The storm rolled in just after midnight.
Rain slashed against the penthouse windows in angry waves, the wind howling like a wounded beast. Lightning forked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the damage left behind. Bloodstains on the marble. Shattered glass embedded in the rugs. Furniture overturned like the aftermath of a battlefield.
Aria stood at the window, her reflection fractured across the pane. The gun still rested in her palm, cold and steady. Her fingers were wrapped around it with a grip too sure for someone who once feared her own shadow.
Behind her, Dominic moved like a predator stalking quiet ground. Controlled. Calculated. Dangerous.
"The doctor says Marco will live," he said without preamble.
Aria didn't turn. "But he won't forget."
"No. None of us will."
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Mara's not sleeping. Nico hasn't spoken since we pulled him from under that couch."
"He will. Give him time."
"What about me?" she asked, her voice low, quiet. "How much time do I get?"
Dominic stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back.
"You don't need time, Aria. You need the truth."
She finally turned. "Then tell me."
His gaze locked on hers. "Isabella De Luca is alive."
The words hit like a gut punch.
Aria stepped back. Her grip on the gun loosened. "That's not possible."
"She's working with Adrian. Or at least, she was. We have unconfirmed intel from one of our insiders in Ricci's organization. She was spotted in Milan, then again in Berlin. Two weeks ago, in New York."
Aria shook her head. "No. Isa… she would never side with someone like Adrian."
"You sure about that?" Dominic asked quietly. "Because the Isa you remember died in that fire. Whoever came back, she's not the same girl."
Aria's breath was shallow. Her thoughts were a thousand shards, none sharp enough to hold onto.
"Why would she come after me?" she asked.
Dominic didn't answer. He just looked at her, the weight of too many truths pressing down between them.
That was when Luca burst into the room, hair wet from the rain, boots tracking mud on the floors.
"Boss," he said, eyes wide, "you're going to want to see this."
He handed Dominic a folder. Thick. Fresh. Still damp at the corners. Dominic opened it slowly, flipping through the photos inside.
His face darkened.
"What is it?" Aria asked.
Dominic turned the folder toward her.
Inside were surveillance stills.
One showed Isabella, unmistakably her, stepping out of a car in front of an upscale hotel in Prague.
The second showed her speaking to Viktor Dragunov, her hand on his arm, her mouth close to his ear.
The third photo made Aria's knees weaken.
It showed Isabella outside a warehouse, walking past a group of armed guards. And in her hand was a locket. Silver. With a cracked red gem.
Aria's locket.
"She had it," she whispered.
Dominic was already moving. "Get the jet ready. We leave in one hour."
"Where are we going?" Luca asked.
"To Prague."
"Now?"
"Now," Dominic snapped. "If she's there, she doesn't get to vanish again."
Aria's hands trembled. The locket had been lost the night of the fire. The same fire that supposedly took Isabella's life. And now it was back. With her.
"Why that locket?" Aria whispered.
Dominic didn't look at her. "Because inside it... there's a microchip."
She blinked. "What?"
Dominic nodded. "It was hidden there years ago. Before I even knew your name. Your father worked with a man named Elias Roman. He was building a ledger. A digital list of the five top families, every illegal deal, every transfer, every murder ordered. Your father died before he could finish it. But the backup was hidden inside that locket. Your locket."
Aria's world tilted. "You're saying Isa knew? All this time?"
"She didn't know what it was. But someone else did. Adrian. Viktor. They want it."
"Then we have to stop them."
Dominic met her eyes, voice low. "No. We have to get to Isabella first."
---
The private jet roared over the Atlantic, silent but swift.
Inside, Aria sat with her arms crossed, staring at the rain against the window.
Dominic was across from her, reviewing files. Luca stood near the galley, loading clips into spare weapons like he was expecting hell.
He probably was.
Aria's mind was a mess of old memories and new betrayals. Isa's laughter at their school in Florence. The way she used to braid Aria's hair when she couldn't sleep. The promise she made the night before she vanished: no matter what happens, I'll always protect you.
"Do you believe she changed?" Aria asked quietly.
Dominic didn't look up. "I believe everyone has a price. Or a breaking point."
"And which one was hers?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
The plane touched down just after dawn. Prague was wet and grey, its beauty soaked in a cold mist that clung to everything like secrets.
A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac.
Marco, bruised and stitched, had insisted on coming. "You'll need someone who knows how Viktor moves," he'd said.
Dominic didn't argue.
The hotel Isabella was last seen at wasn't far.
They arrived at the lobby in minutes.
It was empty.
Too empty.
Dominic's jaw tightened. "It's a trap."
Marco scanned the floor. "Or bait."
They rode the elevator in silence. Floor after floor. Aria's heart pounded.
When the doors opened, she stepped out first.
The corridor was silent. But the room at the end had its door open.
She walked slowly, her steps soundless.
Dominic behind her.
Inside, the hotel suite was abandoned.
Except for the chair in the center of the room.
And on that chair sat the locket.
Open.
Empty.
And beside it, a note.
Written in Isabella's handwriting.
Aria picked it up.
"If you want answers, come to where it all began. Alone."
Aria's hand trembled.
Luca growled. "She's playing you."
Marco shook his head. "She's dividing us."
Dominic looked at Aria. "She wants you."
"I know."
"Then you're not going alone."
Aria looked up.
Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"Yes. I am."
Dominic stepped forward. "You're not thinking clearly."
"No. I'm thinking exactly how she wants me to. But it's the only way."
"She'll kill you."
Aria's eyes never wavered.
"Then let her try."
Behind them, the storm outside thickened.
And miles away, in a dark chamber lined with velvet walls, Isabella watched the hotel footage on a monitor.
She smiled.
"Come home, Aria," she whispered. "Let's finish what we started."
The trap had been set.
And the girl in the rain was about to walk into the fire.
Again.