The Romano estate had gone deadly quiet by dawn. The long dining table, still stained with Carlo's blood, was cleared by quiet maids who didn't dare make eye contact. Outside, rain fell in tiny drops, washing over the courtyard as if trying to cleanse the sins from the night before.

I didn't sleep. I sat in my father's office, his chair still carrying the old smell of his cigars. In front of me was the photograph of my father in his younger days, smiling with Raphael and Don Vincenzo at his side. It felt like a joke now.

Lucky leaned against the doorframe folding his arms. He had been there all night, like a ghost.

“You should have some rest,” he said quietly.

I didn't look up. “My father is dead, Raphael is everywhere, and Vincenzo is plotting his next move. And you said I should rest?”

Lucky smirked. “You've got fire burning in you, just like Carlo but fire without fuel burns out. You'll need strength if you plan to face them.”

“I don't plan to face them,” I muttered while placing the photograph on the desk, “I plan to surprise them.”

Lucky arched his brow, but before he could reply to me, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

Antonio Greco, the eldest among the council, stepped in. His steps were slow and calculated, but his gaze was piercing.

“Abigail,” he greeted with a respectful nod. “I came to pay my respects, I'm deeply sorry...”

“Respects?” I cut him short, not allowing him to finish. “Seems like most of you were ready to bury my father before his body got cold.”

Antonio was unmoved. “And here you are, sitting in his chair. You've got his fire…but fire needs strength and wisdom. That's why I'm here.” He paused briefly, lowering his voice. “I know you think Raphael was your father's killer.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I maintained my calm.”Do you?”

He fixed a slow gaze on me. “I think Raphael is too greedy to wait, too foolish to cover his tracks. If he's the killer, he'll slip.

But if you want to survive you must be silent for now. Wait for the right time to strike.”

I studied him carefully. Was he offering me guidance….or just trying to pull my legs?

Before I could respond, the door opened again. This time, a man in a dark blue suit entered, his badge tightened on his belt. His presence sent a ripple down my spine.

“Detective Elias Grant,” he introduced himself. His voice was calm but something deep lay beneath. I'm here to ask questions about Carlo Romano's death.”

Lucky shot him a cold stare. “Cops weren't invited.”

Elias stared at him, then back at me. “I'm not here for your permission. Carlo Romano was murdered. That's my concern.”

I leaned back in my father's chair, hiding my emotions. “And what exactly do you want me to tell you, Detective?”

He studied me, his eyes sharp and searching. “The truth. Someone inside this house killed him. And I know you're smart enough to know who gains.”

I smiled faintly. “Detective, if I had the answers, do you really think I'm gonna tell you?

Elias tilted his head, satisfied. “So you'll admit it—you know the answers.”

I didn't reply. Instead, I reached for my father's glass decanter and poured myself a drink, my hand steady despite the burden in my chest.

Elias’ voice was calmer now, almost personal. “Abigail, you're not like them. You don't have to go down with this family. You can bend the rules —work with me “

Lucky took a step forward, I could see fury all over him. “She doesn't talk to cops.”

I lifted my glass slowly. “And yet, here I am, Detective, talking to you.”

For a moment silence filled the room, thick with tension. Elias' eyes locked on mine, searching for flaws. But I gave him none.

Finally, he exhaled loudly. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'll be around. And when it's too late, you'll remember this offer.” He threw his card on the desk and left.

After he left, Lucky scoffed.”You can't trust him. Cops drain you for information and trash you when you're empty.”

I took the card and turned it over. Detective Elias Grant. I tucked it into my pocket. “Maybe. Or maybe I drain him first.”

Lucky gave me a look—half suspicion, half concern. “You're playing with fire.”

I met his gaze calmly. “That's what this world is all about.”

******

That night, as the estate became silent again, I found a sealed envelope slipped under my door. The handwriting was not familiar, the paper was thick and elegant. I tore it open with caution.

Inside was a single line, scribbled in ink

“Your father wasn't supposed to die. You were.”

I froze. The paper slipped gently from my fingers.

Someone inside the family hadn't just killed my father. They had tried to kill me too.

But they failed. For now.

I sat alone in the dim office, still trying to recover from the shock. I took the paper again and reread the contents, it trembled I'm my hands.

My father's blood was still fresh in my memory, Raphael's smirk, Vincenzo's warning, and Elias' probing eyes—all of it occupied my mind.

But now it was clear.

This wasn't just about my father's death. This was about my survival.

And someone inside my own house wanted me dead.