Tangled in Fire

The night was quiet.

Too quiet.

Elena sat alone on the rooftop of an abandoned vineyard estate, legs pulled to her chest, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The stolen files and flash drives were locked away in a secured case at her feet, but her mind wasn't on the mission.

It was on the fire.

Not the warehouse blaze from days ago, but the one from twelve years ago the one that burned her entire life to ash.

She closed her eyes.

And it all came rushing back.

…..

Twelve Years Earlier; Palermo, Italy

She had been seventeen, Marco seven. Their family had ruled the Sicilian underworld with an iron grip under the name Romano; a bloodline of power, ruthlessness, and old-world honor.

Her father, Giovanni Romano, was feared and respected. He wasn't perfect. He made enemies. But he believed in rules codes. Even in crime, there was structure. Balance. Dignity.

Until the Morettis came.

Dante's father, Riccardo Moretti, saw the Romanos as the final obstacle to complete control of Italy's southern ports and trafficking lines. Peace talks were staged false promises made.

And then came the night of fire.

Elena remembered the sound first. Explosions. Shattering glass. Screams that didn't sound human. She had woken up to heat licking her bedroom walls and Marco pulling her from the bed.

"Elena, run! Don't stop. Don't look back!"

But she had looked back.

She saw her mother engulfed in flames, hands reaching out through the smoke. Her father's body was riddled with bullets near the staircase. Their loyal guards slaughtered. Everything gone in less than ten minutes.

By the time they escaped through the vineyard tunnels, the estate had become an inferno. And with it, their identity.

…..

They disappeared. Changed names. Moved cities. Changed countries. Elena Romano became Elena Rossi, then Elena DeLuca, and finally the Elena who returned to Italy under no flag but her own.

Years passed.

Anger did not.

Marco vanished into criminal circles, quietly rebuilding their influence under the radar. Elena more patient—focused on strategy. She needed to know her enemy.

She studied Dante from afar. She watched him rise.

And then one night, by design—not fate—she saved his life.

…..

Four Years Ago – Naples

It was a rainy night outside a club in Naples. A Moretti deal had gone wrong. Ambushed. Dante was pinned down in a side alley, bleeding from his side, cornered like a dog.

She could've let him die.

But instead, she stepped from the shadows, fired two clean shots at the attackers, and dragged him into her car. No name. No explanation.

"Why?" he'd asked between shallow breaths.

"Maybe I like dangerous men," she had whispered, voice steady despite her heart slamming in her chest.

But the truth?

She wanted him to owe her.

She wanted him to remember her.

She wanted to be the ghost in his veins before she became the knife in his back.

…..

Back on the rooftop, Elena took a shaky breath. Her hand reached up instinctively to the small scorched medallion she always wore beneath her shirt. The last thing salvaged from the fire. Her mother's.

She hadn't worn it for comfort. She wore it as a reminder.

"Still think we're doing the right thing?" Marco's voice pulled her back.

He stood by the stairwell, arms crossed, eyes as tired as hers.

Elena didn't answer immediately.

"I think… we're doing what's necessary."

Marco walked closer, dropped beside her, and handed her a folded newspaper. The headline screamed across the top:

"Moretti Empire Breached – Warehouse Fire Sparks Chaos in Port Control"

"Everyone's watching him now," he said. "Some of the old families are circling like vultures. He's vulnerable."

Elena traced the edge of the page. "Not enough."

Marco studied her. "You're hesitating."

"I'm thinking," she shot back. But even she didn't believe it.

Marco leaned forward, voice low. "You care. About him."

Her head snapped toward him, expression hard. "Don't."

"I saw the way you looked at him; back at the pier. The hesitation in your voice when you said you had the files."

"He's not innocent, Marco."

"Neither are we."

That silenced her.

He let the silence hang before he added, "We wanted him to suffer. To feel loss. To lose control. That's happening. But if you're starting to think he's different"

"I'm not," she interrupted, voice sharp.

But her hands were shaking.

Marco stood. "We move on the next phase tomorrow. We leak the first wave of secrets. Let the families turn on him. Then we go for the kill."

"Right," she said, almost to herself. "The kill."

…..

Meanwhile – Moretti Estate

Dante stood in the vault, staring at the scorch marks on the safe's steel edges. The room was cold, but sweat gathered at his temple.

"She planned it all," he muttered.

The fire. The flash drive. The night she saved him it had all been calculated.

He rubbed his face, trying to banish the echo of her laugh. The one that used to sound like peace.

She wasn't who he thought.

But a voice inside whispered: You didn't know who she was, but she saw who you were. And that's why it hurts.

A knock came at the door.

Nico stepped in. "We found a lead. One of the techs who helped bypass the safe; he's tied to an old family. Sicilian bloodline. The Romanos."

Dante's head snapped up.

"That name hasn't come up in over a decade."

Nico nodded. "The girl… Elena. She might not be who she says she is."

Dante's mind was already racing. "Dig up everything you can on the Romanos. Start with the Palermo massacre. See who made it out alive."

"And if we confirm she's one of them?"

Dante looked at the broken safe again.

"She stole from me. Lied to me. Played me."

His voice was ice.

"Then I'll remind her exactly what the Moretti name still means."

...

Later That Night – Back at the Hideout

Elena walked through the dark hall of the vineyard estate, bare feet brushing against cold stone. Her thoughts were louder than her footsteps.

She entered the study and pulled out the flash drives again.

One of them contained the list. The names of every crooked cop, judge, politician Dante had in his pocket. Another had evidence of trafficking routes, payoffs, illegal deals hidden beneath shell companies. And the third?

It had the ledger of his father's operations including the Palermo hit.

She plugged it into the old laptop. A few minutes passed.

And then she found it.

Her breath caught.

Date: September 18th. Operation: Clean Sweep. Targets: Romano Estate. Status: Executed.

It had been real.

Not just rumors. Not just whispers in the dark.

Proof.

She stared at the screen until her eyes blurred. Then she did something she hadn't done in years.

She cried.

But the tears weren't just for the past.

They were for the part of her that, somewhere deep down, had started to believe that Dante Moretti could be something more than the son of a monster.

That part of her?

Would have to die too.