Page 9 of Iron Roses

She pulls me harder.

I kick and thrash but she doesn’t budge.

“I have to—please—please just let me say goodbye—”

“Elaria.” Her voice cuts through everything.

She knows my name.

“Look at me,” she says, panting. “You can’t die here. I promised him I’d protect you. Now let’s go!”

Her grip tightens, and she hauls me through the corridor while her men cover us. One of them throws open a side exit. Rain lashes the stone steps as alarms start blaring across the property.

I look back one last time, sobbing.

All I see is his hand. Still. Palm up. Like he was trying to hold mine one more time. And then the door slams shut behind us.

Chapter Two – Cassian

I keep my eyes on the map.

Lorenzo stands to the right, forearm braced on the edge of the table, his other hand flipping the cover on the folder he placed five minutes ago.

“Two cleared through Ravenna.” He taps once. “The one in Genoa stalled. Customs marked it red on entry. Could be protocol. Could be curiosity.”

He waits, then shifts his bulk.

“We’ve got someone on the liaison’s line. He makes a call, I’ll know.”

Footsteps sound beyond the corridor wall. Lorenzo’s hand drops toward his belt. Two fingers curl near the grip. He recognizes the rhythm. He steps back before the door opens. Dante, my uncle, crosses the threshold like the house belongs to him.

It does, in part. He doesn’t remove his coat. Rain stains the hem dark. His posture is straight, shoulders squared beneath age, not fatigue. His eyes land on me as he closes the door.

Lorenzo disappears through the side passage. Dante remains standing.

He reaches into his coat and sets a folded page on the table. Blood marks the corner. Old blood. Not smudged.

“They stormed the Fontanesi estate last night,” he says. “Oreste is dead. He didn’t speak. No names. No transmissions. His younger daughter died in the crossfire.”

Dante’s gaze lingers on mine. I hold it.

“No one traced him to us,” he continues. “But the pattern’s thin now. We burn every thread. Shut down what he touched. Delay the Vienna routes. Pull the third drop in Trieste.”

He waits. I nod.

His hands return to the coat seams.

“He was loyal,” Dante says. “To you, not just to us. That’s over now.”

He watches my face. There’s nothing to read.

“Whatever bound you to that house died with them.”

The fire behind me clicks in the grate. He glances toward it once, then back.

“He's gone, Cassian. That family no longer holds our word.”

I study him. He’s not asking.

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