{GIOVANNI'S POV}**I watch her walk in, and for a moment, it’s like time stalls. I didn't expect to feel this unsettled. I’ve been away for so long, over five months. Yet the moment that girl… Ingrid? Ingrid… the moment she steps into the room, something inside me shifts. She’s bigger, fuller than before. Makes me wonder, has she put on weight? I swallow the thought, I push it down. But a nagging feeling tugs at me. I can’t help it. My first instinct? Fuck, I hope she’s not pregnant.I push the thoughts aside and force myself to focus, to keep my cool. The girl’s always been good at making me second guess myself, but I can’t let her have that power anymore.Then Cara, damn it, Cara, the brave lady, gets up like it’s nothing. She practically throws herself at Ingrid, hugging her. The little girl follows suit, wrapping her arms around Cara as they hug. “This is my younger sister,” Cara says, trying
{INGRID’S POV}**I fold the clothes out of my bag and into the wardrobe, pressing them down neatly, making sure each crease is perfect. It’s not really about organization; it’s about keeping my hands busy, and keeping my mind from straying away. The room is quiet except for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath me. My sister, Cara, chose this room for me in the D’Avi Family House.I believe she had no choice and that's why. It's not her house nor her husband's after all.A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Cara steps in. Even without looking, I could tell her familiar presence but it's heavier than I remember. It's like she’s carrying a burden she doesn’t want to talk about. “I hope everything’s been fine since you moved in,” she says, her voice softer than usual.I nod, forcing a small smile. “No problems.” But even as I say it, I wonder if she sees through me. I wonder if she knows how different I feel, and how much I’ve changed.
{INGRID’S POV}**I push open the door to Cara's office, the soft click of the handle ushers me into the room.She’s sitting at her desk, facing the computer screen and with a thick stack of papers beside her. The room smells faintly of ink and fresh coffee, and I’m hit with that familiar, almost oppressive sense of being in a place I think is quite rich for me.She doesn’t notice me at first, and for a moment, I just stand there. There’s a heaviness in the air between us, something unspoken that I can’t quite pin down. But then she looks up, her sharp eyes meeting mine, and I feel like I’ve been caught in some kind of quiet trap.In the dim light, her gaze is assessing and flicking over me before it softens. “You look dizzy,” she says, her voice softer than usual. She's concerned and it is evident, but not overwhelming. “Are you okay?”I don’t answer immediately. I’m dizzy, yes, but it’s not from the room spinning or from some feverish illness. It's the weight of it all; everything
{CARA'S POV}**The study is quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It’s the type that feels too heavy and too expectant, as if the walls themselves are waiting for something to be said. The lamp on my desk casts a dull glow over the papers I’ve been going through for the past hour, but my eyes keep drifting away from them. I rub my temples. I need a break.The door opens softly. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Ingrid. Her presence is careful, measured, like she’s unsure of how very much welcome she is.I glance at her. She’s pretty and she's smiling slightly at me. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it takes me off guard. I should’ve gone to look for her earlier. I’ve been meaning to, but with everything going on, it kept slipping away. No, that’s a lie; I let it slip away.I offer a tired smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your room after work.”She steps forward, taking a seat by the table near me. “You’ve been busy.”That’s not an excuse.“If you need anything,
{CARA'S POV} * * I don’t sleep. The CD’s contents burn in my mind, every word twisting into something heavier. Lavanda. The car. Edmondo. Seven years of silence, shattered by a shadow in a hood. And yet, the most dangerous part of it all; the part that refuses to leave me, is the way he spoke. She wasn’t alone. Lavanda had help. Someone else wanted Edmondo gone. Someone I might know. I step out of my study, my heels clicking against the marble. The house is quiet. Ingrid has gone to her room, leaving me alone with this; alone with the weight of what comes next. I can’t sit here and wait for answers to come to me. If I want the truth, I have to drag it out myself. And I know exactly where to start. --- The first stop is the docks. The wind off the water is thick with salt and rot, the scent of old wood and damp ropes curling in the air. The docks reek of fish guts and fuel, the scent thick under the dim glow of scattered floodlights. Men move like ghosts in the mist, unlo
