Alexandra dreamed of gunfire without sound.
She woke before dawn, breath steady, hand already reaching for the knife in her boot. For one suspended moment, she didn't know where she was—or who she was supposed to be.
Then the city came into focus. Glass. Steel. Silence.
She rose quietly and found Andre in the kitchen, already awake, sleeves rolled, coffee untouched between his hands.
"You're early," he said.
"I never sleep late," she replied.
"Neither do I," he said, and something about the way he said it told her he was lying.
They stood there for a moment, neither moving, neither pretending this was normal.
"I ran the name you gave me," Andre said finally.
Her spine stiffened. "Luca."
"Yes."
"And?"
"There are gaps," he said. "Decades worth. People tied to him tend to disappear. Companies dissolve. Records burn."
She nodded once. "That's his talent."
Andre hesitated. "He worked for your father."
The words landed softly—and still managed to crack something open.
"So you found that," Alexandra said.
"Enough to know this wasn't just a criminal network," Andre continued. "It was organized. Powerful."
"It was a kingdom," she said flatly. "And it fell."
Andre studied her. "You don't talk like someone who lost power."
"No," she said. "I talk like someone who survived it."
The penthouse security feed flickered to life on the wall—Andre's idea, not hers. Multiple angles, multiple streets.
At exactly 9:12 a.m., one camera glitched.
Just once.
Alexandra's head snapped up. "Pause that."
Andre did. She leaned in, eyes narrowing.
"There," she said. "Rewind."
The frame caught a man looking directly up at the camera before walking out of view.
Dark hair. Clean suit. Familiar posture.
Luca.
Andre exhaled sharply. "He wanted to be seen."
"Yes," Alexandra said. "He always does."
"Why?"
She stared at the frozen image. "Because he wants me to remember who I was."
Andre turned to her. "And who was that?"
Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened screen—older, harder, sharper than the barista she pretended to be.
"Someone who made decisions that got people killed," she said quietly.
Andre didn't look away. "Including your father?"
Her jaw tightened. "My father made his own enemies."
"But you were blamed."
She laughed once, humorless. "Everyone needs a villain when an empire collapses."
Silence followed.
Andre spoke carefully. "You think Luca wants revenge."
"No," she said. "He wants correction."
"Correction?"
"He thinks the past went wrong," Alexandra said. "And he thinks I'm the loose end."
As if summoned by the thought, her phone vibrated.
A call this time.
Unknown number.
She answered without speaking.
A familiar voice flowed through the line—smooth, amused.
"Alexandra," Luca said. "You look tired."
Andre stiffened.
"You always did carry the weight so poorly," Luca continued. "Tell me—does he know who he's standing next to?"
Alexandra glanced at Andre.
"He knows enough," she said.
"Pity," Luca replied lightly. "Knowledge complicates things."
Andre stepped closer, voice cold. "What do you want?"
A pause. Then a chuckle. "Oh. You're the reason she's visible again."
Alexandra closed her eyes briefly.
"You shouldn't have brought her back," Luca said. "She was doing so well pretending to be small."
Andre's hand clenched. "If you're threatening her—"
"I'm reminding her," Luca interrupted. "Of what she owes."
Alexandra's voice hardened. "I don't owe you anything."
"You owe me everything," Luca said gently. "You lived."
The line went dead.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Andre said quietly, "He's not just hunting you."
"No," Alexandra replied. "He's circling."
Andre met her gaze. "Then we stop waiting."
Something fierce sparked behind her eyes.
"Good," she said. "Because I'm done running from a name that follows me."
Outside, the city moved on—unaware that two people had just chosen a war they were never meant to survive unchanged.