The Ghost in Crimson

The living room was silent, tense with unspoken questions and invisible weight pressing down on everyone present. The television continued to blare, chaotic headlines flashing like strobe lights, news anchors speaking with urgency over burning visuals of New York City. Smoke rose on the screen in endless spirals, black clouds twisting into the night sky as emergency services fought the infernos that had reduced De Luca warehouses to flaming rubble.

"Breaking news: All four De Luca warehouses in NYC have been bombed. Authorities suspect coordinated attacks carried out by an unidentified operative. Security footage remains classified, but sources say the infamous assassin known only as Vesper has resurfaced."

The name slammed through the room like a bullet.

Valerio stood by the window, staring blankly outside but seeing none of it. His jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching slightly against the pane. Behind him, Dante sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands loosely locked as if holding himself together.

Alessia had gone pale. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand on her heart. "No… It can't be…"

Mason crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, but his usual nonchalance was gone. "This doesn't feel like coincidence."

No one had seen Leona all morning. Not in the kitchen, not by the pool, not in the garden. She hadn't returned any calls or left a note. Her suitcase was gone. Her room was perfectly clean. Too clean.

Like she had never been there.

Valerio moved away from the window slowly. His steps were heavy, hesitant. He walked into the hallway, then toward the spare bedroom where Leona had been staying. He pushed open the door.

Empty.

The bed was neatly made, without the usual messy throw pillows she liked to pile up. Her jacket, the one he had once draped over her shoulders, was missing. The little trinkets she'd kept by the bedside were gone. Even her perfume—that soft, lingering vanilla and citrus scent that clung to the curtains—had vanished.

Gone. All of it.

Valerio opened the drawer next to her bed. It was the same one where she'd kept her pendant, the only heirloom she had claimed to own. He had seen her clutch it many nights, almost as if it gave her courage.

It wasn't there.

His chest constricted.

Dante appeared behind him. "Valerio."

He didn't turn. He was still staring at the empty drawer.

Dante's voice was softer this time. "You don't think she…"

"No," Valerio interrupted too quickly. He finally turned, but his eyes were dark, hollow. "Leona isn't… she couldn't be…"

But even he couldn't finish that sentence.

Back in the living room, the news continued to unravel in real time.

"The precision of these attacks, the timing, and the sheer planning suggest this was not the work of an amateur or a rebel group," said the anchor, her voice grave. "Authorities have begun linking the explosions to a string of past assassinations, all marked by the same calling card: the letter V engraved at the scene."

"V for Vesper," Mason whispered under his breath.

Valerio re-entered the room, slower than before, as if gravity had become heavier. Alessia looked at him and instantly understood.

"She took everything?"

Valerio nodded silently.

Mason stood up. "We need to track her. Get into her phone, maybe…"

Valerio raised a hand. "She left it behind."

That was the last nail.

A device always glued to her hand, now gone. No digital trace, no sign of her in any of the estate's cameras from last night.

Dante sank back into the couch, raking a hand through his hair. "She planned this. All of it."

And yet, Valerio couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. He remembered how she kissed him like he was her everything. How her fingers trembled slightly that night, how her breath caught in her throat. It hadn't felt fake. It hadn't felt like a performance.

Unless it had been a goodbye.

He turned toward the TV again. The screen changed to a grainy black-and-white surveillance still. A figure in a black outfit, sleek, lethal, unmistakable. They moved like wind, swift and calculated. The figure walked through a hallway filled with fire and smoke. The back of their coat fluttered, revealing a faint symbol stitched near the collar.

A butterfly.

Valerio's blood ran cold.

He remembered it now. Leona's tattoo. The one on her back. A butterfly, delicate and intricate. She'd told him it meant freedom. Rebirth.

It wasn't a coincidence. Not anymore.

Valerio dropped onto the armrest of the couch, hands in his hair. His throat was dry, mind spinning.

Alessia lowered her voice. "You think she… she might be Vesper?"

Dante shook his head, uncertain. "The signs were always there. We just didn't want to see them."

Mason sighed. "No threats when she was here. The city goes up in flames the second she's gone. All signs point in one direction."

Valerio's voice broke the quiet. "She said nothing. Nothing about where she was going. No hint. No clue."

Alessia approached him slowly. "Maybe she didn't want you to follow. Maybe she couldn't face telling you."

His eyes met hers, lost and heartbroken. "Why wouldn't she trust me?"

Alessia didn't have an answer.

The only response was the steady hum of the news anchor repeating the name:

"Vesper… Vesper… Vesper…"

Over and over again.

Valerio clenched his fists.

Not out of anger.

But because the woman he loved was walking through flames, alone. Again. And this time, he feared he wouldn't be able to bring her back.

