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Chapter One

Sophia

Death is a cruel thief, stealing the vibrancy from life and leaving behind only echoes of what once was. It settles over us like a heavy cloak, muffling the sounds of joy and laughter until only faint whispers of memories remain.

The end is a constant shadow that stretches longer and darker with each passing day, a stark reminder of our fleeting existence.

As I stand by my mother's bedside, the dim hospital room feels colder, the silence heavier. The steady beep of the heart monitor is a harsh reminder of the finality that lies just ahead. Each beep grows fainter, as if the machine itself is reluctant to let go. I watch as my mother’s once-vibrant face pales, the life slowly slipping away from her frail body.

I want to reach out, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything will be okay, but I’m paralyzed by the enormity of this moment.

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me with a clarity I haven’t seen in weeks. “Sophia,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. The name hits me like a jolt. “Mom, it’s Sarah,” I correct her softly, my heart aching. I’ve spent years building a new identity, a shield against the world I left behind. In this moment, her calling me Sophia is a painful reminder of what I’ve tried so hard to forget.

Her gaze turns wistful, her tears mixing with the pain etched on her face. “I failed you,” she says, her voice cracking. “I should have never lied to you. I should have told you everything.”

I’m stunned, my breath catching in my throat. “Mom, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” I ask, desperate for answers that seem just beyond her reach.

“There’s something you don’t know,” she begins, her voice trailing off. The effort of speaking seems to drain her, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. “Something I’ve been keeping from you. We made a promise, we promised he could have you. I didn’t want to, but your father made me agree. He will come for you. He will come…”

Her voice fades until it’s barely a whisper. Her eyes close, and the room is enveloped in a suffocating silence. The beeping of the monitor stops, and I’m left with the crushing weight of her final, unspoken words.

What did she mean? Was she just lost in her own thoughts and talking about my father? She had seemed so lucid, however, so clear.

I felt a chill pass over me and I shuddered as I looked at her lifeless body. Nurses came into the room, softly touching my shoulder and guiding me to step back so they could check on the machines and verify that my mother was gone.

I barely registered their presence, my mind spinning. Who was coming for me? And why?

***

The sky wept as we laid my mother to rest. It was the kind of steady, relentless rain that soaked you to the bone, a miserable backdrop to an already miserable day. I stand at the graveside, clutching a small bouquet of white lilies, the scent sharp and sweet in the damp air.

My black dress clings to my skin, heavy with rain, but I barely notice. I am numb, detached from everything except the hollow ache in my chest.

The priest’s voice drones on, a low murmur of prayers and scripture that I can’t bring myself to focus on. My gaze is fixed on the coffin as it is slowly lowered into the ground, a box too small to hold all the memories, the love, the life that had been my mother. A sob threatens to escape, but I swallow it down, refusing to break. Not here. Not now.

Justine stands beside me, her arm looped through mine, offering silent support. I feel the gentle pressure of her grip, grounding me as everything else spins out of control. She is the only one here who really knows what I am going through—the only one who knows the truth about who I am and the life I have left behind.

“It’s okay to cry, Sarah,” she whispers, using the name I had lived under for so many years.

To her, I would always be Sarah, the friend she had met in school, the one who shared late-night study sessions and whispered secrets. Justine didn’t know Sophia, not really, but she knew enough to understand the weight of the moment.

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely audible over the rain. “I just…I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” she says, squeezing my arm gently. “Not today.”

But I did. I had to be strong because my mother was gone, and without her, I felt like a ship lost at sea, adrift and vulnerable. I couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Not with everything I had to face.

“We are here today to say goodbye to Jennifer Lacey,” the priest intones. “A mother, a friend, a cherished soul who touched many lives. May her memory be a blessing, and may we find solace in the knowledge that she is at peace.”

The floral arrangements surrounding the grave are a sea of white lilies and roses, their delicate petals glistening with raindrops. The headstones nearby stand like silent sentinels, each telling a story of a life once lived. The ground is soft and wet, the air filled with the earthy scent of fresh soil and flowers.

The drizzling rain patters softly against the black umbrella that barely shields me from the chill. As I stand beside the freshly dug grave, the weight of my mother’s death presses down on me like the leaden sky above. The finality of it all—this is the last time I’ll see her, the last time I’ll hear her voice, the last whisper of the secrets she carried with her.

My fingers grip the handful of dirt, and I let it fall onto the casket, mixing with the countless others that have already piled up. The dirt lands with a muted thud, and I fight to keep my composure, biting my lip until the sting brings tears to my eyes.

As the final words of the eulogy fade into the rain, I step forward, my heels sinking into the wet earth. The lilies tremble in my hands as I stare down at the grave, the reality of it all crashing over me like a tidal wave. She was really gone. The one person who had always been there, my anchor in the storm, was gone.

I drop the flowers into the grave, watching as they land softly on the casket. My vision blurs, tears mingling with the rain, and for a moment, I thought I might collapse under the weight of it all. Justine’s grip tightened on my arm, steadying me, and I leaned into her support, grateful for her presence.

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice a soft comfort in the storm. “You’re not alone, Sarah.”

But I felt alone. Even with Justine beside me, I felt a void that no one could fill. The secrets of my past, the life I had hidden from everyone—including her—were now mine to bear alone.

As I step back from the grave, a figure catches my eye through the veil of rain. A man, tall and imposing, stands at a distance, watching the proceedings with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. He’s dressed in a dark, tailored suit, his black hair slicked back, the rain beading on the surface without disturbing its perfect style. I note that he wears glasses, and my scrambled brain suddenly thinks of Clark Kent and superheroes hiding in plain sight.

Everything about him screams power and control, and as his gaze meets mine, I feel a jolt of recognition.

“Do you know him?” Justine asks, following my gaze.

