Episode Four
1022 Words
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đź–¤ Episode 4: The Black Rose Blooms
The letter lay open on the mahogany desk, its words seared into Seraphina’s mind like a scar.
> Begin with the Black Rose.
She stared at the ink until the candle beside her flickered low. Somewhere outside the office, the estate whispered with restless silence. This place had always been a fortress. But tonight, it felt like a tomb.
She opened the USB drive and inserted it into her father’s encrypted laptop.
A single folder appeared:
“Rosanera.”
Black Rose.
She clicked.
Inside, dozens of files unfolded—coded ledgers, communications, satellite photos, and one final video labeled:
“CONFESSIONAL — DO NOT SHARE.”
Her breath hitched.
She clicked.
The screen filled with her father’s tired, weathered face. His hair was disheveled. Blood marked the collar of his shirt.
> “If you’re seeing this, Seraphina, I didn’t die by chance. I died by design. You were never supposed to know the truth about the Black Rose.”
> “They are older than the Moretti name. They control the seats of power—not just crime, but politics, finance, law enforcement. They made me what I am. And now they want what’s left of me. You.”
He paused, coughing, his hand shaking slightly.
> “They warned me when I kept you hidden. When I refused their... conditioning. You were supposed to be their next vessel. I said no. They sent death instead.”
> “Trust no one who ever touched the rose. They’re marked.”
The screen went black.
Then the laptop shut itself down.
Auto-wipe initiated.
Seraphina stared at the smoking USB drive as sparks hissed from the port. It had self-destructed.
Just like everything else her father tried to shield.
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Downstairs, Dominic paced the garden near the wine cellars, the night wind brushing past his bruised shoulder. He lit a cigarette. The flame cast shadows across his jaw.
He hadn’t slept.
Couldn’t.
Too many things didn’t add up.
Seraphina’s sudden knowledge. The sniper attack. The cryptic instructions he’d found in Alessandro’s private safe weeks before the old man’s death.
He pulled the folded note from his wallet. Still faintly bloodstained.
> “If I fall, she will rise. But she must never trust the Rose.”
He hadn’t understood it then.
Now he did.
A snap of heels interrupted his thoughts.
Seraphina stepped into the moonlight, barefoot, wearing a long silk robe and a Glock in hand.
Dominic arched a brow. “You sleep with that now?”
“I don’t sleep,” she said. “Not anymore.”
“What did you find?”
Her eyes flicked to the cigarette. “You still smoke those poison sticks?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
She stepped close enough to smell the smoke, the sweat, the subtle warning in his scent. “The Black Rose is real. And it’s inside the family.”
His jaw tightened. “How deep?”
“Rooted,” she said. “My father was working against them. Quietly. Carefully. They killed him for it.”
“You think it’s one of ours?”
“I know it is.”
Dominic didn’t flinch. “Then you need to start turning stones.”
“I already did,” she said, handing him a single photograph.
He held it under the garden lamp.
A man in a Moretti security uniform. Bald. Scar on his neck. Laughing with a known Calabrese lieutenant. And behind them, etched faintly on the garden wall—
A black rose.
Dominic cursed under his breath. “That’s Riccardo. One of our head guards.”
“Not anymore,” she said.
Dominic reached for his g*n. “Where is he?”
“In the wine cellar,” she said. “Tied to a chair.”
Dominic stared. “You already found him?”
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “I told you. I don’t sleep.”
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The cellar reeked of blood and Chianti.
Riccardo groaned against the chair, face bruised and lip split. His hands were bound behind him, ankles tied with copper wire. Sweat soaked his shirt.
Seraphina circled him like a cat. Calm. Focused.
Dominic stood behind her, silent.
“I’ve been fair,” Seraphina said. “You were given a chance to confess.”
Riccardo spat blood. “I don’t know anything about your father’s death.”
She squatted beside him. “You wore the rose.”
His face twitched.
“You met with Calabrese soldiers,” she continued. “And you made a phone call two hours before the funeral—burner cell, masked route, but not masked enough.”
“You can’t prove—”
“I don’t need to prove it,” she whispered. “I just need to believe it.”
He opened his mouth to speak again.
She fired.
One shot. Clean. Between the eyes.
Dominic blinked.
He hadn’t even seen her raise the g*n.
“I thought you weren’t ready for this,” he said after a long pause.
“I’m not,” she replied. “But the crown doesn’t wait for mourning.”
Blood pooled across the floor, soaking into the vintage cork.
Seraphina turned to him. “Burn the body. Remove the teeth. Dump him where the rats will finish the job.”
“You could’ve made him talk more,” Dominic said, even as he obeyed.
“He talked enough,” she replied. “They always do. Right before they die.”
As he dragged the corpse away, Seraphina stood still in the cellar, staring at the brick wall.
On the far side of the cellar, lit by a single flickering bulb, something caught her eye.
A rose, carved faintly into the stone.
She approached it, heart pounding.
There was a symbol beneath the rose.
A serpent coiled in a figure-eight.
Infinity.
Endless power.
A warning… or a promise?
Suddenly, she didn’t feel alone in the cellar.
The air turned cold. Thick.
Seraphina touched the wall—and a soft click sounded beneath her fingers.
A stone shifted.
And a hidden door began to open.
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- Writer
