813 miles Southeast, Thursday, April 26th, 7:00 a.m. CET — Piazza Sant'Antonino, Castelmola, City of Messina, Siciliy, Italy
The village of Castelmola, perched high upon a hill, was still bathed in the soft, early light of dawn. Its narrow streets wound like veins through the stone and whitewashed buildings, leading up to a tranquil plaza. From this vantage point, the village seemed to sit quietly between earth and sky, a quiet sentinel overseeing the world below. The view, stretching out over the Ionian Sea and the distant Mount Etna, was framed by an expanse of terracotta rooftops and the lush greenery of the surrounding hills.
At the heart of the plaza, two elderly men sat side by side, their backs hunched but their eyes sharp, as they stared at the rising sun. The table beneath them was small, wooden, and simple, its surface cool and polished by the morning dew. An umbrella cast a narrow shadow, sheltering the two men from the faint heat of the early sun. Black-and-white checkered tiles covered the ground beneath their feet, adding to the antique charm of the square.
Their dark suits were tailored but faded from years of wear, the edges of their collars slightly frayed. Their faces were weathered with age, their expressions hard but thoughtful. Don Giovanni "Il Lupo" Lanzafame, at 72, was a towering figure with piercing green eyes and a rugged jaw, his thick silver hair swept back from his forehead. Sitting next to him was his longtime associate, Don Aldo "Il Serpente" Vacca, a man in his late 70's whose sharp features were hidden behind dark shades, hiding a gaze that still burned with secrets and ambition.
The morning's stillness was broken by the soft footfalls of a young waiter, a local boy, who approached with a tray of steaming tea. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as if the two men before him demanded both respect and fear. Don Giovanni acknowledged the boy with a brief nod, while Don Aldo muttered under his breath, his fingers curling around a thin black box between them. Sleek and simple, the box had once promised power, but now it seemed to carry only pain and regret. Aldo's knuckles whitened as he gripped it, his torment evident in every motion.
"You don't understand, Gio," he murmured, each word carrying the weight of his suffering. "This tie… it's destroyed everything. It was supposed to give me control, but it's done the opposite. My men, my family—they're all falling apart. They kill each other just to gain my favor. They go mad Gio, mad!"
Aldo's voice wavered, and behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, tears threatened to spill. Don Giovanni said nothing, his sharp gaze fixed on his old friend, caught between understanding and unease. Don Aldo had never dared to wear the cursed tie in Don Giovanni's presence, and until now, he had dismissed the stories as exaggerated whispers. But the mounting death toll and chaos within the Vacca family and its operations were undeniable—too much to attribute to mere coincidence.
"I've lost everything," Don Aldo murmured, his voice thin and broken." And now the witch who created this cursed tie has vanished. Gone without a trace… and I'm left with a wretched curse I can't undo."
Don Giovanni leaned forward, his voice calm yet commanding. "Take solace, mio amico—for we've made progress. My men have located the strega's niece." He let the weight of his words linger before continuing, "We'll use her to draw the witch out of hiding and finally put an end to this—tormento."
Don Aldo nodded, the tears finally spilling under his shades, the weight of his regrets etched into every line of his weathered face. The sun continued its climb, casting long shadows over the plaza, as the two old men sat in heavy, unbroken silence.
750 miles Northwest, 7:27 a.m. CET — Suite Stilista, Ninth Floor, Gior Flagship Store, Quadrilatero della Moda, Centro Storico, Zone 1, Milan
The guest bedroom was a vision of old-world opulence, a large, lavish space adorned with antique furnishings and intricate detailing. The walls, painted a soft eggshell white, were framed with gold-leaf moldings, and a crystal chandelier hung elegantly from the high ceiling, scattering sunlight across the room like shards of glass.
A grand four-poster bed with ornate carvings stood in the center, its quilted silk bedding and plush pillows in deep, jewel-toned hues creating a striking contrast against the antique oak frame. Renata sauntered across the bed's surface with an air of regal indifference, her tail swaying lazily. She settled next to Loconda's face, her piercing gold eyes studying her intently before she lifted a paw and delivered a quick slap across Loconda's face.
Loconda jolted awake, her breath catching as her eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings. Disoriented, she blinked against the sunlight, trying to piece together where she was. Then it came back to her—the hurried departure from the university, the journey with David, and their arrival at the Gior flagship store.
