The penthouse might've gone dark, but the fallout from that night? Just getting started.
By morning, the media was already on fire. Every blog, whisper site, and finance gossip outlet had photos—grainy, blurry, but damning. Rose DeLuca, the dead wife of Lorenzo Mancini, was alive and glowing on Cassian Moretti's arm.
One headline read: "Resurrected Rose? The Ghost of Mancini Returns With Billionaire Heat"
Rose read it while sipping espresso in Cassian's penthouse suite, her legs curled under her in his oversized chair, one arm resting casually across the armrest like she owned the damn place.
Cassian was in the kitchen, his bare chest still gleaming with droplets of water from the shower. He wore nothing but a towel slung around his neck, and even though the view was distracting, Rose didn't look away from the phone. This was business. Everything else was secondary.
"Do you ever get tired of waking up to chaos?" Cassian asked, leaning against the counter, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her.
Rose didn't even blink. "Chaos is just my morning routine now."
He smirked, walking over to her and dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder like it was nothing. But it wasn't. She felt it. That little thrill that buzzed at the back of her neck. It was a thrill she hadn't known in years. Cassian was dangerous in a way she hadn't felt in a long time—quieter, smarter, cleaner. But no less ruthless.
"Lorenzo is pissed," Cassian said, taking the seat opposite her. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders told a different story. "I got a text from one of his guys. He's putting feelers out, trying to figure out what you've been doing all this time."
Rose's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Let him try. He'll only find ashes."
Cassian's eyes lingered on her, reading her like an open book. "You sure this is just revenge?"
Rose met his gaze, not flinching. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" Cassian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "There's a fire in you, yeah, but it's not just about payback. It's like you're trying to burn something else too. Yourself, maybe?"
The words hit her harder than she expected, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she took another slow sip of espresso, keeping her eyes fixed on the cup, willing herself to remain calm. The last thing she needed right now was to show weakness.
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a number she didn't recognize—an untraceable, private line. She answered without hesitation, recognizing the voice on the other end immediately.
"Rosa," Anna Ricci rasped. Her insider. Her weapon.
"He's moved money," Anna continued, urgency thick in her tone. "Three shell accounts vanished overnight. You rattled him hard last night."
Rose's fingers tightened around the phone, a surge of adrenaline rushing through her. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted."
"But there's more. He pulled his sister from Milan. Moved her to a private property in the countryside. Tight security. You think she's still clean?"
Rose's lips curled into a cold smile. "She knows too much to stay clean."
Anna hesitated. "And you?"
"I am just getting started."
Rose hung up, already standing from her seat. Cassian was watching her closely, his sharp eyes following her every move.
"What now?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We go public," Rose said, the words as cold and calculated as they had ever been. "Not with everything. Just enough to make him sweat."
Cassian's brow lifted. "You want to bait him?"
"I want to drown him. Slowly."
By noon, the internet was swimming in speculation. An anonymous leak hinted at Lorenzo's illegal dealings—money laundering, offshore accounts, shady partnerships. Nothing concrete. Just smoke. Enough to make his investors twitch. Enough to make him paranoid.
Rose knew how to play the long game. And Lorenzo? He played angry.
The leak was the first step in a very calculated, very dangerous game. Rose had a list of enemies—people she could ruin with a few well-placed words. But she wasn't just going to burn Lorenzo's empire. No, she was going to turn the whole damn thing to ash.
The phone rang again. Rose glanced at it. A burner phone—the kind she hadn't touched in months. She picked it up, her fingers brushing over the cracked screen. There was only one message.
"We need to talk. Face to face. No games." —L
Rose stared at the screen for a long time, her breath steady. She had expected this. He was predictable. And now, it was time to settle the score once and for all.
Cassian's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "Don't go."
"I'm not scared of him," she replied, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. She wasn't scared. But Cassian was right.
"That's not the point," he said, his eyes narrowing with a mix of caution and concern. "You've stirred the water. Sharks are swimming now. He's not gonna play clean."
Rose stood up, the resolve in her posture like steel. "Good. Neither am I."
The meeting place was a rooftop garden Lorenzo had bought her back when they still played husband and wife. A place that had once been theirs—a place where they had shared promises, lies, and everything in between. It overlooked the entire city, surrounded by white roses that bloomed under the moonlight, but now? Now, it was just another battlefield.
She arrived first. Fitting. She'd always been the first to strike.
Lorenzo showed ten minutes later, walking alone, no guards, just tension and the faint scent of cologne. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the area like he was expecting someone else. But it was just him. And her.
"You're a ghost," he said, stepping closer, his voice like gravel.
"You buried me," Rose replied, coldly, her eyes never leaving his.
They stood there in silence for a beat, the wind picking up, rustling through the petals of the roses as if whispering secrets from another life. Memories, maybe. Of a time when they hadn't been enemies. Of a time when they hadn't been broken.
"I want the truth," he said finally, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. "Why now? Why come back after all this time?"
Rose's lips parted in a quiet laugh. "You think this is about timing?"
"I think you're trying to destroy me."
Her eyes flashed, dark and dangerous. "You destroyed yourself. I'm just the consequence."
Lorenzo's face darkened, and his jaw clenched tightly. "You were my wife, Rosa."
"And you were my damn coffin."
His eyes flared, something unreadable flickering behind them. "You loved me once."
"Yeah," Rose breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And then you handed me to your enemies with a smile."
Lorenzo froze. It was as if the words had struck him hard, deeper than anything she could have anticipated. But Rose? Rose didn't pause. She couldn't afford to.
"You let them frame me, let them ruin my name in the press, let them dig my grave while you stood on the sidelines pretending to be heartbroken. I died that day, Lorenzo. But I didn't stay buried."
His voice cracked. "You don't understand what they would've done to me if I didn't play along."
Rose stepped forward, her heels clicking against the marble. "You think that's supposed to make me forgive you?"
"No," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "But maybe it'll make you remember that everything I did—every fucked-up move—I did it because I loved you and I was scared."
Rose shook her head slowly. "Then you should've fought for me. Not against me."
The air between them was thick. Tense. Electric. But she didn't give him a chance to speak again. Not now. Not ever.
"You said you wanted to talk. We've talked." Rose's voice was ice-cold. "Now watch what I do next."
She turned, her heels clicking louder with every step she took, the sound echoing in the garden. She didn't look back. Not once.
And Lorenzo? He stood in the middle of their old garden, ghosts clinging to his suit, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his heart pounding in his ears. For the first time, he realized…
She wasn't bluffing.
This time, Rosa DeLuca wasn't just coming for his heart.
She was coming for everything.