ASHES oF THE ROSE. G17E1MWE copy code for redemption

⸻ Chapter One The bells tolled midnight. Laura stood beneath the crumbling arch of a forgotten alleyway, her breath ghosting through the cold air like a spirit still trapped between lives. Rain drizzled from the cathedral’s stone gargoyles above, tapping on cobblestones like impatient fingers. Her gloved hands clutched the worn leather of her coat, the fabric damp, heavy, and familiar. Like memory. Everything about Florence was soaked in blood and beauty — and both had touched her life. She hadn’t returned to the city for redemption. She’d returned for revenge. A name etched itself into the back of her mind like a curse. Valerio Moretti. The man who ruined her family, stole her inheritance, and left her for dead in the Tuscan hills eight years ago. He was back in Florence, wearing a new name, hosting masked galas in his villa like a king returned to a stolen throne. But Laura had changed too. No longer the wide-eyed girl he betrayed. She had studied secrets — real secrets — in places the Vatican pretended didn’t exist. She had learned from women who still lit candles to the old gods. She had paid in blood for every fragment of the power she now carried. Something stirred behind her. A flicker of movement in the alley’s shadows. She turned, swift and silent, her fingers brushing the hilt of the blade strapped to her thigh. A man stepped out, hooded and lean, boots slick with rainwater. His voice was low and amused. “Still walking ghosts, Laura?” She froze. Only one person ever asked her that. “Nico?” He lowered his hood. His eyes were darker now — colder — but they still held that same sharp gleam. The last time she saw him, he had a bullet in his shoulder and her blood on his hands. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Neither should you.” They stood for a moment, watching each other across a river of time and grief. “He knows you’re back,” Nico finally said. “Valerio’s not the man he used to be. He’s worse. And he remembers what you are.” Laura’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Good. That means he’s afraid.” She stepped past him, her boots echoing on the stones as she disappeared into the night. Florence would burn before she let the past stay buried. And this time, she was the storm.