She sat up slowly, her Gior silk pajama set shimmering faintly in the morning light. Her hair bundled neatly inside a silk bonnet as she noticed Renata perched beside an empty bowl, staring at her expectantly. Loconda sighed, slipping out of bed and into two white Gior fur slippers that rested neatly on a long Persian rug.
Crossing the room, she approached a polished mahogany dresser where a metal tray covered by a dome lid waited. Beside it sat a tall glass of water, the condensation glinting in the light. She lifted the lid to reveal a beautifully arranged breakfast—fluffy scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and a sliver of smoked salmon.
With a delicate touch, Loconda tore off a piece of salmon and placed it in Renata's bowl. She poured a small amount of water into the second dish, earning a grateful, soft purr from the feline. Just as she turned to take a sip of water for herself, a firm knock sounded at the door, followed by a woman's unfamiliar voice.
"Buongiorno, Miss Toussaint. May I enter?"
Loconda's brows furrowed slightly as she set the glass back on the tray. She straightened her posture, smoothing the silk of her pajama top, and responded, her voice calm yet wary. "Yes, you may… enter."
A young woman stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She was striking—dark hair swept into a sleek bun, her olive-toned skin glowing under the soft light. She wore a tailored Gior uniform, a black blazer with gold embroidery, paired with high-waisted trousers and a silk blouse in a deep burgundy. Around her neck hung a delicate gold chain with a single Gior logo charm. She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to luxury but carried herself with an air of professionalism.
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Toussaint," she said with a polite smile, her Italian accent soft but distinct. "My name is Sofia Moretti, and I'm the Attaché of Guest Relations for this flagship location." She held out an impeccably folded uniform, a sleek black ensemble accented with subtle gold stitching. "We have a full day ahead, so I'll need you to shower and dress quickly. I'll wait outside."
Loconda nodded, her expression calm but curious as she accepted the uniform. Mrs. Moretti gave a slight bow before turning and stepping back into the hallway.
Moments later, Loconda emerged, her presence commanding despite her quiet demeanor. She wore a black wool-blend short-sleeve polo, its refined silhouette accented by a white whipstitch trim that traced the left collar and continued down the left sleeve. Black high-waisted flare pants lent a sense of effortless sophistication, their fluid movement complementing her measured stride. Renata rested lazily in her arms, her black fur seamlessly merging with her dark ensemble.
Mrs. Moretti's eyes lit up as she glanced at Loconda. "Bellissima," she said warmly. "You wear Gior as if it were made just for you."
Loconda gave a slight smile, smoothing her sleeve. "Thank you."
"This way," Mrs. Moretti said, gesturing down the hall. They moved through a corridor lined with modern art, the walls accented with subtle touches of gold. At the end stood a gleaming gold elevator. Mrs. Moretti pressed a button, and the doors slid open with a soft chime.
Inside, the elevator's mirrored panels reflected Loconda's composed figure. Mrs. Moretti began to outline the day's itinerary. "First, you'll join Lady Gior for a walking brunch and tour of the storefront. Afterward, you'll meet with our Head Designer Anaïs, from the Innovation Department. She's eager to show you some of our latest creations."
Loconda raised a brow slightly but remained silent as Mrs. Moretti continued.
"Once that concludes, you'll have a few hours to yourself. Then at noon, lunch will be brought to your suite. I'll return at 1:15 to help you gather and prepare your new belongings for departure. Then, at two o'clock, we'll meet Confidant David at the main entrance—he'll be waiting to escort you north to the Monastery of Eternal Light, where the Havocacy Program will take place."
Before Loconda could respond, the elevator doors opened, revealing a lavish reception area where Vivian Giordano, Otto, David, and six other Gior staff members stood waiting.
7:59.59 a.m. CET — Livello Donna, First Floor, Gior Flagship Store
"Ah, I see Gior has found its match," Vivian said, examining Loconda with a wistful smile. The heiress was dressed in a striking crimson Gior suit, the fabric rich and sharp against her complexion, like lacquer poured over silk. She strode forward, her heels clicking, and gave Loconda a warm hug and a kiss on both cheeks. "Now," she said, turning sharply on her heel, "let's not waste time. Follow me, everyone."
The group moved as one, their presence commanding attention as they began their journey through the store.
Vivian led the group through the expansive first floor, where rows of ready-to-wear designs lined the walls, each one more striking than the last. The vibrant hues and intricate tailoring of women's apparel gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting. Every inch of the store seemed to pulse with life, a testament to the meticulous craftsmanship behind Gior's creations. As they walked, she gestured toward various employees stationed in their workspaces, adjusting garments, taking measurements, and consulting fabric samples.
