WHISPERING OF THE PAST

The envelope arrived at dusk.

No courier.

No signature.

Just an envelope of black vellum, sealed with wax — a serpent twisted around a winter rose.

Rose stared at it as if it might burn her fingers.

She didn't open it immediately.

She knew who it was from.

And part of her already knew what was inside.

But when she finally broke the seal, it still hit her like a bullet.

A letter.

Handwritten.

Elegant. Precise.

> La Fiora,

The shadows are closing in. Moore won't stay hidden much longer. The ones she answers to already know you've found her name.

You are not safe — and I am tired of pretending that my distance protects you.

You've always belonged to a world that kills what it can't control. I'm offering you something it cannot take from you.

My name.

My power.

My vow.

Marry me, Rose. Not for love. Not for politics. For survival. For sovereignty.

You say I let your mother burn. Let me stop the fire this time.

— S.M.

Her hands shook as she folded the paper.

Not for love.

But something worse.

Obsession.

---

She didn't call.

She didn't text.

She showed up.

Late that night, wind curling around her like smoke, Rose stood outside the wrought-iron gates of Silvio's private estate in the hills outside the city. The guard at the front said nothing — simply opened the gate and stepped aside.

As if he'd been told to expect her.

As if she had already been claimed.

The house loomed like something pulled from memory — stone, ivy, shadows. A place she had run barefoot through once, long ago. A place that had almost burned her alive.

Silvio was waiting in the gallery.

Of course.

He stood beneath the great chandelier, dressed in black, glass in hand, not drinking. His expression unreadable. But his eyes…

They burned.

"You read it," he said quietly.

"I did."

Silence fell like ash between them.

"Why?" she finally asked. "Why now?"

"You've stepped into the deep end," he said. "And they smell blood on you."

"And marriage fixes that?"

"It ties your name to mine. Your face to mine. It makes you… untouchable. Even Moore would hesitate."

"And what do you get out of it?" she asked.

His jaw tightened. "You."

Her breath caught.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Silvio stepped closer. "I've tried to stay away. I thought distance was mercy. But I'm done pretending I'm not already in this with you — all the way down."

Rose stared at him, heart pounding.

"You want to protect me?" she whispered. "Or own me?"

"Both."

She should have slapped him.

Screamed.

Run.

But instead… she stepped forward.

And when she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.

"You're obsessed with me."

Silvio's gaze darkened. "I know."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I keep you safe anyway," he said. "But someone else will try to take you. Not for power. For leverage. For pain. For silence."

He was close now.

So close she could feel the heat of him, the cold scent of his skin — bergamot and smoke and something darker.

"And if I say yes?" she breathed.

"Then no one touches you."

A pause.

Then softer, lower—

"Not without dying first."

The air between them snapped tight like wire.

Rose swallowed.

"You're not doing this for me," she said. "You're doing it for control."

"I'm doing it because I can't watch anymore."

Silvio's voice trembled — barely.

"You walk like her. You lie like her. But you're not her. You're worse. You'll burn the whole city if it keeps you warm."

Rose's lips parted.

"Then why stand so close to the fire?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

Because in the next moment, his hand cupped her jaw, pulling her forward, and his mouth crashed into hers.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't soft.

It was the collision of grief and hunger and years of silence finally breaking.

She didn't push him away.

She kissed him back — just as fiercely.

Her fingers gripped the lapels of his coat, pulled him closer, tasting fury and ash and every lie they'd told each other.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Silvio touched his forehead to hers.

"You don't belong to anyone," he murmured.

"Not even you," she whispered back.

"I know," he said. "But let me pretend. Just long enough to keep you alive."

Another silence.

This one quieter.

Sadder.

He stepped back slowly, his control folding back into place like armor.

"When you decide," he said, "send a single white rose to the gate."

She didn't speak.

Just turned.

And walked away into the night — her mouth still tasting of secrets.