The vineyard chapel stood silent, its walls cracked and weathered by time, much like the bond that once existed between Amara and Luca.
She stepped through the wooden doorway, her boots crunching on shattered glass. The faint glow of candlelight cast soft shadows over the pews.
Luca stood at the altar.
No weapons. No guards. Just a single man carrying the weight of a thousand sins.
Amara approached slowly, her hand resting on the pistol beneath her coat.
"You're alone," she said.
"You came," he replied. "That's all I hoped for."
She didn't sit. Didn't move closer. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, sharp as a blade.
"Talk."
Luca reached for the folder on the altar. He held it up, then laid it on the stone surface like an offering.
"Everything's in here," he said. "What happened to your mother. The money trail. The arms deal. My father's part. Your father's betrayal."
Amara didn't touch it. "And yours?"
He looked at her.
"I was sixteen when they made the deal. I didn't know the full details until it was too late. When your mother got close to exposing them, my father ordered her removed. I begged him not to."
Her jaw clenched.
"You knew, Luca. You let me grow up in the same house where they toasted her death."
"I didn't know how to protect you," he said, voice low. "I was a scared boy, and by the time I became a man... it was already done."
She stepped closer, finally picking up the folder. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.
Photos. Signed confessions. Bank transfers. Even a letter from her own father to Romano senior.
Every page stabbed deeper.
Luca stepped forward.
"I didn't bring you here to stop the war. I know you won't. I brought you here because you deserve to know everything. Even if it makes you hate me more."
Silence fell between them.
Amara closed the folder. Her eyes shimmered not with tears, but with a storm of rage and clarity.
"You were the only part of my past I wanted to keep," she whispered. "Now I see why I can't."
She turned and walked away.
And for the first time in years, Luca didn't follow.
He let her go.
Because the truth wasn't meant to heal.
It was meant to burn.