same girl anymore? What if I came back wrong?"
He touched her cheek. Gentle. Warm. "You didn't come back wrong. You came back real. And that's scarier than anything."
She didn't pull away when he leaned in.
Didn't stop the kiss.
Because in that moment, there was no past. No betrayal. No fathers or bloodlines or fires to start.
There was only this.
Survival.
And the taste of smoke on her lips.