Chapter 4

Ivy followed behind the maid as she led her through the grand corridor. The golden chandeliers cast a soft glow against the marble floors, their beauty reflecting on the expensive paintings on the walls. The scent of lavender and aged wood filled the air, giving the entire hallway a sense of sophistication and history.

But Ivy wasn’t here to admire the beauty of the estate.

No matter how enticing or breathtaking the hall looked, it was nothing compared to the rage boiling inside her.

Yes, she had agreed to stay. She knew the risks, the consequences, and the weight of her decision. But she had no choice. She had to stay—for the people she lost. For the ones who had been mercilessly slaughtered by the owner of this grand estate.

Rafael Moretti.

Her hands clenched into fists as the thought of her parents' deaths resurfaced, the image of their bloodied bodies flashing in her mind. She wish she could run away from the cruel world.

But she couldn’t.

She had seen their picture—her parents—marked with a blood-stained message that read 'killed'.

Ivy took a deep breath, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. How could she simply walk away when she knew, without a doubt, that her parents had been murdered by a mafia? And not just any mafia—this mafia.

As the maid opened the door to her assigned room, Ivy nodded and stepped inside, barely registering the woman as she turned to leave.

The room was lavish—far too luxurious for someone like her, who had lived in survival mode for the past three years. She shrugged, stepping further inside.

As she finally managed to sit on the bed and register the room, the door burst open.

Ivy’s body tensed, her fingers itching for the dagger she had hidden under her sleeve.

A young woman, probably in her late teens, stroded in as if she owned the place. Her dark brown hair was neatly curled, and her piercing hazel eyes held a mischief that was both intriguing and unsettling.

She wiped her face with a handkerchief before flashing Ivy a bright smile—a smile that never reached her eyes.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my room?" The girl asked, her voice filled with amusement rather than hostility.

Ivy narrowed her eyes, confusion settling in.

"Your room? But I was told this was mine."

A sudden burst of laughter filled the room, catching Ivy off guard. The girl’s laughter was light, airy, almost playful—but Ivy wasn’t sure if it was genuine or calculated.

"I was just joking," the girl said, bouncing onto the bed without a care in the world. She propped herself up on her elbows, smirking. "You look so cute when you're scared... or should I say confused?"

She laughed again, and for the first time since Ivy arrived, she felt… unsettled.

This girl—whoever she was—had a strange energy about her. She wasn’t what Ivy expected from Rafael’s household.

Ivy had come here prepared to face ruthless enemies, not someone who exuded such an innocent and friendly demeanor.

"What’s your name?" The girl asked, suddenly extending her hand. "Mine’s Nina. Rafael’s cousin."

Ivy hesitated, glancing at the outstretched hand before finally shaking it.

"Ivy," She replied, keeping her expression unreadable.

"So, you’re my uncle’s new wife, huh? That’s why I came to greet you." Nina tilted her head, studying Ivy. "You know what? I don’t really like that Sophia. She’s too wicked and saucy—always trying to create tension between everyone."

Ivy’s gaze sharpened. She had noticed Sophia’s attitude earlier downstairs, so she could relate.

"I’ve tried to tell Uncle so many times that she’s only after his money, but Uncle Marcus is another problem" Nina sighed dramatically. "Honestly, I don’t get why my uncle trusts them so blindly, and doesn't trust my mum..."

Then, Nina paused, her tone shifting into something more serious. "You know, my mom once told me about a family that was killed three years ago. It was a dark time for our family… I think Sophia did something to help Uncle then."

Ivy’s breath hitched.

Three years ago?

Her heart pounded in her chest. Could Nina be talking about her family?

"Do you know anything about that family?" Ivy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nina opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a voice called from downstairs.

"Mum’s calling me! I’ll be back later to give you more gist," Nina said, hopping off the bed and rushing out of the room.

Ivy stood frozen, her mind spinning.

That girl… Nina… she could be the key to unlocking the truth.

The truth she had been searching for three damn years.

Her fingers twitched as she reached into her pocket, pulling out the small box of matches she had hidden inside.

Before coming here, she had every intention of burning this house to the ground. She had planned to watch it crumble, to let the flames consume every single thing Rafael Moretti held dear.

But now…

Now she had to wait.

Now she had a puzzle to solve.

She tossed the matchbox under the bed, her jaw tightening.

Revenge wasn’t just about anger. It was about precision.

***************

Rafael leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest as his mind filled with thoughts. His jaw tightened, frustration mounting with each passing second.

Then, the door swung open, and Marcus strode in, his expression a mix of suspicion and disbelief.

