Rosalia
So, my life’s officially a cosmic game of “who can screw me over the most,” and I’m losing spectacularly. I’m sliding toward a portal on a crumbling rooftop, with a castle looming in its depths like a haunted Airbnb. A new woman’s just strolled in, claiming my bloodline like it’s her sss order, and her talisman’s making everyone else’s look like toys. Angelo’s bleeding out, Isabella’s pinned by Moretti’s wolves, and the silver wolf, my maybe-Dad, is down, its eyes empty again. Andre’s got the journal, glowing like a supervillain’s prop, and Rizzo, Enzo, and Moretti are all playing their own twisted games. Trust is a fantasy, betrayal’s my reality, and I’m one bad call from turning this into a tragedy.
The woman’s eyes glow, not wolf, not human, but something ancient, and her voic
