~The journey ~
The journey from New York to Milan took about nine-hours . Inside the cabin of the private jet, the environment was too exhausted. The air felt thick and almost every one there felt nauseous and there legs were stuff from sitting .
From Elena's guards to her manager to the jet's assistants all were slumped in their plush seats, their chins tucked into their chests, eyes bloodshot behind heavy lids. They were merely human, their bodies surrendering to the heavy weight of jet lag.
But Elena Vane remained untouched.
She sat there like a statue of rocks, her gaze fixed on the endless darkness outside the window. While the others slept, the fire of revenge inside her acted as a constant, burning fuel. It was a physical sensation—a low hum in her bones that didn't allow for rest nor it allowed for peace.
She watched her own reflection in the glass: a pale, sharp-featured woman who looked like she hadn't breathed in years.
As the plane wheels hit the runway in Milan, a sharp jolt went right through her. She didn't even blink. She just gripped the armrest tighter. This was the city that had completely broken her years ago. But that version of her was gone. The woman stepping off the plane today was entirely different. She hadn't come back home; she came back to destroy everything they built.
~At milan ~
The morning air of Milan hit her face as she walked down the stairs. It didn't feel welcoming; it felt tense. Every step down the stairs brought back a rush of old memories. She could still hear the happy moments that were stolen from her, and the screams that had been silenced by a cruel devil years ago.
The city looked identical.
The buildings looked exactly the same, the crowd in the distance was just as busy, and the Italian morning was just as warm and cozy as it used to be —but everything felt completely empty. The two people who used to be Elena's entire world were gone. Their absence felt like a scream in a silent room.
As her boots finally hit the ground, her legs tremble for a split second.It was small, but she felt it. It felt like the weight of everything that happened here was trying to pull her down into the dirt.
Control yourself, she commanded mentally, her jaw locking. It is not the time to cry. It is time to make them cry.
Near a row of black SUVs with tinted windows, a group of men stood waiting. They were sent by the Moretti family, their faces as hard as the weapons they carried under their jackets.
"Ma'am," one of them said, his voice as cold as ice.
"Please follow us. Our boss , Mr Moretti is expecting you."
Without a word she moved and didn't even bother to look back at the plane as she was moving toward the fire.
~The Valley of broken past~
The black SUV tore through the landscape, heading towards south direction by the A2 road, driving right through the middle of the Aspromonte mountains. Honestly, Italy out here looks like a dreamy place. Everything just looking the prettiest shade of green.
There were hazy purple mountains in the distance, and these massive, old pine trees was literally cherry on top. The peaks of the mountains practically touch the sky, and you can see many tiny villages with terracotta roofs off in the distance. It feels like they haven't changed in centuries.
It was a world of tradition and natural peace. But to Elena, it was an insult.
She gripped the door handle so hard the leather actually creaked. The view outside was total bullshit. Tourists look at these mountains and see some romantic getaway where you drink wine and relax. She just saw the place that ruined her.
She wasn't looking at the olive groves; she was looking at a crime scene where people were wiped out and blood was spilled. They built a pretty picture here, but she was going to burn the whole damn thing down.
The second they crossed the line into Valle di Pietra Nera, the GPS completely lost signal and died.
This was a private and restricted area, a fortress for the elite's of 'Ndrangheta and the untouchable titans of Europe. The roads here were built with dark volcanic stone, and the villas weren't houses—they were palaces built for war.
There were no police here. No tourists wandered into these hills. Here, the only law was the code of silence.
When the heavy iron gates of the Moretti Estate finally opened, the mood completely changed. The mansion looked beautiful, covered in marble and blooming purple flowers —more like a peaceful dream house than the headquarters of a crime family.
Her Uncle Lorenzo—her grandfather's oldest friend and the man who held the keys to this valley—was waiting on the stone steps. Beside him was Aunt Sofia, a woman who radiated a kindness that seemed almost impossible in this world.
"Perla, piccola mia!" Sofia cried, her voice cracking with genuine emotion.