I shake my head slowly, but my heart knows better. There is something familiar about him, something that tugs at the edges of my memory. I can’t place him, but I know in my bones that I should be afraid.

The man starts walking toward us, his movements deliberate and unhurried. My pulse quickens as he closes the distance, his green eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that leaves no room for escape or breath.

He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine with a calm that feels oddly unsettling. “My name is Angelo,” he says, offering his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Sophia.”

Hearing my name—Sophia— makes me flinch, as if he has just thrown the world's worst profanity at me. I stagger back, and would have toppled right into the grave with my mother if his hands had not shot out and grabbed my waist.

Sparks light up where his fingers connect with my exposed skin, and I shiver involuntarily. His gaze is merciless on me, unrelenting, as if he is daring me to look away first. Sorry Angelo. If there's one thing I'm good at, it’s playing games and coming out victorious.

“How do you know my name?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I know quite a bit about you.” His tone carries an unsettling mix of certainty and something else that sends a shiver down my spine.

I glance at Justine, who is still chatting quietly with a few remaining guests. “Justine, could you please get me some tea from inside?” I ask, hoping to buy myself some time. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Justine looks at me with a hint of concern but nods. “Sure, love. I’ll be right back.” She heads toward the house, leaving Angelo and I alone by the grave.

The silence between us feels charged and heavy. My heart is beating too fast. I think that maybe it’s trying to make up for my mother’s which is still forever now.

“Who are you?”

“You are many things Sophia, but stupid is not one of them. You know who I am.” He's right. Of course, I know who he is. Well, at least I know of him. He’s the boogeyman of the underworld.

“Don't call me that. My name is Sarah.”

“Is that what she had you believe?” He takes a step, and just like that, he's too close to me. His scent invades my nostrils, swimming in the air around me until all I can smell is him. All I can see is him. I feel a sudden urge to collapse into his arms and I cringe away from the idea right off. What is wrong with me?

“You're good at pretending, but nobody is that good, Sophia.”

I was not about to fall for his trap, not after everything my mother did to keep us safe.

“If you aren't going to tell me who you are, leave. This is a gathering of family and friends only. You're neither of those things.”

His eyes lock with mine again, and he nudges his glasses back into place with an elegant finger. I was sure that he would call my bluff, but then he just nods.

He reaches into his coat and hands me a small card, his expression unreadable. “Fine. I’ll play. Angelo Castiglia. I’m sorry for your loss.”

My heart skips a beat at the name—Castiglia. It’s a name that was whispered in the shadows during my childhood. It’s a name that carries weight and fear. My stomach twists into knots as I stare at the card, the letters blurring in front of my eyes.

“Doesn't ring a bell,” I lie. “Were you a friend of my mother’s?”

“I was a friend of your father’s.”

That sent a chill down my spine, and he must've seen the fear in my eyes because he moves in closer, like a predator stalking his prey.

“Why are you here?” I ask softly, trying to steady my voice. “What do you want from me?” It was useless to push my luck with the games now.

“I need to talk to you,” he insists. “Not here. Later.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about.” I try to walk away but he grabs my arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to let me know that he could cause unimaginable pain should he so desire.

“I’m not your enemy. I'm not here to fight. Twenty minutes is all I need.”

I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest. Every instinct screams at me to run, to get as far away from this man as possible. But there is something about the way he looks at me, something that makes it clear he isn’t asking.

“Please,” he adds, his voice softening. “It’s important.”

With trembling fingers, I take the card from his hand. It’s plain, with nothing but his name and a location scrawled in elegant script on it. I glance up at him, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

“Why?” is all I can manage.

“Because you’re not safe,” he replies, his eyes darkening with an emotion I can’t quite name. “There are things you don’t know, things you need to understand. Meet me there tonight, and I’ll explain everything. After I'm done, if you still want nothing to do with me, I’ll leave you alone.”

Call it desperate hope, but I’m willing to cling to any silver lining I can at this point. He might not be sincere, but I don’t see that I have a choice in any of this. I have to know why he thinks I’m in danger because my mother told me that I was before she died.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, turning on his heel and walking away with the same quiet confidence that had drawn my attention in the first place.

“What was that about?” Justine asks, her brow furrowed with concern as she returns with two cups of tea in hand.

I shake my head, slipping the card into my pocket. “I’m not sure…but I think I need to find out.”

The rain continues to fall, a steady patter against the ground, but I am too lost in my thoughts to care. I look down at the card again, the name Angelo Castiglia burning into my mind. This is bad—really bad. I have spent my entire life running from the world my mother fled, the world of crime and power that had consumed my father. And now, it seemed, that world had found me again.

Justine looks at me, worry etched into her features. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile, though it feels hollow. “I will be.”

The funeral ends and I stay behind, waiting until the last of the mourners leave before making my way back to the grave. Justine hovers nearby, giving me space but refusing to leave me alone.

The earth is freshly turned, the hole in the ground an ugly scar on the landscape. I kneel beside it, the dampness seeping through my dress, and let the tears fall freely now that I am alone.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do.”

The only answer is the rain, relentless and unyielding, just like the world I had tried so hard to escape. But there is no escaping it now. I can feel it in my bones, in the way Angelo looked at me, the way his presence filled the air with unspoken promises.

Justine comes over and kneels beside me, her arm wrapping around my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “Whatever this is, we’ll handle it together.”

I lean into her, grateful for the comfort of her presence. “Thank you, Justine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she replies with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We stay like that for a while, just the two of us, the rain our only company. I know that I can’t hide from the truth forever, but for a few more moments, I allow myself to believe that everything will be okay. That I’m alone.

But deep down, I know that Angelo’s words have shattered that illusion. This is just the beginning of something far bigger, far more dangerous than anything I could ever have imagined.