Chapter One
767 Words
The rain did not simply fall—it wept. Each drop hammered against the coffin as though the heavens themselves mourned the fall of Salvatore Rossi. Lilith’s grip on the umbrella tightened until her knuckles whitened, the fabric trembling in the storm as the earth swallowed her father whole.
Beside her, Rigo stood silent, his hand steady on her back. The mourners drifted away one by one, their black umbrellas vanishing into the fog, until only the two of them remained at the grave.
Lilith lowered herself to her knees, pressing a trembling palm against the wet soil. Her lips moved, voice raw, almost swallowed by thunder.
“Father, I swear on your grave—I will kill Atlas Santoro without mercy, the same way they killed you. Even if it costs me my life.”
Lightning split the sky, as if sealing her vow in fire.
By the time she returned to the Rossi mansion, her grief had hardened into iron. She entered Rigo’s study without hesitation, the scent of old books and gunpowder heavy in the air. A map of Europe sprawled across the desk.
“Forge me a new identity,” she demanded. Her voice carried no tremor, only steel. “If La Nostra killed him, then I’ll walk into their den myself.”
Rigo hesitated. His eyes flickered with loyalty and fear. Then, with a heavy sigh, he nodded.
That night, Lilith did not sleep. She buried herself in documents, learning the bones of La Nostra—its leaders, its soldiers, its cracks. She rehearsed lies until they became truth. Piece by piece, she dismantled Lilith Rossi, daughter of the slain, and built in her place a stranger: Deynn Cruz.
The next morning, her past tried to claw its way back. The phone rang. Silva.
“Where the hell are you, Lily?” her manager’s voice cracked like a whip. “La Casa Enterprise is demanding results! Do you want us thrown in prison? Get your ass back to France now!”
Lilith stared at the raindrops streaking down the window. France. The life her father had forced on her. A model, hidden, caged. Protected until he was gone.
“I’m not going back,” she said flatly. “I quit.”
There was silence. Then Silva’s voice rose, furious. “Quit? Do you even understand what this means—”
Lilith ended the call. She stood motionless for a moment, the silence of the room pressing down on her. Then she placed the phone on the table with deliberate calm. That chapter of her life was dead.
That night, Lily Deynn was buried alongside her father. And in her place rose Lilith Rossi—the woman who would kill Atlas Santoro.
—
Weeks later, the gates of the Santoro estate loomed before her—iron bars like the teeth of a beast. Guards escorted her into a windowless chamber, a single chair bolted beneath a circle of harsh white light.
Lilith sat, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She appeared calm, but beneath her skin her pulse raced.
A man in black entered, a stack of papers in hand. He sat across from her, his eyes sharp, dissecting her every breath.
“Name,” he asked.
“Deynn Cruz,” she answered smoothly.
“Age?”
“Twenty-four.”
His gaze narrowed as he studied the papers. “You look familiar. Weren’t you a model in France?”
Lilith allowed a faint laugh. “No. I’m just a girl from the province. But people often say I could be one.”
The man’s eyes flickered, searching for hesitation. She gave him none.
“Mother’s maiden name?”
“Fernandez.”
“Place of birth?”
“Cebu.”
He leaned back. “Blood type?”
Lilith’s pulse skipped, but her mask held. “Type O. Universal donor.”
The man’s expression betrayed nothing. He set down the papers, folding his hands. Then his next words sliced through the silence.
“If the boss summoned you to his bed tonight, would you obey?”
The insult burned, but she let her lips curl into a smirk. “Of course,” she said, voice smooth as velvet. “Why would I refuse? The real question is… would he want me?”
For the first time, the interrogator’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Bold. You’ll fit in here.”
" So you mean? I am hired?" I asked.
" Yes. You can start tomorrow. My comrades will send you to the maids quarter" he said loosening his tie.
A triumph smile inside me.
- Writer