"Here," Vivian said, pointing to a group of seamstresses at one of the fitting stations. "This is where the magic happens—the fitting process. We're perfectionists at Gior. Every piece goes through at least three fittings, sometimes more, before it's ready to hit the market." She smiled, clearly proud of the work being done.
Loconda's gaze wandered, lingering on a luxurious, high-end tracksuit displayed near one of the workbenches. The fabric shimmered, a soft blend of silk and cashmere, its deep navy color set off by sleek black accents. It was both elegant and casual, a perfect blend of sophistication and comfort.
Vivian noticed the direction of Loconda's attention and slowed her pace. "Ah, you have an eye for quality," she said with a smile. "This tracksuit was one of our latest collaborations with an emerging Japanese designer. It's constructed with the finest materials to ensure both style and performance."
Loconda's fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling its smooth texture. "It's exquisite," she remarked, her voice soft with admiration.
"I'll make sure we have one packed for you, for your trip to the Alps," Vivian added with a wink.
Loconda hesitated, unsure whether to accept the gift. "I… I'm not sure if I should," she began.
"Don't worry," Vivian assured her, sensing the hesitation. "Gior will be sponsoring your entire wardrobe for the duration of your stay. I highly doubt you packed enough for an entire summer's worth of events. The tracksuit will be perfect for your travels." She gave a knowing look, then added, "Trust me—you won't want to wear anything else."
Loconda bit her lip, nodding in acknowledgment. "You're right. I didn't have much time to pack."
Vivian smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling. "We'll make sure you're well taken care of. After all, a lady must look her best at all times, especially when there's business to attend to."
As they continued down the hall, they arrived at another gold elevator. A man dressed in a white Gior uniform greeted them holding a silver tray laden with handheld appetizers. Those boarding first helped themselves, the savory aromas of the food mingling with the soft scent of polished wood.
Inside the elevator, only Vivian, Otto, David, and Loconda entered. The others had already dispersed to continue their work. As the doors slid shut, the small group ascended in silence for a few moments. Then, Vivian turned to Loconda with a more serious expression.
"Do you have any questions, Miss Toussaint?" Vivian asked, her voice gentle but probing.
Loconda considered the question for a moment. "Uh, well… yeah, actually," she said slowly. "Earlier today, I… I was nearly kidnapped by some terrifying men. That professor, uh… Ven—Venturi, yeah, Professor Venturi—he told me they were dangerous and after my aunt. Do you know anything about these men or why they're after her?"
Vivian's lips curved into a slight smile, though her eyes were focused. "The men you encountered belong to a crime family." She paused before continuing. "More precisely, they're part of an alliance—several families united by a common purpose… one that leads directly to your aunt."
8:28 a.m. CET — Livello Arredo, Third Floor, Gior Flagship Store
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the third floor. The space inside was strikingly different from the floor below—a mix of luxurious furniture and home décor all designed by Gior. The soft lines of the furniture were clean and modern, yet rich in detail, with textures that begged to be touched.
Vivian motioned for Otto and David to stay in the elevator as she and Loconda stepped out, their heels clicking across the polished floor. The two women walked past delicate armchairs, elegant coffee tables, and sculptural lamps, each piece as meticulously designed as the garments downstairs.
As they walked, their conversation continued.
"Acadia's situation has become… quite complicated," Vivian said, her tone turning grave. "The academy has placed her on the Sanctioned Registry—a blacklist reserved for those accused of practicing the dark arts. It's not a list anyone wants their name on."
Loconda tilted her head, puzzled. "What are the dark arts?"
Vivian's eyes calmed as they wandered to a beautiful loveseat nestled in the corner of the room. With deliberate grace, she crossed the space, her fingertips brushing the plush fabric as though drawing inspiration from its essence. "Everything," she began, her voice carrying the cadence of a storyteller, "absolutely everything, is in constant motion. From the hum of the smallest atom to the crash of the largest wave, the world is an orchestra of vibrations, each note played at its own unique frequency."
She turned back to Locanda, her expression equal parts teacher and poet. "Resonance is the art of harmonizing with those frequencies. A skilled manipulator can coax vibrations to align, to amplify, or to unravel entirely. It is creation, transformation, and destruction all wrapped in the same melody."
