559 I believed my brother was the only person in the world I could trust.

The descent into the east gardens felt like walking down into the underworld.

The rain had turned the sprawling lawns of the estate into a sea of mud, but my boots didn't hesitate. Behind me, two guards dragged Matteo, his wrists cuffed tightly behind his back, his expensive clothes stained and ruined. Valentina remained locked in the grand hall under heavy guard, weeping into her hands.

Hidden beneath a thick iron grate disguised as an old ornamental water fountain in the center of the rose garden lay the entrance to the subterranean fallout shelter—a relic from our grandfather's era during the Cold War, repurposed by Matteo into a private, inescapable prison.

One of the guards slammed a heavy iron crowbar into the locking mechanism of the hatch, twisting it until the rusted gears groaned in protest. With a heavy, metallic shriek, the iron door swung upward, revealing a dark, steep flight of concrete steps plunging into absolute blackness.

"Down," I ordered, shoving Matteo forward.

He stumbled down the steps, his boots clattering against the concrete until he hit the bottom landing. I followed closely behind, pulling a heavy tactical flashlight from my belt and clicking it on. The beam cut through the damp, stagnant air, illuminating a long, narrow corridor lined with reinforced concrete walls and rusted iron doors.

This was where my family had kept its darkest secrets.

We moved down the hallway until we reached the final reinforced door at the end—Door 4. Unlike the others, this one had an electronic keypad lock and a heavy manual deadbolt fitted from the outside.

"Open it, Matteo," I said, shining the flashlight beam directly into his bruised face.

Matteo spat a glob of blood onto the concrete floor. "I don't have the code anymore. The master override was tied to your biometric scanner six months ago when you updated the estate's security matrix."

I stared at him for a beat, then raised my pistol, jammed the barrel directly against the digital keypad, and fired three rounds straight through the circuitry. Sparks flew in a blinding shower of blue light. The internal magnetic locks gave a sharp click and popped open.

I kicked the heavy steel door inward.

The beam of my flashlight swept across the room inside. It wasn't a dungeon; it was a small, windowless subterranean cell furnished with a narrow cot, a small wooden desk, a stack of dog-eared books, and a single flickering fluorescent light overhead.

And sitting on the edge of the cot, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of light, was a woman who looked like an apparition from the past.

Her skin was pale, almost translucent from a lack of sunlight. Her hair, once a rich chestnut, was streaked heavily with silver. But those green eyes—piercing, defiant, and unmistakably alive—flashed with immediate recognition.

"Dante?" her voice rasped, broken and weak from years of disuse.

My breath caught in my throat. I dropped the flashlight, falling to my knees as I crossed the threshold into the cell.

"Elena..." I whispered, reaching out with trembling hands to touch her face, needing to confirm she was flesh and bone, not a ghost conjured by my own guilt.

When my fingers brushed against her cheek, she leaned into my touch, a single tear cutting a clean path down her dusty face.

"You came," she choked out, her arms wrapping around my neck with surprising strength. "You finally came."

"I'm so sorry," I breathed against her hair, the dam of my own emotions finally breaking. "I didn't know. For twelve years, I believed they buried you."

Elena pulled back slightly, her green eyes shifting past my shoulder to where Matteo stood framed in the doorway, shoved forward by the guards.