The Moretti mansion was eerily quiet as the footage on the television played again and again, muted but impossible to ignore. The crimson flames swallowed warehouse after warehouse, all marked by the De Luca insignia. It wasn't just the destruction that struck a chord; it was the precision, the timing, the style. The kind of execution only one person in the underground world was capable of.

Vesper.

The news anchor's voice bled into the room despite the volume being low, "…the authorities remain clueless about the culprit. However, many suspect the mysterious assassin known only as Vesper…"

The name dropped like a boulder in the middle of the Moretti household.

Chiara sat frozen, a glass of water trembling in her hand. Mason's jaw tightened, eyes flickering toward the closed door that once belonged to Leona. Alessia stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face drawn in disbelief and unspoken understanding.

But it was Valerio who took the full brunt of it.

He had been seated at the center of the room, caught in that surreal state between disbelief and gut-wrenching realization. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the armrest of the chair. The memories flashed before his eyes in brutal clarity: Leona's hesitation to share, the occasional glimpses of something darker beneath her warm smile, her uncharacteristic reflexes when danger struck, and now… her absence.

Her complete disappearance after the night they finally surrendered to one another.

Valerio's throat felt like sandpaper. His breath became shallow.

"No," he said under his breath, shaking his head as though he could physically deny what was beginning to feel like an undeniable truth. "It can't be."

"Valerio…" Dante said gently, his voice full of conflict. He hadn't sat down since the broadcast began. Instead, he had been pacing, torn between worry and the puzzle pieces falling together in his own mind. "You don't think she…"

"Don't," Valerio snapped. The room went quiet. Then, softer, voice raw, "Don't say it."

"But she's gone. She left everything behind. Her bag. Her phone. Every trace. It's like she never existed. And the second she disappears, Vesper is back on the scene. It's not a coincidence anymore, Vale."

Valerio looked up, and for the first time in a long while, the dangerous, icy expression of the mafia prince returned to his eyes. But it wasn't aimed at Dante.

It was for himself.

The man he had opened himself up to. Trusted with his heart. Had he been loving the person who murdered his grandfather?

Giuliana Moretti, who had been quiet till now, finally spoke. She had seen more than most in her life. Her eyes weren't naïve. Her voice was calm but carried weight.

"Vesper is efficient. Ruthless. But never reckless. If Leona is Vesper, she didn't kill anyone without reason."

Valerio looked at his grandmother, eyes wide.

"Are you saying you believe she is?"

"I'm saying that if she is, she's been protecting you in her own way. Think, Valerio. The De Luca attack. The way she fought. The way she threw herself in front of you without hesitation. Does that sound like someone who wants you dead?"

Silence fell again.

Valerio got up slowly. He moved toward the large window, looking out at the garden, but seeing only the fragments of the night before. Her touch. Her laughter. Her soft whisper that he didn't catch before she disappeared. Was that her goodbye?

He slammed his fist against the window frame.

"Why didn't she tell me?"

No one had an answer.

In the background, Mason finally stood up, clearing his throat. His usual calm demeanor was shaken.

"She… she felt different. The way she moved, when the De Lucas came. Like something inside her snapped. I knew there was more to her. But I didn't think it was this."

Chiara muttered bitterly, "Of course she had to be someone bigger than all of us. Even in hiding, she was a queen."

Dante took a deep breath. "We need to find her. Not just for answers. But because she's not safe out there alone. If she's resurfaced as Vesper, it means she's waging a war."

Valerio turned around. His face was pale, his eyes sunken. But his voice was steel.

"She was never alone. She just never needed us the way we needed her. But I will find her. Even if she's Vesper. Even if she killed my grandfather… I need to hear it from her lips."

Alessia stepped forward. "She never wanted to lie to you. I saw it in her eyes. Maybe she wanted to tell you everything… maybe she fell for you harder than she planned. But someone like her, carrying so much… it's not easy to stay."

Valerio looked down at the ring he kept on a chain around his neck. His grandfather's ring. He had always worn it for strength. Now, it felt heavier.

Was it justice he wanted? Or was it Leona?

The answer terrified him.

Grandmother Moretti exhaled softly, watching her grandson spiral. "Then go. But don't go with vengeance in your heart, Valerio. Go with the truth. Because if you chase her with hate, you'll never find her. And you'll lose her for good."

Valerio nodded once, turning his back to the window.

"Prepare everything. I need every contact, every eye, every whisper in the underworld. Vesper is back. And I'm going to find her."

No one dared stop him.

Because they all knew one thing:

He wasn't just chasing Vesper.

He was chasing the woman who took his heart the moment she smiled like she belonged in a world far less cruel.

And despite the blood she may have spilled—

He still loved her.

Even if it shattered him. Even if it destroyed everything.

He would find her.

No matter what.

Because Leona Vale might have vanished.

But Vesper had just returned.