The private jet landed at Linate Airport in the middle of a grey and silver cloud cover that looked like it might rain, but never did. Sera stepped onto the tarmac with her coat wrapped tightly around her and her nerves even more tightly.

She hadn't told anyone about her trip, not even Alondra, Leo, or the board. This was about her. This was passed down from ancestors. And this was a war.

Milan had memories. Some of hers. Most of them were her mother's. Clarisse Calloway used to find peace in the city during fashion weeks and important negotiations. Now it felt like a crypt that was about to be disturbed.

By the time she got there, Cassian's trail was cold. Two days ago, he checked into a small hotel on Via Montenapoleone. He was gone by then. No check-out. No place to send it. It was just a silence that was louder than any signal.

Sera didn't freak out. She made plans.

She began at the archive.

Clarisse had a secret office above the original Calloway atelier, which is now a vintage couture showroom. Lisabetta, an old Italian woman who ran it, knew Sera right away.

She said in an accent that sounded like English, “You are your mother's daughter. But your eyes are sharper.”

Sera smiled a little. “She put something here, didn't she?”

Lisabetta nodded and led her through a narrow hallway behind the showroom, past mannequins draped in silk ghosts. A small elevator took them to the fourth floor.

The room was sealed with a keypad—old, dusty, and still functional.

Sera typed her mother’s birthday.

It clicked open.

Inside: a mahogany desk, a narrow bookshelf, a worn rug, and a single painting. The office was spartan but elegant, like Clarisse herself.

Sera walked slowly, touching everything. The desk drawer creaked open to reveal a stack of letters—sealed, faded, and addressed to no one.

But the painting drew her in.

It depicted a stormy seascape. Familiar.

She leaned closer. Along the lower left edge, embedded in the thick oil strokes, was a symbol: a wolf’s head.

Her breath caught.

She removed the canvas from the wall and turned it over.

There, taped to the back, was a key. And a slip of paper.

Banco Della Notte – Vault 311 – Cassian will know.

Sera stared at the words until they blurred.

Her mother hadn’t left the final piece hidden randomly.

She had meant for both of them to find it—together.

Cassian was nowhere in the city.

But Leo was.

He flew in that night after following Sera's flight logs. He saw her in the hotel lobby, drinking espresso like it was water at midnight.

“Stubborn,” he said as he sat down across from her.

“You followed me.”

“You go away, and I worry.”

“You come back to Milan, and I freak out.”

She gave him the piece of paper.

He looked it over. Whistled.

“That vault hasn't been used in ten years.”

“It's now.”

Leo leaned back. “And Cassian?”

“Out of here. But I have a good idea of where he went next.”

Cassian wasn't running.

He was out hunting.

Matteo Solano is the last known partner from the Arclight shell company.

Cassian had followed him from Geneva to Verona and then to a villa near Lake Como.

Solano was older, fatter, and slower, but still mean.

They met in the middle of the night in a chapel that had been turned into a hideout in the woods.

“You brought fire to your own house, Cassian,” Solano said angrily.

Cassian didn't move. “You made the matchbox.”

“You should have left this alone. You had it all.”

“I didn't have anything honest.”

“You think your wife will let this go?”

“I'm not doing it to be forgiven.”

“Then what? Redemption?” Solano sneered.

Cassian's eyes grew cold. “Justice.”

And when Solano tried to open a drawer, Cassian got there first.

He left the villa with a USB drive in his pocket and blood on his shirt.

But even justice hurts people.

Cassian stayed in a cheap hotel in Bergamo for the night, where he used a first aid kit and a bottle of grappa to take care of his wounds. He looked at the USB drive as if it held not only proof but also the weight of his soul. It did, in a way.

The papers inside showed years of illegal transfers, hidden subsidiaries, and blackmail trails, all connected to Arclight and involving powerful people. Some were known. Some of them are scary.

He didn't get any sleep.

The next morning, Sera went into Banco Della Notte.

It smelled like old money and old secrets. There were three layers of biometric security and two guards who didn't say a word and looked like statues in the vault room.

The vault 311 opened with a click.

Inside was a thin titanium briefcase with a digital lock on it.

She typed in the same numbers as before.

Click.

Papers. Old deeds. A phone that burns. And a black envelope.

She shook as she opened it.

The Panama accounts' missing access code is inside. A lot. Buried in offshore trusts that were set up to pay for charities, scholarships, and legal protection for years to come.

Clarisse had built an empire not only of fashion but also of shadow defence.

And Sera was the last line of defence.

There was also a recorder for voices. Old but still works. Sera hit play.

“Sera, if you're hearing this, you've found the truth. It's not about the money. It's all about legacy. About safety. I never told you some things. Because I didn't want the weight to crush you. But now I see that I raised a woman who can handle it.”

Sera sat down on the velvet bench next to the vault wall, her eyes filling with tears.

“Cassian might scare you. He scares me, too. But he also loves, a lot. You will know he has changed if he chooses you over power. If not, Seraphina, just walk away. Walk a long way.”

She hit the stop button.

Her hands were shaking. But her determination grew stronger.

Cassian went back to Milan that night.

He walked into the hotel room looking like he had just come back from a war.

Blood. Dirt. Empty eyes.

Sera stood still.

He put the USB drive on the table.

“It's finished.”

She moved slowly towards him, taking in the bruises and the empty, haunted space.

“Cassian—”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“For what?”

“For making you fight battles I should have ended years ago.”

She stepped forward and laid her hand over his heart.

“I found the vault.”

He shut his eyes. “And?”

“She left us the key. Together.”

Silence stretched.

Then, softly: “I killed a man,” he said.

Sera didn't move.

“Was it to keep us safe?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have to deal with it. And we keep moving forward.”

Cassian really looked at her then.

And for the first time in months, his hands stopped shaking.

They didn’t sleep that night either. But it wasn’t because of fear. It was because they had plans.

The next morning, Sera handed Cassian the access codes. He gave her the USB stick.

“Together,” she said.

“Always,” he said.

Leo called from the States with urgent news.

“Bennett Crane was on the move. Quick. He's put together a group. They are making people vote. Complete removal. You and Cassian.”

Sera nodded slowly.

“Let them try.”

Cassian looked at her. “You have a plan?”

She opened the case.

“Better. I have leverage.”

Cassian smiled. “This is going to be a blast.”

That afternoon, they flew home next to each other.

Not like pawns. Not as victims.

But like wolves.