Page 127 of Iron Roses

Her eyes shimmer. She doesn’t speak at first. Her throat moves like she’s trying to find the words, but she’s too worn down to shape them.

“I—” she starts, but her voice breaks.

My thumb brushes beneath her eye, catching one of the tears slipping down.

“Let me earn your love,” I murmur. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll work hard. I’ll make you love me.”

Her hand moves weakly against my chest, fingers pressing into the fabric, barely holding on.

I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead—just above the bruises. Her skin is hot and cold all at once. I rest there for a moment.

Then I see her. Giovanna.

Standing just beyond the dock’s edge. Barefoot, hair lit softly by the new sun. She smiles, small and knowing.

I smile back.

She nods—once—and fades.

My arms close around Elaria again. I lift her. Her head rests against my shoulder. Her arms don’t hold me, but I feel her trust in how her body leans into mine.

I carry her back to the car.

She doesn’t speak on the ride. Her hand stays in mine, resting lightly on the gearshift. Her fingers twitch when the road turns. My thumb rubs the back of her hand, and she doesn’t let go.

Her hand stays in mine the entire drive.

She doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

Her thumb moves slightly—pressing into the bone near my knuckle when the tires hit a bump in the road. Every few minutes I glance sideways. Her eyes stay on the trees. Her shoulders are drawn in tight. But she holds on.

The mansion rises through the last stretch of trees—white stone, tall arches, black gates opening—

Smoke curls into the sky.

I brake hard. Gravel skids beneath the tires.

The main house is still standing, but the western wing is burning. Flames curl up through the tiled roof, licking through shattered windows. Charred timber crackles and spits. That wing holds the old study.

Men are shouting. Two hoses blast the west wall, steam billowing where the water hits flame. Smoke pools along the archways.

I step out first, rushing to the passenger side. I open the door and help her down gently. Her legs barely hold. One of my arms stays under hers as we walk.

The gates are already open.

Inside the courtyard, Allegra stands near the fountain, jacket torn, face streaked with soot and blood. Lorenzo leans beside a truck, one hand pressed to a bandaged shoulder.

Allegra sees us. She runs.

“Elaria.”

Elaria lifts her arm just in time. Their bodies crash together. Allegra’s arms go tight around her. Elaria winces, but doesn’t pull away.

Lorenzo gives me a nod, then glances to Elaria. A small smile forms beneath the bruises.

“Glad you’re here,” he says.

Elaria breathes in, looks at Allegra.

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