The Invasion, The Emblem.

{EDMONDO'S POV}

[HOURS AGO]

*

*

The estate looms ahead, its iron gates dulled by the fading sunlight. This place has never felt like home.. not with the life we live. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles blanching as I roll the car to a stop.

Dropping Rossa off at her grandma's was calculated. Necessary. Her safety isn’t something I gamble with, not with wolves circling. But the unease in her eyes before I left… it gnaws at me, like a silent accusation. 'Why didn’t you tell me sooner?'

Because some truths don’t protect... they haunt.

I step out of the car.

The air carries the faint smell of wet stone and tobacco, mixing with the oppressive silence. Giovanni is waiting, as expected, leaning lazily against the gate with his signature smirk plastered on his face like he doesn’t give a million fucks about the world.

“So,” he drawls, voice light but laced with venom. “You’re playing knight now? Shielding the damsel from the big bad wolves?”

I don’t answer. There’s no point.

I brush past him, keeping my steps steady.

But Giovanni isn’t one to let moments slip away. “You really expect me to believe this is about her safety and not… because you love her?” He lets the name linger, poisonous and heavy. “Come on, brother. At least be honest with yourself.”

I stop mid-step, slowly turning to fix him with a stare so cold it could freeze the air between us.

“You know exactly why I’m protecting her,” I say, my voice sharp yet restrained, like a blade pressed against a throat.

Giovanni tilts his head, deepening his smirk. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re chasing shadows. She isn’t Agata. She’s just a lookalike who—”

“I’m not a fool,” I snap, louder than I intended. I step closer, my chest tight and my gaze boring into his. “I may not recognize every face, but I know movements. I know smells. I know the cadence of a voice, the weight of a name. Rossa is definitely not Agata but I choose to make her Agata.”

For a flicker of a moment, Giovanni’s smirk falters, doubt flashing across his face. But it vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced with a mock surrender.

“Fine,” he says lightly, raising his hands. “Fine. But what’s with the gloves?”

I glance down at my hands, clad in black leather gloves. They’re practical, surgical even; meant for operations. “I’m preparing,” I reply curtly.

Giovanni scoffs, flicking the remains of his cigar to the ground. “Preparing? Brother, we failed.”

His words hit harder than I care to admit, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I turn to him, my eyes blazing with restrained fire. “Failure is letting them think we’re done. Failure is sitting idle while they defile our name. I’m not finished.”

Before he can respond, I push through the gates, heading for the car waiting by the courtyard. Giovanni follows, silent for once.

Duty calls.

My turf has been invaded by unknown invaders and they are up in the mountains.

---

The drive to the mountainside is suffocating. Giovanni sits beside me, his smirk gone, replaced by an uncharacteristically grim expression. Neither of us speaks. The silence between us is heavier than any argument could have been.

As we near the mountain pass, the stench hits first; a sickening mix of blood, smoke, and decay. My stomach churns, but I press on. The tires crunch over dirt and debris.

The scene is worse than I imagined.

Tents are torn apart, their canvas stained with blood. Bodies lie scattered, some piled together like discarded refuse. Women clutch their children, their faces frozen in terror and agony. Others… I can’t even look at them.

Giovanni steps out first, pale but composed. I follow, pulling a mask over my face and tightening my cloak. The survivors can’t see me like this. Not as their Don, not as the man who failed them.

Every step feels like a weight crushing my chest. A child’s doll lies in the dirt, its once-bright fabric now soaked in mud and something darker.

Nearby, an old man sits slumped against a tree. His lifeless eyes stared into nothing.

Giovanni crouches beside a dying man. “Can you hear me? Hang on there, okay?”

I turn away, my fists clenching as the leather bites into my palms.

This shouldn’t have happened. My people... hunted, slaughtered, and violated, while I sat in my estate. Blind to their suffering.

“This,” Giovanni says, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. He unwraps a cloth carefully. “This was found among the ashes. The boys said it’s the only thing that survived the fires.”

He reveals a small object: a child’s toy, carved like a rose. The petals are detailed, though faded and scorched. At its center is an emblem, faint through the burn marks.

A chill runs down my spine.

It’s hauntingly familiar, though I can’t place it.

Giovanni turns it over in his hands. “It’s an emblem,” he says. “A belonging of the invaders.”

“Whose?” I demand, my patience thin.

Giovanni holds it up, letting the faint details catch the light. “Does this look familiar?”

“No,” I admit. “Should it?”

He glares, pushing the emblem closer. “But I do.”

My brow furrows. “What are you saying?”

“La Rosa,”

The name crashes into me like a thunderclap.

My jaw tightens, rage simmering beneath my skin. I take the emblem, tracing its edges with my gloved fingers.

“Are you sure?” I ask, though I already know his answer.

Giovanni nods. “It’s the same mark on your Agata’s linens, her scarves, even the tattoo she bore. The rose has always been their symbol.”

He exhales slowly. “They didn’t attack us directly, Edmondo. Not the family, not the organization. They went after the people. This wasn’t about strategy or gain. This was personal.”

Personal.

The word echoes in my mind like a curse. My grip tightens on the emblem, my knuckles turning white.

“They gathered their emblems,” Giovanni continues, his voice grim. “Burned them to send a message. Except this one. It survived for a reason. They wanted us to see it. Don't you think your Agata betrayed us before she was killed? After all, she was a La Rosa herself.”

His words hit like a hammer, splintering any composure I have left.

Agata.

The name burns in my mind like an unhealed wound. If this was personal, then it’s far from over.