Three days passed in a haze of tension. Matteo Rizzo worked around the clock, unraveling the tangled web of shell companies and hidden transfers that linked Girasole Holdings to Mara—and to the ghostly remains of the Moretti empire. Amara barely left Leo's side, both of them living in a limbo of half-spoken fears and silent questions.
On the fourth morning, a message came.
From: Matteo Rizzo
Subject: You're not going to like this.
I traced two accounts connected to Girasole. One is in Mara's name. The other is Claudia's. Active six months after her death.
Amara stared at the screen, blood draining from her face.
"She was dead, Leo," she whispered. "How is that possible?"
Leo's face hardened. "Unless she wasn't."
They met Matteo in his cramped apartment. He looked paler than usual, hands trembling as he tapped through layers of encrypted files.
"I thought it was a mistake," he said, dragging over a document. "But it's real. Claudia's identity was used to open a secure account. Same name. Same birthdate. But under a different passport—one issued in Croatia."
Leo leaned in. "My father had contacts there."
Matteo nodded grimly. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep that name alive."
Amara frowned. "Are you saying Claudia survived the fire?"
"I don't know," Matteo said. "But someone used her name for years. Money was moved. Properties were bought. One of them in Prague. Paid for in full."
Leo's breath hitched. "Prague was where we were planning to run. It was our dream."
Amara gripped the edge of the table. "So either someone's playing with your memory—or Claudia's alive."
They booked the next flight to Prague.
Leo was silent during the trip, his thoughts clearly spiraling into memories Amara couldn't touch. She didn't press him. Her own heart was torn between loyalty and doubt, between the woman Leo once loved and the man she loved now.
At the hotel, Leo stood by the window while Amara unpacked.
"She played the same Chopin piece every morning," he said quietly. "She said it made the ghosts go away."
Amara looked up. "What ghosts?"
He gave a bitter smile. "The ones that followed us from my father's house."
They found the address listed under Claudia's name the next morning—a pale yellow building tucked into a quiet street on the outskirts of the city. Flowers bloomed in the windowsills. Wind chimes whispered in the breeze.
Leo didn't speak as they climbed the stairs. At the third floor, they found the door.
Apartment 3B.
He raised his hand to knock—then froze.
"What if it's her?" he asked.
Amara stepped forward. "Then we'll find the truth. Together."
He knocked.
Silence.
Then the sound of footsteps.
The door opened, revealing a woman in her early forties. Tall. Thin. Her face was partially hidden behind a pair of reading glasses, and her hair was tied back in a loose bun streaked with silver.
She stared at Leo.
And Leo stared at her.
"Claudia?" he breathed.
The woman didn't answer at first. But something flickered in her eyes—recognition, pain, fear.
Then she whispered, "I told them you'd come someday."
Inside, the apartment smelled of lavender and old books. Sheet music was scattered across the piano, and an old photograph sat on the mantle—Leo and Claudia, smiling under the theater's broken chandelier.
"I wanted to tell you," she said softly, pouring tea. "But I wasn't allowed."
Leo sat stiffly on the couch, his hands trembling. "You died."
"I was meant to," Claudia replied. "But your father had other plans."
Amara's breath caught. "He staged the fire?"
Claudia nodded. "He found out I had been collecting evidence—about his shell companies, his foreign deals. He couldn't let that leak. So he used me as bait."
Leo's voice cracked. "He told me you were gone. I blamed myself for eight years."
Claudia closed her eyes. "They brought me here. Gave me a new name. Threatened to kill you if I tried to contact you."
"Then why now?" Amara asked. "Why keep the secret this long?"
Claudia hesitated. "Because they're watching again. And this time, someone new is pulling the strings. Mara."
Claudia revealed the rest slowly.
Mara had worked for Leo's father in his final years—more than a secretary, less than a soldier. After his death, she took over fragments of his network, using them for her own gain. Claudia was a liability. So Mara used the account tied to her name to keep her under control.
"She thinks I still have the evidence," Claudia said. "But I destroyed it. Or I thought I did."
Amara glanced at Leo. "That folder. The one with Claudia's files. It wasn't complete."
Claudia's eyes widened. "Then someone else has the rest."
Leo rose to his feet. "We need to go. Now."
Back in Verona, the apartment was ransacked.
Drawers pulled out. Papers scattered. The laptop was gone.
Leo cursed under his breath. "She knows we're onto her."
A note lay on the kitchen counter, written in red ink.
You found your ghost.
Now lose her again.
Next time, I won't be so polite.
– M.
Amara clutched the paper. "She's playing with us."
Leo turned to her, eyes fierce. "Then it's time we stop playing."
That night, Leo made a call.
A man answered in clipped Italian.
Leo spoke two words:
"Activate Cicada."
He ended the call and turned to Amara.
"You asked who I used to be?" he said. "It's time you saw."
Amara stared at him. "What does that mean?"
Leo gave a haunted smile. "It means the prince of ashes is about to rise."