CHAPTER 3

The Rossetti funeral has always been an act.

Fake tears, real diamonds, blood stained silk and whispers behind black lace veils. A display of grief wrapped in old money politics and older grudges

It was a time when all Rossetti relative come together both far and near it was another time for everyone to dream about owning the rossetti empire

Nobody cared about the dead person everybody had their own motive to own the empire.

but this time something was different , the room was filled with heaviness.

The whisper that usually happens during a Rossetti funeral was gone, nobody was willing to be the thirteenth to endure the damnation of a whole bloodline.

This time there was no prank or trick, the coffin was not empty.

The brown lid slid up as the priest walked in.

Her father's body was very real. Too real

Maria moved through the grand hall of the estate, now converted into a private chapel for the funeral.

Heavy candlelight flickered against the white marble floor, casting long shadows behind guests. The scent of lilies made her want to throw up.

She wore the traditional mourning veil– black and thick over her eyes but it didn't hide how pale she looked, her mind was trapped in the benediction chamber, in the sound of Marcus’ voice and the blood she spilled that now haunted her.

“ your father's death wasn’t an accident , look close” he said

And she did exactly that

She approached the coffin slowly but deliberately, people made way for her, some out of quiet respect, others hidden malice.

The body laid still, hands folded over his chest. Too still

A small cut ran along her father's jawline, faint like it had been covered with makeup.

his lips were unnaturally sewn shut, a Rossetti tradition but her father's lips didn't quite close all the way.

Like he died mid- sentence

Maria bowed slightly and whispered the ceremonial words

“ blood to birth, Ash to absolution”

Then leaned in and kissed her father on the head, her last rite to him

She barely moved her lips but she said

“ did you try to tell me something”

The room became uneasy with soft murmurs.

out of the corner of her eyes she saw her uncle, Marcelo Rossetti. He took the path of priesthood while Salvanora took the mafia path.

A soft sound broke the silence of the funeral behind her.

Only one. Polite and deliberate followed by a voice.

“ I thought we lost you to the vatican” the voice said sweetly

She turned around and came face to face with her cousin Victoria

“ nice of you to grace the dead with your presence” she continued sarcastically

“ I only go where I am summoned” Maria said evenly

“ funny, I don't recall inviting you” she said smiling

Maria forced a smile as their eyes locked

Rossetti smiles were the most dangerous kind— always hiding malice and plans

“ I don't need an invitation, I am blood remember” Maria replied coldly

“ barely” she said as she shifted her focus to the priest

That was new

But before Maria could reply, the priest started the final rites

A low chant filled the room, all present bowed their head in respect

Each surviving relative taking turns to say a few words about salvanora

Maria's head remained bowed, her thoughts no longer on the burial or the chapel.

Her mind was firmly on the shadows behind this mansion, the key Marcus had given her.

She was snapped out of her daze by the priests words

“ now we pray the heavens accept our father and brother Don salvanora Rossetti”

“ Amen” was chroused by all people

everybody clambered into their cars as the body was moved to the cemetery where it was to be buried.

Her mind wandered back to the key and all the possibilities that the key could open, how each detail would connect.

She was jolted back to reality by the sound of dirt hitting the coffin.

With every drop of dirt, memories flooded back

As a little girl playing in the garden with her dad, the love in his eyes as he jumped and played with her Or

When he drove her to the Vatican for her safety the regret in his eyes the moment he dropped her.

Tears streamed down her face as rain rather ominously began to pour as if the heavens shared in her sorrow.

Within 5 minutes it was all over, the cemetery emptied out.

She was alone ,the sound of rain thrashing against the earth was all she could hear.

“ If you want to know more you can go to the secret stairwell beneath the garden, only your dad and I knew about this place, if he was facing any troubles he would have definitely left a clue behind for you” Marcus said quietly

“ how do I get there, Marcus” she asked mid sob

“ go to the angel in the garden, by twisting the angel's ring you open the secret room” he affirmed

She stood up, wiped her tears and walked away

Later that night, after making sure the guests have left.

She slipped back into the west hall, the mourning veil was gone, replaced now by a hooded cloak, the same cloak she had worn when she performed the benediction.

She crept into the garden like a ghost. The moon hung low, clouds moving like breaths across the sky

The chapel loomed ahead.

She walked briskly and knelt beside a withered angel statue and turned the iron ring hidden in the grass.

Click.

The ground trembled.

A silver stone against the chapel wall shifted , revealing a cellar, inside a narrow spiral staircase that led down wards into the dark.

Torches lined the wall of the entrance

She lit a match and the torch roared to life illuminating the stairway

The hallway was exactly how she imagined tight, damp, crawling with cold air and the scent of old prayers.

She stopped in front of a door

She used the key.

The door opened.

Inside was a hidden archive, written recordings of failed benediction, sketches of benediction, family ledgers marked with names crossed out in red.

But what shocked her more was a page along the edge of the table

A single photograph

Her photograph.

Dated last night and the time, 11: 46 pm she was dressed in the same cloak she had on today

It was right before she started the benediction.

And beneath it, scrawled in blood-red ink:

“ you are not the only one who remembers how to sneak through shadows”

Someone was there, watching

They had watched her in the benediction chamber

And now they have marked her.