Ivan was healing—slowly, reluctantly, and with enough grumbling to make even the stoic Mirella roll her eyes.
Casey sat at the small kitchen table, scribbling in her journal while munching on a suspiciously burnt croissant that Luca had proudly baked. Proudly. With zero shame.
"I think I've unlocked a new form of weapon," Casey said, squinting at the charcoal in her hand.
Ivan, shirtless and bandaged, limped into the kitchen. "That smell... is it the wallpaper peeling off or is Luca cooking again?"
"Both," Mirella muttered from the corner without looking up from her gun cleaning.
Luca entered next, flour on his face and what looked like cinnamon on his pants. "I am blessed with talents beyond your understanding."
Casey smirked. "Blessed is generous. What god gave you a whisk and said, 'Yes, burn everything, my child'?"
Ivan groaned, sitting with a heavy thud. "You're too cheerful for a woman who's being hunted by a psychotic half-brother of mine."
"I'm also carrying your child. That balances it out," she replied sweetly.
Mirella snorted. "She's got a point."
Despite the tension lingering like smoke in the walls, the house had become... a strange kind of home.
There were still guns hidden in flower vases and cameras behind paintings, but Casey laughed more now. Ivan, though still grumpy and emotionally constipated, had softened—only slightly. Just enough to let her see cracks in the marble.
Then one morning, things got weird.
Weirder.
Casey was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she screamed.
Ivan burst in with a gun, shirtless, hair sticking up.
"Are you okay?!"
She turned, holding something up with trembling hands.
"A tail! I have a tail!"
Ivan stared.
It wasn't a tail.
It was a string from her pajama pants.
They stared at each other in silence for three full seconds before Ivan muttered, "I need a drink," and walked out.
Later that day, Luca brought news.
"Someone's at the gate. Says her name is Vivienne."
Ivan's face darkened.
"Vivienne?"
"Yes," Luca said, hesitant. "Your ex-fiancée."
Casey froze mid-sip of apple juice.
"Fiancée?"
Ivan clenched his jaw. "Old arrangement. Before all this. She was supposed to be my... 'proper' heir-producer."
Mirella looked over. "Oh good. Drama. Just when I was getting bored."
Vivienne Park was tall, stunning, and wore heels like she'd been born on a runway. Her lipstick was redder than murder, and her smile was sharper than Daehyun's knives.
She walked into the house like she owned it.
"Ivan," she purred, arms open. "Miss me?"
He didn't respond.
Her eyes landed on Casey's belly. "Oh."
Casey raised a hand. "Yes. Hello. This is the belly. It's very real. And he's my headache now."
Vivienne gave her a tight smile. "Interesting. I didn't think Ivan had... taste."
Mirella stood behind her and whispered, "Say one more thing, and I'll show you how Italian women fight."
Ivan growled. "Why are you here?"
"I came with a warning," Vivienne said, dropping her playful tone. "Your brother is gathering allies. Not just in Italy. The Russians are listening. The Yakuza, too. If that baby is born, the world shifts."
Casey blinked. "Wow. No pressure."
Ivan stared at Vivienne. "Why help us?"
She looked at Casey, then Ivan. "Because Daehyun is insane. And for once... I want to be on the side of survival."
Later that night, Casey sat by the window, hugging a pillow.
Ivan walked in and sat beside her. "You okay?"
She didn't answer right away. Then she said, "I'm scared."
He didn't offer comfort. But his hand found hers.
They sat in silence.
Then Casey turned and whispered, "Hey."
"What?"
"I still think the tail thing was real."
Ivan groaned and dropped his head on her shoulder.
Outside, beyond the vines and stone walls, a new figure watched from afar.
This time, it wasn't Daehyun.
This time, it was someone else—someone who'd been thought dead.
Emilia.
Casey's mother.
Alive.
Watching.
Waiting.
And with her... a child.
Not Casey.
Not Ivan's.
Another secret. One that would unravel everything.
The next morning began with a crash—followed by a scream that was definitely Luca's.
Casey rushed downstairs, dragging her blanket like a cape, ready for anything. Guns, kidnappers, mafia ninjas—bring it on.
Instead, she found Luca holding a frying pan like a weapon, pointing it at a tiny squirrel that had somehow gotten into the kitchen and was wreaking havoc on the sugar jar.
"Ivan!" Luca yelled. "Tell your forest demon to leave!"
Ivan stepped into the scene with dead eyes and said, "That squirrel has more respect for Casey than you do. Let it live."
The squirrel made a leap from the counter to the fridge, knocking over an entire bowl of apples.
"I swear it winked at me!" Luca shrieked.
Casey just stared, amused. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if it was sent by Daehyun."
Mirella strolled in, sipping her espresso. "If it was sent by Daehyun, it would've had a gun."
Later, after the squirrel had been freed (with Ivan muttering about needing better security), the day turned darker.
Vivienne stayed.
That was a problem.
She wasn't a guest—she was a storm in lipstick and satin.
She spoke to Ivan in hushed Italian, always touching his arm, always too close, and always watching Casey like she was a bug under a microscope.
At one point, Casey passed the hallway and heard:
"You really think she's strong enough to raise a mafia heir?"
Ivan's answer was a growl. "She's stronger than you ever were."
That stung Vivienne. But it burned something inside Casey—like a flicker of pride… and fear.
She wasn't just carrying a baby anymore.
She was carrying war.
Night fell like an omen.
Vivienne had gone to bed early. Mirella kept watch on the roof. Ivan sat outside, cigarette between his fingers, staring into the moonlight.
Casey joined him.
"You used to smoke more," she said, sitting beside him on the stone step.
"I quit," he said.
"When?"
"Last night."
She laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"You know this won't end well, right?" she said.
"I know."
"We're a ticking bomb."
"I know."
"You're still a jerk."
"I definitely know."
But he didn't pull away.
She didn't move either.
Just before dawn, Luca found something on the gate.
A letter. No postage. No print.
Just a symbol.
A black crescent moon… slashed through with red.
Ivan went still.
Casey asked, "What does it mean?"
Ivan's voice dropped.
"It means he's coming."
"Daehyun?"
Ivan shook his head slowly.
"No. Worse. Our father."
Casey felt her heart drop.
"You said he was dead."
"I said I wished he was."
In a faraway church, in the quiet of candlelight, a man with silver hair and a rosary around his wrist smiled coldly at the letter in his hand.
"Time to meet my grandchild," he whispered.
Meanwhile… Vivienne watched from the shadows of the safehouse, speaking quietly on a phone.
"Yes," she said. "She's here. And pregnant. Exactly as you predicted."
Pause.
"I'll keep playing nice. But Ivan will break. You just have to wait."
She ended the call and turned, smiling into the mirror.
"Let the games begin."