The air at the graveyard was heavy with the scent of damp earth and aging stone. Elena Vane turned as a soft, rhythmic thud of footsteps broke the silence.
An elderly woman, draped in the simple, worn habit of a nun, approached her. Her face was a map of deep-wrinkled sorrows, but as her eyes landed on Elena, they ignited with a sudden, piercing spark of hope.
"A-are you Freya?" the woman whispered, her voice trembling like a dry leaf in the wind.
Elena adjusted the lapel of her leather coat ,her expression shifting into the practiced composure of a leader.
"No, Miss. I believe there has been a misunderstanding." Her voice was firm, resonant with the authority of someone used to being heard. "I am Elena Vane. CEO of Ora and Olio Globals."
The spark in the woman's eyes vanished, replaced by a hollow dullness. "Oh... I see. I thought... I truly thought you were her. How foolish of me, right? How can the dead return to walk among us?"
The raw grief in her "broken voice" caused a flicker of sympathy in Elena's chest. "I am sorry for your loss, Ma'am," Elena said softly, dropping her professional guard for a moment.
"It is quite alright, my child. God bless your heart," the nun replied, a weak, melancholic smile playing on her lips. "But you must understand... you look exactly like my Freya. The resemblance is uncanny."
Elena leaned in slightly, her curiosity piqued. As a woman who dealt in facts and figures, this emotional coincidence felt like a puzzle piece she hadn't known was missing. "I see. That explains the confusion. But tell me—who was she?"
"Freya?" The nun looked toward the horizon as if seeing a ghost. "She was a pure soul. She possessed a beauty that most men could only dream of, but it was her spirit that truly shone. She was an angel in human disguise. She had a heart so kind she could forgive even her sworn enemies."
The woman sighed, her hands clutching her prayer beads. "I serve here at the church. Whenever Freya visited, she never acted like a guest. She would roll up her sleeves and help me with the heaviest chores.
Sometimes she brought bundles of clothes to donate; other times, she was right there on her knees helping me scrub the floors. She was a light in this world... but then..."
She stopped abruptly, her breath hitching.
"Then what?" Elena pressed, stepping closer. "What happened, Grandma?"
"Then a devil came," the nun whispered, her voice dropping to a jagged undertone. "He entered our lives and ruined everything. People say he killed her. They say she's gone forever. But I don't believe them. I know my child will come back. I know it."
Without another word, the woman turned and began the slow trek back toward the church, leaving Elena standing alone among the headstones. Elena watched her retreat, the nun's faith and grief swirling together in the cold air. She didn't look like a CEO; she looked like someone standing on the edge of a deep, dark abyss.
She looked down at the grave nearest to her, her eyes tracing the weathered carvings in the stone. A cold smile that didn't reach her eyes touched her lips.
"Everyone has their own story," Elena murmured to the wind, her voice sounding hauntingly different than it had moments before. "I wonder if there is truly a person left in this world with no worries."
She turned and walked ahead, her heels clicking sharply against the stone path, leaving the ghosts of the past exactly where she wanted them: behind her.
~ At New York ~
In a high-rise office overlooking the jagged skyline of Manhattan, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Alex paced the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his brow furrowed.
"So, what lead did you get?" Alex asked, his voice sharp.
Jimmy leaned over a mahogany desk cluttered with files and surveillance tablets. "I couldn't pull much from the local authorities, but the detectives confirmed she went to the Valle di Pietra Nera. After that, the trail goes cold. However, we caught a break today. One of our scouts saw a convoy belonging to the Moretti family heading toward the church. Apparently, they were there for a traditional ritual—something about power and strength."
Alex stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think Elena was with them?"
Jimmy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's a hard call. Someone like Elena rarely steps foot in religious places. Her records explicitly state she's an atheist. I find it hard to believe she'd join a family ritual in a church."
"We can't afford to guess, Jimmy," Alex countered, his voice dropping an octave. "We need concrete information. If she's aligned with the Morettis, our entire plan has to change. We need to know if she's a guest or a prisoner—or something else entirely."
A sharp ping echoed through the room.
Jimmy checked his phone, his expression shifting to one of intense focus. "Look at this. Our guards at the church graveyard just sent these."
He slid the phone across the desk. Alex leaned in. The photos showed a woman in the distance. In some, her face was obscured by the wind blowing her hair; in others, the focus was intentionally blurred.
