It used to be a chapel, but now it's just a room. Old tapestries that had faded over time covered the walls. There was only one light on a little altar, and its flickering flame made strange shadows on the stone walls. Celia moved forward and peered around the room, taking in the cold space.

She went slowly so as not to interrupt the quiet. The air felt heavy with recollections of the past. She could almost hear the voices of the individuals who had come before her, their secrets buried in the stone. It looked like nothing had changed here in a long time.

But then she saw something that made her stop. There was a picture on the altar that was quite old and yellowed. The edges of the paper were rough, and the paper was mushy because it hadn't been used in years. But there was no doubt about the faces. Young and full of life, Matteo stood next to a man she knew very well.

Adrian Costa.

She couldn't breathe. The ground moved under her feet, and the world twisted. The first person she loved. The man she had promised to get back at. The man she thought Matteo had killed.

The truth was coming out, worse than she could have ever thought.

She was shaking as she grabbed for the picture, which was so heavy that it pulled her down into the void. She had come here to kill Matteo. But now she was starting to see that the adversary was closer than ever.

She knew things would never be the same again as her fingers caressed the picture's margins.

Celia's heart raced as she quickly put the picture of Matteo and Adrian Costa back in the folds of her dress, hidden behind layers of silk. It was as weighty as the truth it held and crushed against her breast. She wasn't ready to face the truth yet. It already felt like a storm was about to break when Matteo entered the room.

She silently walked inside their bedroom, which was too big, too full of history and expectations. Before entering, she touched the doorframe with her fingertips to ground herself for the performance. Matteo had been the perfect actor for the night of façades. The visitors had gone home, the noise had died down, and the lights had gone out, but the fight was far from done.

Matteo was already there, sitting on the bed with his back to her and no shirt on. His frame was thin but firm, and the scars on his skin showed that he had struggled for every inch of his existence. He was rigid and his muscles were tense, but his face showed no interest.

His voice broke the silence, which was sweet and almost too quiet. "This marriage is for the sake of politics." Not for you.

The words hit her like ice, and she stopped in the doorway. When he moved a little to look her in the eye, his tone was definite, much like the coldness in his gaze. It was not a question. It wasn't even an accusation. It was a statement, as if he had already taken away any hope she might have had.

Celia's throat got constricted. She could feel the knife buried under her garter, the only real commitment she had made that night, but she didn't move. "I know why I'm here," she said, her voice firm, but her hands gave her away. They twitched, wanting so badly to get to the truth she had been holding onto for so long.

Matteo didn't move. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that should have made her feel better. It wasn't. It would never be.

"Then we're on the same page," she said quietly. His remarks weighed on the room like a thick cloud.

He leaned back and watched her with the eerie calmness that usually came before he did something planned. He said, "This marriage is a lie that has to be." "Don't think of it as anything else."

Celia's stomach turned. "I'm not here for you," she muttered. "But I'm starting to think I might end up destroying you anyway."

The stillness between them was dense and heavy. Matteo's words had settled deep inside her, making their gulf even bigger. Celia moved forward, feeling like a knife was about to fall on her since he didn't care.

She carefully put her glass down, her fingers brushing the exquisite crystal. "Then let's make it clear, shall we?" Her voice was crisp and purposeful, and every phrase was stressful. "Matteo, we're in the same game." But don't think I'm just a pawn.

Matteo stood up, and the sound of his chair scraping across the floor broke the silence. He looked at her the whole time, as if he were attempting to peel off her layers one by one. "We're both players," he replied coldly, calculatingly. "But you'll learn quickly that there isn't any room for feelings here."

Her lips twisted into a tight, knowing grin. She said, "I don't need to learn." "You're the one who's already lost."

He got closer, and his presence was too much. For a time, it was just the two of them. The air was thick with unspoken words, and each one was a weapon ready to be used. He stretched out and touched her cheek with his palm, which was nearly soft. But Celia didn't move. She looked him in the eye and didn't blink.

Matteo's voice was low, like a whisper. "You think you're here to get back at me. But now you're in my world. Loyalty is the only thing that matters to me. Nothing else.

Her heart raced, but she kept her face calm. "Who are you loyal to?" she said, her voice a silky edge of steel.

He grinned, like he would laugh, but there was no humour in it. "To the house." To the past. To me.

"And what happens when the house falls apart?" she questioned, her voice full of challenge.

Matteo's smile disappeared. He responded, "I'll burn it down myself." he never took his eyes off hers.

She took a step back, her actions smooth and her mind racing. "I'll be waiting to watch," she stated quietly.

Matteo turned and walked away from her without saying anything else. He murmured over his shoulder, "We're not done here."

He locked the door behind him before she could say anything, and the sound echoed in the still room.

The moonlight flowed across the lake, making the water shine like a thousand broken promises. Celia opened the window, and the chilly night air came in quickly. The smell of the lake blended with the slight scent of perfume still on her skin, which reminded her of the act she had just done.

She leaned against the glass and looked out at the vast emptiness. The quiet was almost calming, a short break from the chaos that was going on inside her. Outside the Rinaldi estate, everything was quiet, but the storm was raging within.

The vibration of her phone on the bedside table broke the silence. She instantly snatched it up and read the encrypted message with her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Salvatore. Finish it before he dies.

The words hurt her chest, colder than anything Matteo had ever uttered. She reread it to make sure. Her hands shook, but she held them still.

Salvatore. Her uncle. The one who had made her world out of lies, blood, and betrayal. And now he wanted her to continue what he had started.

But this was hardly the whole story. More than just getting back at someone. More than just a broken marriage. She had never thought the stakes would be this high.

Her finger hesitated over the screen, and the weight of the choice was heavy on her.

Even though Matteo wasn't there, she could feel his stern glare on her back.

And with that, the game started.

As Celia stepped to the wine cabinet, her hands were shaking. The weight of the night, the wedding, the lies, and the cheating were too much for her to handle, and she was about to lose her cool. She grabbed for the closest bottle and poured herself a liberal amount. Her fingers brushed the chilly glass. The glass had a rich red liquid that flowed around. The hue was almost too deep and dense.

When she turned to drink, her gaze briefly went to Matteo's empty glass. She hadn't seen it before, but the edge of his glass was dirty. A dark red. Blood that is still wet around the borders. Her throat got constricted. The walls seemed closing in on her, making the space feel smaller and more oppressive.

She put the glass down, and her mind raced. The fact that Matteo went missing earlier wasn't a coincidence. The Rinaldi empire was falling apart all around them, and he was at the core of it all. It wasn't as easy as it seemed that he was sick or had secrets.

When she heard it, her fingers reached the counter's edge to stabilise herself. A thin, raspy cough echoed down the stone hallway, far away but clear.

Her heart raced, and her head jerked up. Matteo had been fine only a few minutes earlier. At least he looked fine. But now...

She didn't think twice. Her instincts kicked in, and she quickly walked down the corridor, her bare feet making no noise on the cold stone floors. The cough came back, this time louder, with a harsh, guttural sound that made her stomach turn.

Every step she took seemed to make the gap between her and Matteo grow, but she couldn't stop. She needed to know what was going on with him. She needed to see if he was still the man she had promised to kill or if he was someone else.