Villa Jans, Genoa – Winter 1951
The road that led to the Jans estate was long and winding, bordered by tall cypress trees that loomed like sentinels in the cold night. The headlights of passing cars cut brief tunnels through the fog, revealing glimpses of marble gates, manicured lawns, and statues half-shrouded in ivy.
Sofia sat in the back of a hired car, her hands clasped in her lap. The driver said nothing — only the hum of the engine filled the silence. Her heart pounded with every turn.
She shouldn't have come. Lucia's bloodied ribbon was still folded in her pocket, a reminder of what this family could do. But the letter had arrived that morning, slipped beneath her door, sealed in black wax:
> "Come tonight. The answers you seek await you.
— M."
Marco.
The car stopped before towering iron gates. Beyond them, the villa rose like something out of myth — its façade bathed in golden light, its many windows gleaming like eyes watching from the dark. Music drifted faintly from inside, the sound of strings and laughter.
The driver opened her door. "Signorina," he said softly, "are you sure?"
Sofia stepped out. "No," she whispered, "but I have to."
The gates opened with a heavy groan, and she walked up the gravel path, her heels clicking like whispers of fate.
---
Inside, the villa was a world of excess — chandeliers spilling light like rain, mirrors catching every reflection twice, servants gliding silently between guests dressed in silk and velvet.
Sofia felt like an intruder in a dream she didn't belong to. Her simple black dress, chosen to blend in, somehow made her stand out even more. She moved through the crowd, searching, her eyes scanning every face.
Then she saw him.
Across the ballroom, near the grand staircase, Marco Jans stood in a tailored suit of midnight blue. Time had changed him — the boyish light in his eyes had hardened into something sharper, more controlled — but his presence still drew her like gravity.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the room fell away. The orchestra's music dulled, the murmurs faded, and all that remained was the memory of the boy she had loved — and the man he had become.
Marco took a step toward her. Then another. The crowd parted instinctively, sensing something electric in the air.
When he reached her, he stopped just close enough for her to smell the faint trace of sandalwood and salt.
"Sofia." His voice was low, restrained. "You shouldn't be here."
"You invited me."
"I warned you not to come."
"You also told me you'd never lie to me."
His jaw tightened. "And I haven't."
"Then tell me," she whispered. "What are you running from? Who are you hiding from? Why are people dying because of your name?"
A flicker of pain crossed his face. "It's not that simple."
"It never is."
Before he could answer, a man approached — older, impeccably dressed, his silver hair slicked back, his smile practiced and cold.
"Marco," he said smoothly. "You're neglecting our guests."
Marco stiffened. "Uncle Aldo."
Sofia recognized the name instantly. The man who ruled the Jans empire in Marco's absence. The man Lucia had feared.
Aldo turned his gaze on her, polite but sharp. "And who is this lovely creature?"
"A friend," Marco said quickly.
"Ah," Aldo replied, his smile deepening. "Friends are rare in our circles. You must be special."
Sofia held his gaze. "I'm just passing through."
Aldo chuckled. "No one ever just passes through this family, my dear. They either belong to it — or they don't leave it."
He turned away, signaling to a waiter, and Marco seized Sofia's arm. "Come with me," he murmured.
He led her through a side corridor, away from the laughter and the music, into the quieter depths of the villa. The air grew colder, the light dimmer. They stopped in a study lined with old books and portraits — faces of men and women who all bore the same proud, cruel eyes.
Sofia broke the silence first. "You lied to me, Marco. You told me your family was gone."
"I wanted to believe they were," he said softly. "When I left, I swore I'd never come back. I thought if I stayed away, their world wouldn't touch you."
"But it did."
He closed his eyes. "I know."
Sofia's voice trembled. "Lucia is dead. They found her by the docks. She helped me look for you."
Marco's face went pale. "Lucia…" He pressed a hand to his mouth, his composure cracking for the first time. "They warned me this would happen. Aldo has men everywhere. He wants to erase everything that connects me to what I was before."
"Before what?" Sofia demanded.