"Look, Alex," Jimmy pointed at the screen. "Someone from the Moretti detail went to the graveyard instead of entering the church for the ritual."
Alex stared at the blurred figure, noting the stance, the silhouette, and the sharp lines of the outfit. "That's her. That's definitely Elena. Look at the attire—it's her signature style. It makes sense, too. If she's an atheist, she wouldn't go inside for the prayers. She'd wait outside."
"That's a solid point," Jimmy agreed. "The vibe matches perfectly."
"But who is she talking to?" Alex asked, tapping the image of the elderly woman in the nun's habit. "Do we have any intel on that woman or what was said?"
"Not yet," Jimmy replied. "The guards stayed back to avoid detection, so they couldn't overhear the conversation. But they questioned a man who was nearby visiting a family tomb. He mentioned he heard them talking about someone named 'Freya'."
"Freya," Alex repeated the name, the syllables sounding heavy in the quiet room. "That name again. It keeps surfacing like a ghost. We need to find out exactly who this girl was and why her name follows Elena everywhere."
Alex looked back out at the New York skyline, his reflection ghosted against the glass. "First thing tomorrow, we find a way to meet that lady in the habit. If she knows Freya, she might hold the key to Elena's next move."
~ At the gates of the Church~
The heavy oak doors of the church creaked shut, signaling the end of the ritual. Lorenzo stepped into the sunlight, his eyes scanning the courtyard until they landed on a solitary figure.
"Oh, dear, where did you disappear to?" Lorenzo asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and mild concern.
Elena leaned against a stone pillar, her expression unreadable. "Just roaming around, Uncle. The air out here was more refreshing."
"Why didn't you come inside with us, Perla?" Aunt Sofia interjected, her brow furrowed in disapproval. "You know God does not look kindly on such indifference."
Elena offered a tight, pleasing smile, though her patience was wearing thin. "Aunty, let's not start that now, please," she said, her tone soft yet final. She had no desire to endure another lecture on faith when her mind was already miles away, calculating her next move.
"Leave it, Sofi," Lorenzo said, placing a steadying hand on Sofia's shoulder. "You know how she is. She is a grown woman; she can make her own decisions. Let's not force the spirit where it doesn't wish to go."
With a final, lingering look at Elena, Lorenzo guided Sofia toward the waiting black sedan. They drove back to the mansion in a stifling silence, the tension between tradition and Elena's independence vibrating in the air.
~The next day ~
After a quick, silent lunch, Elena didn't retreat to her room. Instead, she gathered a few of her most trusted guards. She had given Lorenzo a vague explanation about "private business," ensuring he wouldn't follow. She needed to investigate this lead alone—without the suffocating shadow of the family.
They left the affluent districts behind, the gleaming marble of the city center giving way to the jagged, soot-stained skyline of the Milanese slums. This was a place where the law was a suggestion and the "Moretti" name carried a different kind of weight.
Elena stopped before a dilapidated door in a crowded alley. She knocked—three sharp, authoritative raps.
A woman with tired eyes opened the door. "Yes?"
"Is Gino here?" Elena asked, her voice cutting through the noise of the street.
"Apparently," the woman replied, eyeing Elena's expensive clothes with suspicion. "What business do you have with him, Miss?"
Before she could answer, a rough male voice drifted from the shadows inside. "Who is it, Rosa?"
"Someone asking for you," Rosa called back.
A man stepped into the light. He was wiry, with the shifty eyes of someone who lived his life looking over his shoulder. He looked at Elena, confused. "Yes, Miss? Do we know each other?"
Elena didn't bother with introductions. In one swift, blurred motion, she reached out and grabbed Gino by his collar, jerking him toward her until they were nose-to-nose. Her eyes were like shards of ice.
"Where is Angelo?" she hissed.
Gino's face went pale, but his survival instincts kicked in. His hand darted behind his back, pulling a jagged knife from his waistband. He didn't get far. In a heartbeat, the muffled clicks of suppressed handguns surrounded him. Elena's guards stood like statues, their weapons trained on his chest.
Gino swallowed hard, the cold steel of a barrel pressing against his temple. Elena let out a dark, melodic smirk. "Playing smart, huh?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She pulled back and delivered a brutal, precision punch to his jaw. Gino's head snapped back, and he collapsed into the arms of her guards.
