The gates of the Morano estate creaked open under Lauretta's silent command. She stood tall beside her son, flanked by guards with raised rifles and watchful eyes. The late-afternoon sun gleamed against her dark attire, making her presence as formidable as the name she carried.
Seraphina stepped forward from one of her cars, her red heels tapping against the stone like war drums. Her snow-white coat billowed slightly in the breeze, and her lips curled into a smirk the moment her eyes met Luca's.
"I thought you were dead," Luca said quietly, voice caught between disbelief and steel.
Seraphina's brows arched, amused. "Oh, little nephew. Still so serious." Her gaze shifted. "And my dear Lauretta… you've aged gracefully. I see the family's chaos hasn't dulled your tongue."
Lauretta's stare was sharp enough to slice glass. "Seraphina Alessandro," she said icily. "We buried you."
