WHISPERING OF THE PAST

The wind curled off the rooftop like a ghost.

Silvio didn't move as Rose disappeared behind the elevator doors, her footsteps quiet but steady. She didn't look back — that was the most interesting part. Most people did. Even the brave ones. Even the foolish ones.

But not her.

He waited ten full seconds, then finally took a slow sip of his wine. It had gone cold. He didn't care.

"Still watching?" a voice asked behind him.

He didn't turn.

Emilio, his consigliere, stepped into view. Black coat, gloved hands, sharp eyes.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"You did." Emilio walked to the edge, looking out. "You also said not to interrupt. So I didn't. But the team's asking questions."

"Let them," Silvio said.

"She's not part of this war, Silvio," Emilio said. "She's a flower vendor. A grieving girl with too much nerve."

Silvio's eyes remained fixed on the skyline. "She's much more than that."

He pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, lit one, and let the smoke fill his lungs. The cold bit into his skin, but he liked it. Pain reminded him he was still human — something he sometimes forgot.

Emilio hesitated. "Why her?"

Silvio didn't answer immediately.

Instead, his mind drifted.

To years ago.

To a family dinner in Florence. The Darrows — American, wealthy, loud. A little too bold for Italian politics, but smart enough to buy their way in. He had watched them from across a long marble table, wine in hand, amused by their arrogance. The father — calculating. The mother — clever. The daughter… barely more than a girl then. Laughing. Running barefoot through the garden. Eyes too sharp for her age.

He hadn't looked at her twice.

But she'd looked at him.

And now here she was — grown, wild with grief, filled with questions and a kind of beauty that didn't beg for attention. It commanded it.

Silvio took another drag from the cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Because she doesn't know how to stop."

"She's a liability," Emilio said. "If she keeps digging—"

"She will keep digging," Silvio interrupted calmly. "That's the point."

Emilio frowned. "You're using her to flush them out."

A small smile touched Silvio's mouth. "Let's call her… the flame in a dark room. She's drawing attention. Making people nervous. They'll move to silence her soon."

"And when they do?"

"I'll know which names still matter," he said. "Who still remembers what we buried."

Emilio said nothing.

Silvio dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his shoe.

"She's not like the others," he added softly.

"Because she's dangerous?"

"Because she's not afraid to lose," Silvio said. "Most people can be broken by the right threat. Rose? She's already lost everything. That makes her… unpredictable."

He finally turned from the railing.

"Whitlock didn't break her," he said. "Moore didn't scare her. Even I couldn't shake her."

"She'll become a problem."

"She already is." Silvio's gaze darkened. "And I want to see what kind of problem."

There was silence between them. Then Emilio said carefully, "And if she becomes a threat to you?"

Silvio's expression didn't change.

"She won't," he said.

Not because he was sure of her loyalty.

But because he was no longer sure he wanted to stop her.

She was spiraling closer to the truth. Not just about her parents — but about the entire structure holding the elite world together. The Carters had stumbled into things they weren't meant to touch. And Rose had inherited the mess.

She wasn't meant to survive.

But she had.

Silvio walked back inside, down the private stairwell of the rooftop lounge, into the waiting car. Emilio followed silently.

As the driver pulled away, Silvio stared out at the city. Cold lights. Moving shadows.

"She reminds me of someone," he murmured.

Emilio glanced at him. "Who?"

Silvio didn't answer.

Because if he did — he'd have to admit that Rose reminded him of the only woman who had ever dared defy him.

The one whose portrait he kept locked away in his private estate.

The one he never spoke of.

The one Rose's mother had once called sister.

He let the silence stretch.

"Send someone to watch her," Silvio said finally. "From a distance. I don't want interference yet. But if anyone touches her without my permission…"

He leaned back against the seat, eyes narrowing.

"Kill them."