Before Elena could prepare herself, Sofia pulled her into a tight embrace. She smelled of expensive lavender and home-cooked pastries. Sofia had always called her 'Perla,' treating her like something precious and fragile that needed to be shielded from the world's grit.
Elena stood in the middle of all that luxury, feeling the sharp contrast. The Moretti family was like a deceptive fruit: the outside was soft, sweet, and inviting, but at the very center sat a jagged, unbreakable stone.
Lorenzo patted her shoulder. His hand was warm—the same hand that had signed death warrants as easily as he now offered her a glass of vintage wine.
"You've grown, perla," Lorenzo said, his eyes scanning her like a general inspecting a soldier. Behind the sparkle in his eyes, Elena saw the Fire. The kindness was real ,it was true, but it was a luxury reserved for the family members only , for the outsider he was like a hard stone with no mercy.
Inside, Sofia ensured the house felt like a place of peace and happines, she made it feel like home. She bustled about, ordering servants to prepare Elena's favorite childhood meals, talking about the garden and the weather.
Sofia was a firm believer that all the negativity should stay out of the house door ,inside home there should not be any talk of underworld due to which Lorenzo never bring any topic of business or Mafia to happen inside the house.
"You're are finally home , perla " Sofia said with genuine smile . " Eat my dear what are you waiting for , look how thin you had become ". Sofia said as they started eating.
For a rare moment, a real smile softened the young lady's features as she ate the warm, comforting food. A feeling of peace washed over her—something she hadn't experienced in years—but she forced it out of her chest as quickly as it came. She could not afford to let her guard down now and be comfortable here as she was well aware of the fact that the place was itself built over the bones of Lorenzo's fallen enemies.
~At garden ~
The dinner was finally over. Elena followed Lorenzo out into the garden. The night air was cool, smelling faintly of jasmine, and they could hear the steady splash of a fountain nearby.
The fake smiles for everyone else were done. They were finally alone.
Elena walked up beside him. "Alright," she said quietly. "Let's talk about the real deal."
"Perla, my child," Lorenzo said as they walked down the path." I know what you are up to. I see the hunger in your eyes. But you must be clever. The Sterling syndicate is not a group of street thugs. They are always a step ahead. Do you think I didn't try to find them? I put all my strength into it, and I got zero information."
Elena looked at him without showing any emotion. "I am not scared, Zizu. I am not the same weak girl who left this country."
"I know," Lorenzo said, stopping by a statue. "But we need a stronger plan and more powerful people."
He sighed.
Elena replied, "I know, Bear. I was almost able to find out where that bastard was, but..." She stopped talking, making Lorenzo repeat the word.
" But ?? But what perla ?? " He asked as she said " But at the very moment I was caught by that Fucking Alex's guard . " Elena said greeting her teeths. Lorenzo paused, his eyes lighting up with a sudden, sharp curiosity " Alex's guard ? Is it the same Alex i am thinking ?? " He asked.
Elena's jaw tightened. The mere mention of the name made her blood boil. "Hmph. Yes. Alex Valois."
Lorenzo's excitement was clear now. He practically beamed. "Do you have any connections with him? He is incredibly powerful, Elena. He has reach that even I envy. He is exactly the kind of person who can help us dismantle Sterling. With his resources and my ground intel..."
Elena's eyes flashed with a sudden, cold anger. "I will never ask help from him, bear. He is arrogant, he is interfering, and he always gets on my nerves. I would never ask him for anything, even if he were the last person on earth."
Lorenzo broke into a deep laugh, the sound echoing through the silent garden. "So childish! I don't know how you became a successful CEO with that attitude. In this world, Elena, you must be a manipulator. If your enemy has what you need, you hold their leg. You bow to them until the work is done, you make them feel like a king... and then, when the goal is reached, you pull thier leg and watch them fall." He looked at her, his face turning serious. "You have much to learn, Perla. Pride is a luxury you cannot afford if you want revenge."
Lorenzo truly believed he knew everything. He had no idea that the girl standing in front of him was far more dangerous than he could ever imagine. He thought he was teaching a beginner, completely blind to who the real mastermind was.