~The Abandoned Building~
The air in the derelict warehouse was thick with dust and the smell of rusted iron. Gino groaned as he regained consciousness. His vision was a blurred mess of grey and black. He tried to move his hands, only to find them bitingly restricted by thick nylon cords. He was tied to a wooden chair in the center of a cavernous room.
He expected the woman from the slums to be standing there. He was wrong.
The sound of a match striking echoed through the hall. A man emerged from the shadows. He wore a crisp black shirt with a tactical vest, his presence radiating a predatory stillness. He looked like a hungry leopard—elegant, silent, and lethal.
This was Alex.
He sat in a chair opposite Gino, leaning back with a terrifyingly calm demeanor. He lit a cigarette, the orange cherry glowing in the dim light, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke directly into Gino's face.
~The Escape (Flashback)~
Minutes earlier, back in the alley, things had turned chaotic.
"He is a literal bastard," Elena had muttered, turning to give an order to her men. In that split second of diverted attention, Gino had used the last of his strength to shove her back. He was a creature of the slums; he knew these alleys better than anyone. He scrambled to his feet and vanished into a narrow, dark crevice between the buildings.
"Ah, fuck!" Elena cursed, her voice echoing with pure rage. "Find him!"
Gino ran until his lungs burned, his heart hammering against his ribs. He turned a final corner, believing he had finally slipped into the safety of the labyrinth. He looked back. The alley was empty. He let out a ragged breath of relief.
But as he turned his head forward, the world ended.
A fist, seemingly made of stone, collided with the bridge of his nose. The sound of cartilage snapping was sickeningly loud. Gino didn't even see the person who hit him. He hit the ground, blood spraying across the concrete, and the world went black for the second time that day.
~The Interrogation~
Back in the warehouse, Gino was trembling so hard the chair rattled against the floor. Hiccups tore through his throat—a physical reaction to sheer, unadulterated terror.
"W-who are you?" he wheezed, blood dripping from his chin. "W-what have I even done? Please... spare me."
"I will definitely do that," Alex said. His voice was raspy, a low growl that sent a fresh wave of shivers down Gino's spine. "But I have one condition. Tell me what work you have with Elena Vane. Why were you running from her?"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Gino cried, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "I don't know any Elena! Just let me go!"
Alex sighed, a sound of mock disappointment. He stood up, his movements fluid and menacing. He walked slowly around the chair, his predatory gaze fixed on the back of Gino's neck. He leaned down, his lips inches from the man's ear.
"I see. So you don't know anything," Alex whispered. "But you see, Gino, I have a very low tolerance for liars. Do you still want to claim you're innocent?"
Gino was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in shallow gasps, but he remained silent, paralyzed by fear.
"Okay. Play the victim card as much as you like," Alex said, straightening up and adjusting his vest. He turned to his men, his voice turning cold and mocking. "Take care of him. Make sure our guest doesn't feel any... discomfort."
The guards stepped forward, their faces shadowed and grim. They understood the assignment perfectly.
As Alex walked out of the building and into the cool night air, a harrowing, blood-curdling scream echoed through the hollow halls behind him. He didn't flinch. He simply took another pull of his cigarette and disappeared into the dark.
Alex stepped into the back of his obsidian-black sedan, the screams from the warehouse fading into a dull hum behind the reinforced glass. He pulled out a sleek, encrypted tablet.
"The facial recognition from the graveyard hit a match, sir," Jimmy said, handing him a separate file. "But not for Elena Vane. We ran a deep-scan on the woman she was talking to—the nun."
Alex's eyes scanned the data. He didn't flinch, but his grip on the tablet tightened. "And?"
"She isn't just a nun, Alex. Twenty years ago, she was the private nurse for the Harris family.
" I knew it " alex murmured as he leaned back, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. He wasn't terrified; he was exhilarated. The game had just changed. " Find out about The harris family. " He said .
"Let the games begin," Alex murmured, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. He tossed the tablet onto the leather seat with a careless finality, his gaze fixated on the blurring city lights outside. He took a slow, measured breath, the adrenaline of the hunt settling into his marrow. There were secrets buried deep beneath the Italian soil—shards of a truth that belonged to him alone—and he wouldn't stop until he had unearthed every last one.