White Lilies Never Lie

Open five years ago on the night of the Romano m******e. Not with action immediately, but with celebration. The Romano estate is full of music, expensive suits, champagne, and white lilies decorating the ballroom because they’re Serena’s mother’s favorite flower. Twenty-year-old Serena is laughing. Cristiano steals her away onto a balcony. He slips an engagement ring onto her finger. She says yes. For one beautiful moment, she believes she’ll escape the mafia life. Then…. A gunshot. Everyone freezes. Another. Then screaming. The lights go out. ……………… The mansion erupts into chaos. Bodyguards rush. Her father shouts: “Get Serena out!” Cristiano grabs her hand and runs. Halfway down the corridor… He suddenly lets go. He looks terrified. Someone calls his name. He disappears into the smoke. Serena screams after him. She never sees him again. This makes readers believe Cristiano abandoned her. The m******e….. Masked gunmen flood the mansion. People are executed. Blood everywhere. Fire spreads. Serena hides beneath broken furniture while watching her parents murdered. One masked man approaches. Raises his gun. She closes her eyes… Instead… He kneels beside her. Whispers: “You’re not supposed to die tonight.” He carries her through the burning mansion. Leaves her outside. Disappears. She loses consciousness. Five years later. Milan. Serena wakes from the nightmare. She’s in her tiny apartment under her fake identity. She notices another white lily bouquet outside her door. No sender. Then she finds an envelope. Inside… A photograph. It was taken of her only hours ago. On the back are four words. I found you again Serena stared at the photograph until her fingers trembled. It wasn’t old. It wasn’t grainy. It had been taken this morning. She recognized the café on Via Torino immediately. She’d stopped there before work for coffee and a cornetto, sitting by the window for exactly fifteen minutes. She remembered checking the rain outside, answering an email, smiling politely at the elderly waitress who insisted she take an extra sugar packet. She’d been alone. Or so she’d thought. The photograph had captured her through the rain-speckled glass, her face turned toward the street, completely unaware she was being watched. A chill crawled down her spine. She flipped it over again. I found you again. No signature. No fingerprint. Nothing. With practiced movements, she slipped the photograph into the shoebox beneath her bed. The box was nearly full. Five years’ worth of photographs. Different places. Different clothes. Always the same distance. Always the same feeling that invisible pair of eyes lingering just beyond her reach. The first time she’d gone to the police, they’d taken her statement. The second time, the detective had smiled with thinly veiled amusement. “Maybe you have an admirer.” After that, she stopped asking for help. She had learned something after surviving the Romano m******e. People only believed monsters existed when they hadn’t met one. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. Unknown Number. Serena hesitated before answering. “…Hello?” Silence. Only slow breathing. Not heavy. Not rushed. Deliberate. As though whoever stood on the other end simply wanted to know she had picked up. “Who is this?” Nothing. Her heartbeat quickened. “If this is another joke….” Click. The line went dead. Serena stared at the screen until it faded black. She crossed the apartment, checking the lock twice before drawing the curtains shut. Then she switched off every light except the small lamp beside the sofa. She hated darkness. Ever since that night. Fire and darkness always came together in her memories. Just as she reached for the kettle, someone knocked. Three slow knocks. She froze. No one visited unannounced. Another knock. This time louder. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Carefully, she approached the door and looked through the peephole. An elderly courier stood in the hallway holding a long white box tied with silver ribbon. Relief washed through her. She opened the door only halfway. “I didn’t order anything.” The courier consulted a clipboard. “Delivery for Miss Serena Rossi.” Her false name. She signed automatically. The man tipped his cap and disappeared down the stairs. The moment she closed the door, dread settled over her again. The box felt impossibly light. She untied the ribbon with shaking fingers. Inside lay a dozen fresh white lilies. Perfect. Fragrant. Not a single petal bruised. Nestled between the stems was a folded cream-colored card. She unfolded it. Only one sentence had been written in elegant black ink. Don’t meet the detective tomorrow. Serena’s breath caught. She had told no one about the meeting. Not a single person. Slowly, almost against her will, she lifted her eyes toward the apartment window. Across the street, beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp, stood a tall man in a black coat. Watching her. The instant their eyes met… The empty stretch of pavement mocked her. One heartbeat ago, he had been there. Now there was nothing. Serena yanked open the apartment door and sprinted down the narrow staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The cold night air slapped her face as she burst onto the street. “Hey!” Her voice echoed through the quiet neighborhood. No answer. She turned left. Then right. The sidewalks were nearly deserted. A young couple laughed as they crossed the intersection. An old man walked a dachshund. A tram rattled past, its windows glowing against the darkness. No man in a black coat. No footsteps. No trace. Her gaze swept the buildings until it landed on a narrow alley beside the bakery. She ran toward it. The alley was empty except for overflowing rubbish bins and puddles reflecting the yellow streetlights. She stopped, breathing hard. Impossible. He couldn’t have disappeared that quickly. Unless… He had known exactly where to go. A sudden sensation prickled the back of her neck. That instinct again. The feeling of being watched. Slowly, she turned. Nothing. Just the silent street. You’re imagining it. She had told herself those words hundreds of times over the last five years. They had never once brought her comfort. Her phone vibrated. Unknown Number. Again. For a long second she simply stared at the screen before answering. “What do you want?” Silence. Then a man’s voice. Low. Calm. “You should go home.” Every muscle in her body stiffened. “Who are you?” “I said… go home.” “Tell me your name.” Another pause. “You don’t have much time.” The call ended. Serena looked around wildly. The street suddenly felt too open. Too exposed. Almost every window around her was dark. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could be hiding behind those curtains. She hurried back to her apartment, locking the door behind her before pressing her back against it. The lilies still rested on the table. Their sweet fragrance now made her stomach turn. She picked up the card again. Don’t meet the detective tomorrow. How? How could anyone know? The retired detective had contacted her through an encrypted email account she used only for information about the Romano case. The meeting had been arranged less than six hours ago, and she had deleted every message afterward. No one should have known. Unless her account had been hacked. Or… Unless someone had been watching her all along. A sharp knock echoed through the apartment. Serena nearly dropped the card. This wasn’t slow and polite. It was urgent. Three rapid knocks. “Miss Rossi?” A familiar male voice called from the hallway. “It’s Marco. Downstairs.” The building superintendent. She released a shaky breath and unlocked the door. Marco stood outside holding a sealed envelope. “A man asked me to give you this,” he said. “He wouldn’t come upstairs.” Her heartbeat lurched. “What did he look like?” Marco frowned, thinking. “Tall. Dark coat. Black gloves.” He shrugged. “Didn’t say much.” “When did he leave?” “Less than a minute ago.” Serena rushed past him to the stairwell, but the front entrance was already swinging shut. The street beyond was empty. Again. When she returned upstairs, Marco had already gone. Only the envelope remained in her hand. There was no address. No stamp. Just a single word written across the front in elegant handwriting. Romano. Her breath caught. No one had called her that name in five years. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Three words. Trust no one.