The House of Black Roses.

CHAPTER ONE Rain fell over Belladonna City the night Don Vittorio Moretti was buried. It was the kind of rain that made the streets shine beneath the yellow lamps and turned every passing car into a blurred shadow. At the cemetery, black umbrellas covered the mourners like a field of dark flowers. Nobody cried. Not because Vittorio Moretti had been loved. Powerful men were rarely loved in Belladonna. They were feared. Respected. Obeyed. And Vittorio had been all three. For thirty years, the Moretti family had controlled a powerful criminal empire that stretched across the city. Their influence reached the docks, nightclubs, private businesses and even places where their name was never spoken aloud. Now, Vittorio was dead. His only daughter, Alessandra Moretti, stood beside his grave in a simple black dress. She was twenty-four years old. Beautiful. Composed. And strangely calm. In her hand was a single black rose. Beside her stood Marco Moretti, her older cousin and her father's most trusted lieutenant. Across from them stood Adrian Vale. Adrian wasn't a Moretti by blood. Vittorio had found him alone on the streets when he was nineteen and had taken him into the family. Over the years, Adrian had become one of Vittorio's most trusted advisers. Some called him the brains behind the Moretti empire. Others simply called him dangerous. When the priest finished speaking, Alessandra stepped forward. She looked down at her father's coffin for several seconds. Then she dropped the black rose onto it. "I know," she whispered. Adrian heard her. He frowned. "Know what?" Alessandra didn't answer. She simply turned and walked away. Marco followed her. Adrian remained beside the grave. Something about her words bothered him. Then a voice came from behind him. "You're wondering what she knows." Adrian turned. Lorenzo Bellini stood a few feet away, holding a black umbrella. Lorenzo had been one of Vittorio's oldest friends. He was also one of the few men in Belladonna who could look a Moretti in the eyes without fear. "What are you talking about?" Adrian asked. Lorenzo gave him a faint smile. "Nothing." He walked away. Adrian watched him disappear into the rain. For the first time in years, something cold settled in his chest. Fear. Not fear of the police. Not fear of rival families. Not even fear of death. He was afraid Vittorio Moretti had left something behind. Something that could destroy them all. That evening, the Moretti mansion was unusually quiet. The enormous house stood on a hill overlooking Belladonna City, surrounded by tall iron gates and ancient trees. Inside the main dining room, several members of the organization sat around a long table. Alessandra sat at the head. Marco was on her right. Adrian sat opposite her. Everyone waited. Alessandra placed a sealed envelope on the table. "My father left instructions," she said. Marco frowned. "Instructions?" She nodded. "He ordered that this envelope be opened after his funeral." Nobody spoke. Alessandra broke the seal. She removed a single sheet of paper. Her eyes moved across the page. Once. Twice. Her expression changed. Marco noticed immediately. "What does it say?" Alessandra slowly folded the paper. "It says there is a traitor in this house." Silence filled the room. Marco leaned back. "That's impossible." Alessandra looked at him. "Is it?" Nobody answered. She reached into the envelope again and removed another piece of paper. "This one contains a name." Marco's expression tightened. "Whose?" Alessandra looked at the paper. Then she looked around the room. "Everyone leaves." Marco stood. "Alessandra—" "Now." One by one, the men left the room. Adrian remained seated. Alessandra looked at him. "You too." He stood and walked toward the door. Just before he left, Alessandra spoke quietly. "Come to my office at midnight." Adrian stopped. "Why?" She stared at him. "Because I have a question only you can answer." Midnight came. Adrian entered Alessandra's office. She was standing beside the window, watching the city below. "You came," she said. "You asked me to." Alessandra turned around. Her expression was serious. "Do you know about the room beneath the library?" Adrian stared at her. "No." She studied his face. "You're lying." "Why would I lie?" Instead of answering, Alessandra walked toward the bookshelf. She pulled out an old red book. A click echoed through the room. Part of the bookshelf moved. Behind it was a narrow staircase leading