The Past Never Stays Buried

The peaceful lull of the waves was deceiving. Luca felt it in his gut—something was coming. He had spent years surviving by trusting his instincts, and right now, they screamed at him like an alarm in the dead of night.

Evelyn sat beside him, oblivious to his internal battle. She traced idle patterns on his arm, her fingers soft and warm against his skin. It should have been comforting. It should have been enough.

But the shadows of the past had a way of creeping back in when least expected.

A sharp buzz from his phone shattered the illusion of peace. He stiffened, reaching for it, his grip tightening as he read the name flashing across the screen.

Dante.

Evelyn immediately sensed the change in his demeanor. "What is it?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Luca exhaled, debating whether to tell her. But he had promised—no more secrets.

"It's Dante." He glanced at her, gauging her reaction. "He wouldn't call unless it was important."

Her expression hardened. She had never trusted Dante, and for good reason. His name had been attached to too many betrayals, too many near-death encounters.

Still, Luca answered.

"What is it?" His voice was cold, controlled.

"Luca." Dante's voice held an urgency that sent ice through his veins. "We have a problem."

Luca stood, already moving toward the railing, gripping it as he stared out at the ocean. "Define 'problem.'"

A pause. Then—

"Someone's looking for you. And they're not asking nicely."

Evelyn stood as well, her arms crossed. "Who?" she whispered.

Luca kept his eyes on the horizon. "Who, Dante?"

Dante sighed. "Valerio."

The name sent a shockwave through Luca's system.

Evelyn went rigid beside him. "That's impossible," she said.

Valerio was supposed to be dead.

Luca had made sure of it.

Or so he had thought.