"That girl agreed to stay?" Marcus scoffed, crossing his arms. "Why? Why the hell would she choose to stay, knowing she’s walking straight into danger? Are you lying to me, Rafael? Is she your lover?"

Rafael’s eyes snapped up, dark and unforgiving.

"Don’t be absurd, Marcus." His voice was ice-cold, laced with irritation. "I have nothing to do with her."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.

"And believe me, I’ve been trying to figure out why she stayed. It doesn’t add up. Look into it for me. If she has a reason—if it’s anything that could be a threat—kill her."

His words were calm, but the rage burning behind his eyes was unmistakable.

Marcus hesitated, then narrowed his gaze. "But Sophia—"

"I don’t want to hear about Sophia right now." Rafael’s patience snapped. "I have too much on my plate already. I’m not about to waste time arguing with you."

Marcus shook his head, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"You might want to reconsider, Rafael. Because if Sophia finds out that girl is still here… she won’t just sit back. She’ll act. And when she does, none of us will be able to stop her."

With that, Marcus turned and walked out, leaving Rafael clenching his fists.

A sharp bang echoed through the room as Rafael slammed his hand against the desk.

The Mafia King’s position was within his grasp. He had fought, bled, and sacrificed for this power. He couldn’t afford distractions.

And now, this?

He shoved himself out of his chair, storming toward his quarters. As he turned the corner, something caught his eye.

The store door was open.

His pulse spiked.

His fingers twitched, reaching for his gun as a slow, sinking dread settled in his stomach.

Then he saw it.

A photograph.

Plastered right at the entrance.

The image of the couple that had been killed three years ago and something was written on it with. He swallowed hard.

Blood-stained.

A chill ran down his spine.

His grip tightened around his gun as his voice thundered through the halls—

"Nikko!"

***************

Zara Moretti sat across the table, her sharp eyes watching as her husband took another slow sip of whiskey. The dim light of the study cast deep shadows across his aged but still formidable face. Chase Moretti, the once-feared Mafia King, was deep in thought, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass.

The attack on Rafael’s wife had shaken him. He hadn’t been there, but the headlines were enough. The world was watching, and in their world, weakness was fatal.

"Zara," Chase murmured, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Do you think Rafael is going to end up like me?"

His voice carried the weight of years spent in blood and power, of choices that had shaped not just his life but the empire he had built.

Zara ran her fingers over her prayer beads, her expression unreadable. "I wouldn’t say he’ll end up like you," she mused, "but he will end up like every other Mafia King before him."

Chase arched a brow, intrigued.

"You were ruthless in your reign. You crushed Derek Demon and destroyed anyone who opposed you. But Rafael?" She paused, shaking her head. "He isn’t as cruel as you were. And besides, Nina told me his wife is staying back. She is just a standin to protect Sophia, but I don't know why she is staying back"

Chase leaned forward slightly, his fingers tightening around his glass. "And Sophia? How do you think she’ll take this?"

Zara sighed. "She won’t be happy. She’s never been one to share."

Chase exhaled, rubbing his temple. The last thing they needed was Sophia stirring more trouble.

Zara glanced at him thoughtfully, then reached for her tarot cards. "Mind if I do a reading?"

Chase let out a short chuckle. "I never liked you deciding my children's future, but right now... I’m curious."

She shuffled the deck with practiced ease, laying out the cards one by one. The flickering candlelight made the symbols dance as she traced a finger over them, her lips moving in silent contemplation.

Then she stopped.

Her fingers hovered over a single card, her expression suddenly tense.

Her breath hitched, and her grip on the beads tightened.

"That girl..." Zara whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "She’s going to be a danger to him."

Chase’s jaw clenched. *"What do you mean?"

Zara slowly looked up, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that sent a chill through him. Then she explained what she really meant...

**************

Ivy was drifting between sleep and wakefulness when the sudden buzz of her phone jolted her. Her heart pounded as she reached for it, only then realizing she had kept it with her all along.

She starred at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Her fingers hesitated over the answer button. Who could be calling her at this hour? And why hide their identity?

Taking a deep breath, she slowly picked up, saying nothing—waiting for the caller to speak first.

A distorted voice crackled through the speaker. "Hello, Ivy... I know exactly why you’re staying at the Moretti estate."

Her blood ran cold.

"Come to the basement. I have all the answers you’re looking for."

Before she could even respond, the call ended.

Ivy stared at the phone, her grip tightening.

Who was that? And more importantly—what answers were they talking about?