The storm followed her home.
Rain drummed against the roof of the SUV as the gates of the Lin estate creaked open. The golden exterior lights flickered like false beacons—too perfect, too serene for the chaos churning in Veronica's chest.
The mansion, once a safe harbor, now looked like a porcelain dollhouse: pristine, delicate… and one wrong breath away from shattering.
Lucas remained silent beside her, his presence a quiet tension. His earlier words echoed in her skull.
"Pack a bag."
No reason given.
But no reason needed.
She could feel it now.
The shift.
The eyes watching them.
The powerlines humming with names better left buried.
By the time her boots hit the marble floor of the estate, her mind was already calculating contingencies. Lockdowns. Routes. Safehouses. Who could be trusted. Who needed to disappear.
But then—
She saw her mother.
And everything else disappeared.
Mrs. Lin sat alone in the grand living room, framed by soft lamplight. The storm outside cast jagged shadows across the high ceilings. Her silk robe was wrapped tightly, but her knuckles were pale with strain.
A folder rested in her lap. A folder Veronica knew.
That folder.
The one leaked online.
The one Lucas had tried to intercept.
The one with blood-stained roots and ashes still warm.
Her breath caught.
Her legs faltered.
There it was, bold as a bullet wound, stamped across the top page:
VERONICA D'AMORE LIN
Alias: "Red V"
Status: Deceased – Reappeared Under New Identity
Photos spilled from the open file—
Newspaper clippings in Italian.
Blurry surveillance stills of a girl wielding a silver pistol with mafia fire in her eyes.
Funeral notices.
An obituary signed by a name no one had dared speak in years.
Her.
The girl she had been.
The ghost she thought she'd buried with her first death.
Veronica stiffened. There was no point pretending. No lies would survive the silence that followed a truth that loud.
Mrs. Lin looked up. Her gaze didn't burn with rage. It didn't tremble with fear. It was quiet. Searching.
A heartbeat passed.
Then she stood.
The folder slid from her lap and landed on the floor with a flutter that sounded louder than thunder.
She crossed the room and—
Pulled Veronica into an embrace.
Arms strong.
Warm.
Unyielding.
Just like they had been when Veronica—no, Amy—was small enough to crawl into her mother's bed during storms like this.
No words passed between them for a long while.
Just heartbeats and rain.
Until—
"You're still our daughter," Mrs. Lin whispered, voice tight with emotion. "Just not the one we expected."
Veronica's eyes burned.
Her throat closed.
Her hands stayed frozen at her sides, as if afraid that returning the embrace might shatter the fragile peace being offered.
But her mother didn't let go.
"You don't have to explain it," she murmured, one hand smoothing over Veronica's damp hair like she was memorizing the feeling. "Not all of it. Not now. But… I know what pain looks like. I see it every time I look in the mirror. And today, I saw it in your eyes."
A pause.
"The kind of pain that doesn't come from this life."
Veronica's body shook with the weight of unspoken truths.
"I didn't want you to find out this way."
"I know." Her mother's voice softened. "But maybe… it was time."
And for the first time in a long time, the house didn't feel like a gilded prison.
It felt like home.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to breathe.
Lucas stood in the doorway, silent. Watching.
He saw the way Mrs. Lin embraced her.
Saw the comfort Veronica didn't know she still craved.
Saw the absolution he couldn't give himself.
And it hurt.
Not because he envied her healing—
But because he didn't believe he deserved the same.
Veronica was rewriting a life stolen too young.
She had people still willing to forgive.
To believe.
To love her.
He had none of that.
His past wasn't a shadow—
It was a chain.
A blood-marked ledger that hadn't been paid off.
And the storm that now circled them both?
It didn't just want her.
It wanted him, too.
He turned away before her gaze could catch his.
Before she could see how lost he was beneath the quiet.
He didn't say goodbye.
Didn't tell her where he was going.
Because some ghosts didn't leave until they dragged you back under.
And Lucas Zhao wasn't sure he could keep her safe anymore.
Not from this.
Not from him.
Later that night.
The rain hadn't stopped.
Only deepened.
Veronica sat on the edge of her bed, hair still damp from her escape to the garden after the hug.
The folder lay open before her.
Pages she'd once prayed would remain buried.
Every photo, every classified line—it was all her.
The mafia queen.
The ghost in red.
The traitor's daughter.
Her hand trembled as it hovered over one photo—
A meeting in Venice.
Her younger self in a leather coat, exchanging a sealed case with the head of the Falcone family.
Her jaw clenched.
They were digging deeper.
Too deep.
Then—
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Local.
She opened it.
If you want Alexis Wu, come alone.
Midnight. No Lucas.
Location: Attached.
A warehouse.
By the old pier.
Abandoned.
Veronica's pulse kicked into gear.
Alexis.
Her mind raced.
Why now?
Why her?
Because they knew.
They knew Lucas was dangerous.
And they wanted to isolate her.
Force her hand.
Test how far the Red V would go for her new life.
Her fingers curled into a fist.
It wasn't just bait.
It was war bait.
The kind only wolves answered.
She didn't pack.
Didn't explain.
Just strapped on her boots.
Slid the old blade into her heel.
And slipped out her window like she had a thousand times before—only this time, she wasn't escaping a lie.
She was walking toward the truth.
"Hold on, Alexis," she whispered, wind slicking her hair across her face. "I'm coming."
Rain hit her skin like memory shards as she stepped into the storm.
She didn't look back.
Because queens don't kneel.
They hunt.
But two blocks away—
A man watched her leave.
Eyes shadowed beneath the hood of his coat, shoulders leaning casually against a lamppost like he belonged to the night itself.
In one hand, he held a phone.
The other hand played with a silver lighter.
A quiet flick.
Then a flame.
Then a whisper.
"The queen took the bait."
A pause.
A voice on the other end—distorted and cold.
"Then everything begins tonight. Let the past dig her grave."
The man smiled.
"And Lucas Zhao won't be there to stop it."