He met her eyes. "Before I became their heir."
The words hit her like a blow. "You're taking over the company?"
"I don't have a choice," he said bitterly. "Aldo's forcing it. The board won't listen to anyone else, and if I refuse, they'll destroy everything — every worker, every ship, every friend who ever helped me disappear. I thought I could protect you by staying away, but that only made them curious. They started watching you."
Sofia's heart raced. "Then let's leave. Tonight. Together."
For a moment, she saw it — the ghost of their old life, the warmth of a dream that might have been. But then he looked away.
"You don't understand what they'll do if I run again. They'll hunt us both. There's nowhere they can't reach."
"Then let them try," she said fiercely. "We've already lost too much to fear."
Marco smiled faintly — sad, hopeless. "You haven't changed."
"Neither have you," she replied. "You're still pretending to be the man they want you to be."
Before he could respond, a noise came from the hall — heavy footsteps, voices.
Marco's expression hardened. "They've found us."
He grabbed her hand. "This way."
They slipped through a narrow servants' door behind the study and into a hidden passage. The air smelled of dust and old wood. Lantern light flickered through cracks in the walls as they ran.
"Where does this lead?" Sofia whispered.
"To the gardens," Marco said. "If we can reach the cliffs, I have a car waiting beyond the wall."
They reached the end of the corridor — but as Marco pushed open the door, a gunshot shattered the silence.
Sofia screamed as Marco staggered, clutching his arm. Blood bloomed against his sleeve.
"Go!" he hissed.
She refused. "I'm not leaving you!"
Another shot rang out, splintering the frame beside her head.
Marco pulled her through the doorway into the gardens. Moonlight bathed the marble statues and hedges in silver. Behind them, shouts echoed through the villa.
They ran.
The air was sharp and cold, the scent of wet earth rising as they raced toward the wall. Marco's movements slowed — his wound bleeding badly. Sofia pressed her hand to it, desperate to stop the flow.
"Almost there," he gasped. "Just—"
A figure stepped out from the shadows ahead of them — Aldo Jans, calm, unhurried, a revolver gleaming in his hand.
"You disappoint me, Marco," he said. "All this time, and you're still chasing ghosts."
Marco stood between Aldo and Sofia, breath ragged. "Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."
Aldo smiled faintly. "You think love is nothing?"
He raised the gun.
Sofia moved without thinking. She threw herself forward, grabbing Marco's arm and pulling him down just as the gun fired. The bullet tore through the night, striking the statue behind them.
Marco lunged, tackling Aldo to the ground. The gun skittered across the stones. They struggled, breathless, the air thick with rage and fear.
Sofia snatched up the weapon, hands trembling. "Stop!" she cried.
Both men froze.
Aldo's gaze met hers, cold and taunting. "You won't shoot me, girl."
Sofia's hand shook, but her voice was steady. "Try me."
For a moment, time stood still. Then Marco pulled himself to his feet, his expression filled with pain and fury.
"Leave, Sofia," he said quietly. "Now."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You must."
He took the gun from her gently, then turned it on Aldo. "This ends tonight."
Aldo laughed softly. "You'll never escape this family, Marco. Even if you kill me, the name will follow you. It's in your blood."
Marco's finger tightened on the trigger — and then stopped.
"No," he said. "It ends when I stop being what you made me."
He lowered the gun and threw it into the fountain.
Aldo's expression turned cold. "Then you'll die as nothing."
Before he could move again, headlights flared from beyond the garden wall — a car, engine roaring.
Marco grabbed Sofia's hand. "Run."
They climbed over the wall, breathless and bloodied, just as the first sirens began to wail in the distance.
---
The car sped away down the coastal road, waves crashing against the cliffs below. Sofia pressed her hands to Marco's arm, trying to slow the bleeding.
He looked at her through half-lidded eyes, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
"I told you not to come," he murmured.
"And I told you," she whispered back, "I'm not afraid."
Outside, the rain began to fall — soft at first, then heavy, washing the blood from the windshield, the past from their faces, and the world into something uncertain and new.
---