Vivian's tone darkened slightly as her fingers lingered on the loveseat's edge. "But Acadia—your aunt—played a different tune. She didn't just manipulate resonance; she wove it into objects, crafting cursed artifacts that could alter the vibrations of those around them. A tie that sows discord in the hearts of others. A necklace that drains vitality with every wear. These creations don't just hum; they sing, loudly and dangerously, disrupting the natural harmony of all who fall into their orbit."
Vivian stepped back, her gaze piercing. "Resonance is a power of infinite potential, Miss Toussaint. But like any great power, it can heal—or harm—depending on the hands that wield it."
Locanda bristled, her voice laced with defiance. "My aunt is not a criminal, Vivian. I've known her my entire life. She's brilliant, eccentric maybe, but she's not the kind of woman who would… hurt people. This idea of her practicing dark arts, it's absurd. Someone must be setting her up."
Vivian held Locanda's gaze, her expression a mix of sympathy and cautious resolve. She walked toward the window, the sunlight spilling over her poised figure like a halo. "I don't want to believe it either," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "Acadia was one of the most gifted designers I've ever known. She had a way of weaving resonance into her work that no one else could replicate."
Vivian turned back to Locanda, her face shadowed with worry. "But the evidence, Miss Toussaint… it's mounting. Day by day, reports come in—cursed objects traced back to her, accounts from victims, whispers of deals with dangerous people. I don't know how much of it is true, but even if only a fraction is, she's in serious trouble. And trust me, there are people hunting her who will not hesitate to ensure she can never defend herself."
Locanda's defiance faltered, replaced by a flicker of doubt. She stepped closer, her arms crossing protectively over her chest. "Then why am I here? If you believe all this, why risk bringing me into this mess?"
Vivian's posture eased, her tone earnest. "Because you may be the only person who can help us find her before they do. You love her, don't you? And you trust her in ways no one else can. Maybe you're the missing link, the thread we need to unravel the truth and reach her first."
Locanda's jaw tightened, but her resolve remained. "I'll do whatever it takes to find her. But I won't stand by and let her be condemned without a fight. If what you're saying is true, if these accusations against her have any weight, then I'll find out why. But I'll also find out who's really behind all of this. My aunt isn't a villain. She's always been a positive force in my life, with a light that's unshakable, even in the darkest times."
"Bene," Vivian nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though her eyes remained clouded with concern. "That fire in you—that's what we'll need. You might not realize it yet, Locanda, but you've inherited more from her than you know. Not just her talent, but her courage. And maybe, just maybe, that will be the flame that lights the way—illuminating the path to uncover what's truly happening."
She took a step closer, placing a hand lightly on Locanda's shoulder. "But listen carefully. This won't be easy. Acadia's work was legendary for a reason. If she's truly involved, it means we're dealing with resonance manipulated at a level even I can barely comprehend. The people who want her found—well, they don't care about the truth. They care about silencing the matter. So, whatever you learn, whatever you uncover, you'll need to tread carefully. For your aunt's sake, and for your own."
Locanda swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Vivian's words settle on her shoulders. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, a determination began to solidify in her chest. "I'll find her," she said, her voice steady. "And I'll prove she's not the monster they think she is."
Vivian stepped back, her expression tempering. "I believe you. And here at Gior we protect our own, like family. Our first goal will be to recover all of the cursed objects connected to your aunt's case and reverse the damage before it spreads even further."
Loconda absorbed this information quietly, her thoughts swirling as they approached a subtle, hidden elevator tucked seamlessly into the wall. Its paint matched the surrounding decor perfectly, blending into the building itself. The elevator doors opened with a soft hiss, and the two women stepped inside. As the doors slid shut behind them, the gentle hum of the ascent filled the space. Vivian turned to Loconda, her tone soothing.
"Now's the perfect time, Miss Toussaint, if you have any other questions. I can answer them while we're on our way up."
Loconda paused, her mind racing with so many thoughts. After a moment, she spoke.
"At the fashion show in New York… how did you know I was related to Acadia?"
Vivian's lips curved into a small smile. "I knew it even before I met you," she replied, her eyes briefly flicking to the elevator buttons as it ascended. "The intricate detailing in the fabrics you made… it was a pattern I had only ever seen from Acadia herself when she worked here at Gior. At first, I thought her style was just a random flair, a quirk of her genius. But when I saw your designs, with that same soulful, almost airy rhythm, I realized it wasn't chance—it was something deeper, something woven into how you both were raised, a shared spark in your craft."