{CARA'S POV}**I don’t go to the hospital right away. Not easily just because I feel hopeless.At first, I try to ignore the urge to go to the hospital, running to Edmondo Edmondo's dead arms. I push it down like I always do. I bury myself in work, in meetings, in dead end conversations with men who think they can challenge me now that Edmondo is gone. I visit the underworld, ask the right questions, twist the right arms, but I come up empty. Still feeling hopeless. It's just that… the pieces don’t fit. No one wants to talk so easily, and the ones who do want to talk, even so openly, they don’t know anything useful.And now that I’ve exhausted every lead, when I’ve walked through the filth of the city and come up with nothing, when there’s no one left to interrogate…. I go to him.Edmondo.The hospital smells sterile, like bleach and something artificial. The air is too cold. The walls are too white. I hate it. This place doesn’t suit him. He hates it here. Edmondo was never meant
{INGRID’S POV}**Lavanda is evil and if everyone here should know the evil she's done, there's no way she'd be belonging here.She moves through the estate like a ghost that sticks to the house without an intention of leaving. Except ghosts don’t walk with their chins high, with their steps measured, and definitely not with their presence looming like a silent threat. No, she walks like she owns the place. Like she’s just waiting for the right moment to sink her claws into the heart of it all.And I don’t trust her.Ever since that CD played, ever since Cara's face changed: tight with shock, then anger, then something worse…, I’ve known that Lavanda is the mastermind to all of this. Cara has been running herself into the ground, moving place to place, digging for something, or someone. Anything that would give her clues and maybe evidence against Lavanda. But I see what she won’t say.She’s breaking.And it’s not just about Edmondo anymore.It’s about the past. It’s about what that
{INGRID'S POV}**It's been just a week, a week of Cara drowning herself in an abyss of sorrow, brokenness and co fusion, and the estate already feels heavier now. The walls are carrying secrets I hadn’t noticed before. Really. It’s strange; how a place can shift without changing. The bricks are the same, the chandeliers cast the same golden glow, but the weight in the air has thickened. It lingers in the way people move, in the pauses before they speak.Everything in this house has always belonged to the D'Avi family from decades ago, bearing the name of the current Don, Don Edmondo. And that name should be stamped into every crevice, but it isn’t. Now, it feels like it belongs to Lavanda.Her voice lingers in conversations she's not even supposed to be a part of. Her shadow stretches down the halls and everywhere.I see it in the way people look at her. They measure their words, adjust their postures. All in fear of her, no more Cara. They move differently when she’s in the room.
~ County Cork~ Ireland{INGRID’S POV}**The countryside of Britain stretches endlessly, the rolling hills under a gray sky, dotted with sheep and stone walls that look like they’ve been there for centuries. The air is damp, and thick with the scent of the sea just like Northern Italy. It's not as cold here as the North but it’s colder than I expected. Even wrapped in my coat, the chill seeps into my skin.Well, it's still better than Trento.The two men who came with me; Callum, the British one, and a Western Italian man whose name I never caught, stand nearby with their hands in their coat pockets. They’re waiting for instructions. It feels nice to have people wait for your instructions. Really.“This is the place,” Callum says, nodding toward a house set back from the road. It’s old, sturdy, built to withstand the wind and rain. A single lantern flickers by the door.I don’t hesitate. “I’ll go in alone.”The Italian man frowns. “Are you sure, Miss? We could….”“I don't need you
{GIOVANNI’S POV}**The fire crackles, low and steady, casting a warm flicker of light against the stone walls. The scent of burning wood lingers in the air, mixing with the sharper bite of whiskey. Outside, the wind howls across the Irish countryside, carrying the damp cold with it.I don’t turn when the door opens. I don’t have to. I am the boss of this place, the owner of the O'Keeffe Manor.The air shifts. A presence. Familiar. Unexpected."Ingrid."I breathe her name before I can stop myself.Footsteps come in, it's careful but quick. My eyes track the movement in the reflection of the whiskey glass. And there I see a small, stiff figure, wrapped in a coat quite too thin for this weather. Her shoulders are squared, her posture is rigid. She’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my damp curls. She's caught me.She shouldn’t be here. Why is she here in fact? Who led her here? Who brought her here?She shouldn't be in this house
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