The Invasion, The Emblem.

The estate loomed ahead, its iron gates dull under the fading sunlight. The estate never felt like home with the kind of life they all lived. The car rolled to a halt, and Edmondo gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white.

Dropping Cara off had been a calculated decision, one made not out of convenience but necessity. Her safety wasn’t negotiable, not with wolves circling ever closer. Yet the unease in her eyes before he left lingered in his mind, a silent accusation; 'Why didn’t you tell me sooner?'

Because some truths don’t protect; they haunt.

Stepping out of the car, Edmondo was greeted by the faint smell of wet stone and tobacco, mingling with the oppressive silence. Waiting, as expected, was Giovanni, leaning lazily against the gate with his usual smirk. The embodiment of carelessness.

“So,” Giovanni drawled, his voice light but tinged with venom. “You’re playing knight now? Shielding the damsel from the big bad wolves?”

Edmondo didn’t answer.

There was no point.

He walked past him. But Giovanni, ever the opportunist, wasn’t one to let a moment slip away.

“You really expect me not to believe this is about her and not… Agata?” Giovanni let the name hang in the air like a sharp-edged taunt. “Come on, brother. At least be honest with yourself.”

Edmondo stopped mid-step.

Slowly, he turned, his gaze colder than ice; the kind of look that could freeze a man in place.

“You know exactly why I’m protecting her,” Edmondo said, his voice sharp yet restrained. Like a blade poised at a throat.

Giovanni tilted his head. His smirk deepened. “Do I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re chasing shadows. She isn’t Agata. She’s just—”

“I’m not a fool.” The words cut through the air, louder than Edmondo had intended.

He stepped closer, his gaze pinning Giovanni in place. “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. Agata doesn’t need to stand in front of me for her presence to linger.”

For a brief moment, Giovanni’s smirk faltered. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced with mock surrender as he raised his hands.

“Fine,” Giovanni said lightly. His tone was back to flippant. “Fine. But what’s with the gloves?”

Edmondo glanced at his hands. It was encased in black leather gloves, the kind used for operations. “I’m preparing,” he said simply.

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

The words hit harder than Edmondo expected, but he refused to let it show. His eyes burned with restrained fury as he turned back to Giovanni. “Failure is letting them think we’re done. Failure is sitting here while they defile our name. I’m not finished.”

Without waiting for a response, Edmondo pushed through the gates, striding toward the waiting car in the courtyard. Giovanni followed, for once silent.

Duty called.

There had been an invasion. Invaders had swept through the North.

....and he didn't want 'her' to be haunted by whatever she'd see.

---

The drive to the mountainside was suffocating. Giovanni sat beside Edmondo. His usual smirk was now replaced with a grim expression. Neither of them spoke. The silence was heavier than any argument they could have had.

As they approached the edge of the mountain pass, the stench hit first; a sickening mix of blood, smoke, and decay. Edmondo’s stomach churned, but he pressed forward as the tires crunched over dirt and scattered debris.

The scene that greeted them was worse than either had imagined it to be.

Tents lay shredded, their canvas stained with dark, dried blood. Bodies were strewn across the ground, some piled together like discarded refuse. Women clutched their children with faces frozen in terror and pain. Others… Edmondo couldn’t bring himself to look.

Giovanni stepped out first, his face pale but composed. Edmondo followed, pulling a mask over his face and tightening his cloak. The people who survived couldn’t see him like this... not as their Don, not as the man who had failed to protect them.

As Edmondo walked through the carnage, the weight of every step pressed down on him. A child’s doll lay abandoned in the dirt, its once-bright fabric soaked in mud and something darker. Nearby, an old man sat slumped against a tree, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

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

Edmondo turned away, his chest tightening. 'This is my failure.'

His people had been hunted, slaughtered, and violated while he sat in his estate, blind to their suffering. All in just how many hours? Rage bubbled beneath the surface, his fists clenching so tightly that the leather gloves bit into his palms.

“This,” Giovanni called, unwrapping a cloth carefully. “This was found among the ashes. The men said it was the only thing that survived the fires.”

The cloth fell away to reveal a small object: a child’s toy painted in faded colors, shaped like a rose. The petals were intricately carved, and at its center was an emblem, too faint to decipher through the scorch marks.

A shiver ran through Edmondo.

There was something hauntingly familiar about it, though he couldn’t place it.

Giovanni turned the toy over in his hands. “It’s an emblem,” he said. “A belonging of the invaders.”

“Whose?” Edmondo demanded, his patience fraying.

Giovanni held it up to the light, letting the faint details glint. “Does this look familiar to you?”

“No. Should it?”

Giovanni met his gaze. His own eyes were dark with intent. “It does to me.”

The words sent a chill through Edmondo. Taking the emblem, his gloved fingers traced the scorched edges. Seconds passed and the details were eluding him.

“La Rosa.”

The name hit like a thunderclap when Giovanni mentioned it with certainty. Edmondo’s jaw tightened as he studied the emblem more closely, rage simmering beneath his skin.

“Are you sure?”

Giovanni nodded. “This was the same mark on Agata’s linens, her clothes, her scarves whenever she came. She even had it tattooed. The rose.... it’s always been their symbol.”

Giovanni let out a slow exhale. “They didn’t attack us directly, Edmondo. Not the family, not the organization. They chose the people. This wasn’t about strategy or gain. This was personal.”

Personal.

The word echoed like a curse. Edmondo’s grip on the emblem tightened.

“They gathered their emblems,” Giovanni continued grimly, “burned them all to send a message. Except this one. It survived for a reason. They wanted it to reach us. What if.... what if all of this is because of her?”