underground. Adrian's expression changed. "Your father showed me this once," Alessandra said. "Why didn't he tell me?" "Because he didn't trust you." Adrian stared at her. "And you do?" Alessandra stepped onto the first stair. "I haven't decided." She disappeared into the darkness. After a moment, Adrian followed. Neither of them noticed the shadow standing silently at the far end of the hallway. Watching. Waiting. And holding another black rose. The shadow disappeared before Adrian could turn around. He followed Alessandra down the narrow staircase. The air grew colder with every step. Neither of them spoke. At the bottom was a small stone room. Shelves covered the walls, filled with old documents, photographs, ledgers and sealed boxes. In the center stood a wooden desk. Alessandra walked toward it and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a black notebook. "This belonged to my father." Adrian stared at it. "What is it?" "Everything." She placed it on the desk. "Names. Payments. Deals. Secrets. Everyone my father ever trusted." Adrian's eyes moved across the shelves. "If this gets into the wrong hands, the Moretti family could be destroyed." "That's why we're here." Alessandra opened the notebook. Several pages had been torn out. Adrian immediately noticed. "Someone has already been here." "I know." She turned another page. Three more were missing. "How many?" Adrian asked. "Three." "What was written on them?" "I don't know." Adrian looked at her. "Then how do you know they're important?" Alessandra reached beneath the notebook and pulled out a photograph. "My father left this." She handed it to him. Adrian stared at the picture. It showed Vittorio standing beside three men. Lorenzo Bellini. Marco Moretti. And Adrian himself. His expression hardened. "This photograph was taken fifteen years ago." "I know." "I was nineteen." "My father kept it for a reason." Adrian turned the photograph over. Four words had been written on the back. THE THREE HEIRS. He looked at Alessandra. "Three heirs?" She shook her head. "I don't know what it means." Before Adrian could respond, a sound came from above. A floorboard creaked. Both of them froze. Someone was in the library. Alessandra immediately closed the notebook. "Who else knows about this room?" "Nobody," she whispered. Another sound. This time, closer. Adrian moved toward the staircase. "Stay here." Alessandra caught his arm. "No." "If someone found this room, they may know what we're looking for." "And if you go up there alone?" Adrian looked at her. "I'll find out who it is." He slowly climbed the stairs. Alessandra followed. When they reached the library, everything appeared normal. The bookshelves were closed. The lights were off. The room was empty. Adrian walked toward the window. It was locked. "Nobody came through here." Alessandra looked around. "Then where did the sound come from?" Adrian didn't answer. Something caught his attention. A black rose lay on the desk. Fresh. Alessandra walked toward it. There was a small folded piece of paper beneath the flower. She picked it up. "Don't." Adrian's voice was sharp. But it was too late. She opened it. Only one sentence was written inside. YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST BURIED. Alessandra's face went pale. Adrian took the note from her. "Whoever wrote this knows we're here." A sudden noise came from behind them. They turned. The bookshelf had moved. Just slightly. Adrian reached for it. Then stopped. Something was carved into the wooden frame. A symbol. A black rose surrounded by a circle. Alessandra stared at it. "My father used that symbol." Adrian looked at her. "Where?" "On documents he didn't want anyone else to see." "Then there's another message." He touched the carved rose. A hidden compartment opened. Inside was a small envelope. Alessandra reached for it. Her hands trembled as she opened it. There was only one sheet of paper. She read the first line. Then stopped. Adrian noticed her expression. "What does it say?" She slowly looked up at him. "My father knew he was going to die." Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Keep reading." Alessandra looked back at the page. Her voice became barely audible. "He wrote... If Alessandra finds this, tell her the truth about her brother." Adrian went completely still. "Your brother?" Alessandra stared at the letter. "I don't have a brother." A noise suddenly came from the darkness behind them. A man's voice whispered: "Yes, you do."