The morning after the gala wasn't quiet.
Milan buzzed like a hive cracked open. News anchors screamed headlines Rose never thought she'd hear in real time.
"Rosa DeLuca alive?"
"Lorenzo Mancini under fire for trafficking allegations."
"Mancini Memorial Gala turns into scandal."
She stood in Killian's penthouse kitchen, coffee untouched, arms folded, her reflection split across the windows like a ghost she hadn't fully shaken off yet. Her jaw clenched as she watched the chaos she'd unleashed take shape across the screen. Every flicker of her name, every still image from the gala, every tweet and newsflash—it made her stomach twist, not from regret but from the adrenaline crash.
Killian flipped through TV channels like he was watching a game. "You're trending. Number one in Europe. Congratulations."
She glanced at him. "I'm not interested in trending. I'm interested in results."
He arched a brow. "There's movement in Interpol. And the feds."
"You leaked the files already?"
"No," he said, tone calm. "You did. Remember? Live feed. Micro-drives. The dramatic part was all you."
She exhaled slowly. Her palms were still burning from everything she let go of last night. The rage. The grief. The shame.
Killian set down the remote. "You looked beautiful in black."
She blinked at him. "Is that your way of flirting?"
He grinned. "That was my way of saying you buried him in style."
---
Cassian showed up an hour later.
He didn't knock. Just let himself in, like he belonged. And maybe, part of him did.
Rose looked up, and for a second, she forgot how tired she was. How hollow. How stripped down to the bone she felt.
He looked furious.
And entirely hers.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
Rose nodded once. "Are you?"
Cassian took a few steps closer. "I just decked Lorenzo's cousin. He came at me, screaming about betrayal, bloodlines, and how I'd ruined the Mancini name."
"You did," she said softly. "With me."
He stared at her like he was memorizing every curve of her mouth. "Would do it again."
Then his fingers brushed her jaw.
Her breath caught. "Cassian…"
"You don't have to say it," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not here to collect feelings."
"Then why are you here?"
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Because I'm the only one in this damn game who doesn't want to use you."
That shut her up.
Not because she didn't believe him—but because it scared her how much she wanted to believe it.
---
Meanwhile…
Lorenzo Mancini locked himself inside a bunker beneath the estate. His lawyers were useless. His guards scattered. He hadn't slept. The alcohol did nothing. The files Rose dropped had gone viral.
Bank accounts frozen.
Partners bailing.
All the sins he'd stacked neatly over the years were unraveling in real time.
He stared at her face on the screen.
Alive.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
Rosa Bianca DeLuca-Mancini… the ghost who crawled out of the grave with matches in her mouth and no mercy in her eyes.
He smashed the laptop.
"This isn't over," he hissed.
The screen cracked. Sparks flew. It was childish, but it felt necessary.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His empire—the carefully curated illusion of wealth, power, and prestige—was crumbling like sand in a storm. And the woman he buried with champagne and roses had come back with blood and fire.
He turned to his last remaining loyalist—Marco, his driver turned hitman. "Find her. Find Cassian. Find whoever helped her. I want blood."
Marco nodded, fear in his eyes. "Yes, sir."
But even Marco knew—
This war was already lost.
---
Back at Killian's penthouse, the mood shifted.
Rose stood in front of a massive bulletin board—photos, names, bank documents pinned across it like a murder investigation. It wasn't just about Lorenzo anymore.
It was about everyone who had helped him.
"Next step?" Killian asked, sipping his whisky.
She pointed at a name—Enzo Vitali, former business associate. Ran the black market laundering ring in Napoli.
"He's the plug. If we get to him, Lorenzo's international connections crumble."
Killian nodded. "He won't talk easily."
"He will if he thinks I'm already inside his house."
Cassian leaned against the wall. "You want to break into Vitali's compound?"
"I don't want to," Rose said. "I will."
Killian smirked. "You're becoming more like me."
She turned. "No. I'm becoming what they made me."
She didn't flinch. Didn't soften.
Not even when Cassian moved closer, voice low. "This isn't your burden alone."
She met his gaze. "It is."
He didn't argue. He just pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple.
---
That night, Cassian followed her to the rooftop.
She was smoking.
She never smoked.
"You okay?" he asked.
Rose didn't answer at first. Then—
"Do you ever feel like you came back wrong?"
He stepped closer. "You came back sharp."
She blew out smoke. "I used to cry a lot. Now, I feel nothing. I see Lorenzo's face and it's just... static. Like the pain got bored and left."
He studied her. "You didn't come back wrong, Rose. You came back ready."
She looked up at him. "And you? Why are you still here?"
Cassian shrugged. "Maybe I like fire."
She flicked her ash, smiling bitterly. "Then stay close. I'm about to set the whole country on fire."
He kissed her before she finished her sentence.
It wasn't sweet.
It was survival. Raw. Heavy.
He kissed her like they were the last two people in a ruined empire, and this was the only language they had left.
When she pulled away, breathless, she whispered, "That was stupid."
Cassian grinned. "Felt necessary."
And then he left her to the storm.
---
Somewhere in Napoli, 3 a.m.
Enzo Vitali was awakened by a phone call. Anonymous. Scrambled.
But the voice on the other end?
Terrifyingly familiar.
"You don't know me yet, Mr. Vitali. But you're going to. Sleep well. Your empire burns next."
Click.
Enzo sat up in cold sweat.
And Rose DeLuca crossed his name off her list.
---
The next morning, Killian stood at the kitchen island reviewing intercepted emails when Rose walked in, dressed in black cargo pants and a tight-fitting top. Her hair was in a loose braid, and a gun sat comfortably on her hip like it belonged there.
He didn't question her look.
He just handed her a burner phone.
"The drop location's been confirmed. Vitali's having a private party tonight at his vineyard. No press. No security cams. Just old money and older secrets."
She tucked the phone into her waistband. "I'll blend in."
Cassian entered, holding two earpieces. "Not without backup."
She gave him a look. "You sure you're ready to be seen with public enemy number one?"
He shrugged. "Always did love a little chaos."
Killian stepped in. "You two go in together. I'll run surveillance from here. But if anything goes wrong—"
Rose cut in. "It won't."
He raised his hands. "Alright, killer."
She looked at her reflection one last time in the mirror near the door. Not a crack.
Not even a flicker.
"I'm not coming to warn," she whispered. "I'm coming to burn."