Elena smirked at his Clear ruthlessness. "You really are a manipulator, aren't you? You'd sell the devil a heater if it got you what you wanted."
"Go to sleep, my stubborn child," he said, patting her arm affectionately. "Tomorrow, we visit the church. We pay our respects and ask for the strength we need for the upcoming war."
Elena sighed as he walked away toward the house. She looked up at the moon, feeling the weight of the tasks ahead. "Why go to God's place," she whispered to herself, "when I don't believe in him?"
~The next morning ~
The next morning, the Moretti house was a chaotic mess. The staff was moving quickly, preparing flowers and offerings. Elena went downstairs wearing black jeans, a silk shirt, and a tailored leather jacket. She looked ready for a fight, not a church service. Sofia was waiting downstairs, dressed in a stunning, flowing white dress. When she saw Elena, she gasped, her hands flying to her chest.
"Perla! No!" Sofia said, looking at Elena's dark outfit. "Why black? You know the old ways. Our ancestors believed that wearing black in a holy place brings bad energy. It invites the shadows to follow you home. Please, darling, wear something light or Something that shows peace. Something that shows you are seeking a blessing."
Elena walked over and wrapped an arm around her aunt's shoulders, leaning in for a side-hug. She knew Sofia meant well, but "peace" was a foreign language to her now.
"Auntie, look at me," Elena said, her voice softening but remaining firm. "Let me wear this. It's more like my style. It's the truth of how i am . Why to represent the creature to God when I am not even a bit of it."
"But the energy, Elena—"
Elena gave a small, dark chuckle, trying to lighten the mood while staying true to her grim reality. "Auntie, positivity isn't a word in my life anymore. Don't worry about the clothes. I will always be surrounded by bad energy, no matter what I wear... because I am the bad energy. I'm the storm, remember?"
Sofia looked into Elena's eyes and saw the hardened steel there. She realized she wasn't talking to a niece anymore; she was talking to a survivor. She reached up and stroked Elena's hair, smiling sadly.
"You think you are so tough," Sofia whispered. "But you don't know the future, dear. Even the storm needs a place to rest. Pray for good things today, even if you do it through gritted teeth."
~At church ~
They drove to the old stone church without saying a word. The church sat on top of a hill, looking down at the valley.
When they arrived, the family and the guards walked inside to pray. Soon, the smell of incense and the quiet voice of the priest started coming through the large wooden doors.
But Elena stayed outside.
To her, the inside of a church felt like a prison. The high ceilings did not look beautiful; they felt like they were trapping her. She hated seeing people pray to a silent God who had let her whole life be destroyed.
Instead, she turned away from the entrance and walked toward the backyard—the cemetery.
The graveyard was full of ancient stone markers and it felt completely quiet there. The grass was long in some spots, and the air felt much colder around the graves. Elena walked quickly and directly, her boots making a loud sound on the dry ground, until she found a specific grave in the back corner.
It was a large, old stone monument, gray from time but taller than all the others. The name cut into the stone read:
CHARLES HARRIS.
Elena stood there, her body perfectly still.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't showing any sadness. She was just looking deep into the stone, her eyes unblinking, as if she were trying to burn her way through the ground to see the man beneath. The weight of her gaze was heavy, filled with a silence that was louder than any prayer happening inside the church.
This was the root of it all. The beginning and the end.
"Freya."
"The voice came from a large willow tree behind her. A single word that cut through the air like a knife."
Elena didn't jump nor she reached for a weapon. But her entire body felt numb. Her gaze remained fixed on the tomb of Charles Harris, but her heart hammered against her ribs.
Author's POV:
"Freya."
Who was she? And who was the person standing in the dark behind the tree of a holy place, calling Elena by a name that hadn't been spoken in years?
Elena's gaze remained fixed on the tomb of Charles Harris. What connection did a powerful businesswoman and a secret fighter have with a name carved in Italian .Was Charles Harris just someone from her past, or was his name the key to secrets that were finally starting to come out?
The fire in Elena's heart hadn't been put out by the calm of Italy—it had only found a new place to burn.