Gunfire erupted outside the mansion.
Damien yanked Luna behind the marble column as a window shattered above them, raining glass like ice.
"They're not holding back," he muttered, pulling a pistol from his coat.
Luna's fingers tightened around the journal hidden beneath her coat. The old leather cover seemed to pulse with heat against her chest, as if alive with buried secrets. The pages inside her father's, maybe even her mother's were now the most dangerous thing in this house.
"They're after this," she said.
"No." Damien's gaze locked onto hers. "They're after you."
He reached out, brushing a streak of dust from her cheek, almost absentmindedly. "Your name is a trigger. Your blood is currency. And that journal? It's the map to everything they lost when your family vanished."
Outside, tires screeched. More men.
"How many are there?" she asked.
Damien glanced at the security feed flashing across the wall monitor. "Too many."
A beat of silence passed between them. Then Luna stepped out from behind the pillar, fire in her eyes.
"Then let's give them what they came for."
"Luna—"
She was already moving.
Through the hall, down the staircase, her heels echoing like gunshots. Damien followed, a curse under his breath and a blade now glinting in his hand. He never used guns unless necessary.
This was necessary.
The front doors exploded inward. Smoke. Chaos. Armed men pouring through.
But they didn't expect her.
Luna emerged from the haze like a ghost born of vengeance. "I'm right here," she said.
The attackers faltered. Their target was not supposed to be standing.
And certainly not like this.
"I'm Luna Cross," she said clearly, voice cutting through the smoke. "And you came to the wrong house."
Then she hurled the smoke grenade Damien had slipped into her palm.
A blast of white fog filled the room.
Gunfire. Screams.
Luna dropped behind the staircase as Damien moved like a shadow, dispatching enemies with terrifying precision. She heard him grunt once then silence.
Then a hand grabbed her ankle.
She twisted, slamming her heel into the man's temple. He collapsed.
Her blood roared in her ears. Her name. Her past. The war she hadn't asked for but would no longer run from.
By the time the smoke cleared, silence returned to the mansion like a sigh.
Damien stood over the last body. Blood on his collar. Fire in his eyes.
Luna rose slowly, dust and defiance clinging to her.
"This is only the beginning," he said, wiping his blade clean.
Luna looked down at the journal in her hands.
"No," she whispered.
"This is the reckoning."
The bodies had barely cooled.
Luna stood in the center of the grand hall, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. Shattered glass sparkled on the marble like stars fallen from the sky. Smoke still lingered, curling around her like mist from a forgotten battlefield.
Damien watched her in silence.
Something had changed.
The frightened girl who arrived at his gates days ago was gone. In her place stood a woman baptized in fire a woman whose bloodline no longer felt like a curse, but a blade.
"I should be afraid," she said, her voice hoarse. "But I'm not."
"You've accepted it," Damien said.
"I've embraced it."
He stepped closer, gaze unreadable. "Then it's time we stop reacting and start hunting. Whoever ordered this hit whoever knew about that journal they're close. They've been watching you longer than we thought."
She tightened her grip on the leather-bound book. "Then we find them. We cut off the head."
Damien offered a small nod of approval. "And what happens when you find out the truth? When you uncover the names written in blood some of whom you once trusted?"
Luna didn't hesitate. "Then they'll pay the blood price."
Damien's expression darkened with something between pride and concern. "You sound like a Virelli."
"I am," she whispered. "But I'm also a Cross. And I'm done being hunted."
Just then, a ringtone pierced the silence one of Damien's encrypted lines.
He answered with a clipped, "Talk."
A voice crackled on the other end one of his informants. Luna could only hear fragments, but her stomach tightened with every word she caught: "confirmed sighting… Eastern docks… symbol on the neck… Virelli crest."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "She's alive?"
Luna's heart skipped. "Who?"
He turned to her slowly. "Your aunt. Serafina Virelli."
Luna staggered back. "That's impossible. She died in the fire."
Damien pocketed the phone. "No. She disappeared. Just like you. Only difference is she took something with her when she vanished. And if she's resurfacing now, it means she's part of this."
"Part of the attack?"
"Or something worse."
Luna felt the weight of the journal in her arms again. The secrets. The betrayal. The legacy.
"Then we go to the docks," she said.
Damien raised a brow. "It could be a trap."
Her lips curled in a cold smile. "Then let them trap me."
The black SUV roared down the coastal highway, its tires devouring the road beneath them. The ocean raged beside them, waves crashing against the rocks like distant echoes of war drums.
Luna sat in the passenger seat, the journal open on her lap. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating the faded ink that filled its pages names, codes, and bloodstained secrets. Her fingers traced a line under one entry: Serafina Virelli – Last Known Location: Palermo Port.
She turned to Damien. "Why would she reappear now? After all these years?"
"She's not reappearing," he said without looking at her. "She's positioning."
Luna closed the journal. "She knew my father's death would leave a power vacuum. If she survived the fire…"
"She may have started it," Damien finished grimly.
The words hit like ice. Luna stared ahead, vision blurring. She had loved her aunt once. Serafina had taught her how to read, how to hide, how to lie when it was necessary. But she also remembered her aunt's ruthlessness the way she could command a room with just a glance, the sharpness of her mind and tongue.
If she was behind the attacks…
"She'll try to recruit you," Damien said. "She'll offer you power. A throne. Maybe even a twisted version of family."
Luna's voice was steel. "She won't get the chance."
Damien glanced at her. "You're ready to kill her?"
"I'm ready to finish what they started the night my parents died."
He gave a slow nod. "Then remember this: blood may tie you, but legacy defines you. Choose which one matters more."
The car turned off the highway, descending into the crumbling outskirts of the dockyards. Cranes loomed like dead giants in the mist, and container crates were stacked high, casting monstrous shadows.
They parked behind a rusted metal fence. Damien handed Luna a black pistol, then another a slender dagger hidden in a sheath.
"Don't hesitate," he said. "Not with her."
Luna nodded and tucked the blade into her boot.
They slipped between shadows, moving silently toward the coordinates the informant had given. With each step, Luna's breath grew colder. The night air carried salt, smoke… and the weight of the past.
Then she saw her.
A woman stood at the end of the dock, silhouetted against the silver water. Her hair was longer, streaked with grey. But the posture the poise it was unmistakable.
Serafina Virelli.
Luna stepped forward. "You should've stayed dead."
The woman turned slowly, lips curling into a smirk that mirrored Luna's own. "And miss the rise of my niece? My little Luna no longer hiding behind shadows."
Damien raised his gun.
Serafina raised a hand. From the shadows, armed men emerged silent, trained, surrounding them like ghosts.
Luna's grip on her weapon tightened.
"You walk into my territory," Serafina said, voice cool and sharp, "and still think you're the hunter?"
Luna didn't flinch. "I don't need to hunt," she said. "I'm the storm."