Rose couldn't stop hearing the name.
La Fiora.
She sat alone in the back room of her flower shop in Costa Rica, where sunlight usually softened everything. But that morning, it felt too bright — too exposed. She hadn't been able to sleep since the night at the gallery. His voice echoed in her mind like a tune she hadn't asked to hear.
"You will."
His words, his gaze — all of it had stayed with her.
She didn't know who he was. And that bothered her.
Worse, she had a feeling he wanted that.
Rose opened her laptop, determined to shake the unease off. She typed "Silvio" and "New York art patron" into the search bar, hoping to find something casual. A charity name. A profile. Anything.
What came up made her go still.
Silvio D. Mysterio — founder of Il Serpente, a luxury Italian restaurant empire. Board member of multiple art museums. Known for anonymous donations to political campaigns, criminal rumors with no formal charges, and a face that seemed to attend every elite event but give nothing away.
She scrolled further.
There were no family details. No wife. No children. Just whispers.
She shut the laptop, pulse quickening.
Back in the front room, a delivery truck had pulled up outside. Unusual — she wasn't expecting shipments today.
She stepped outside to see two men in suits standing beside a tall silver case.
One of them smiled politely. "For Miss Rose."
She frowned. "From whom?"
He handed her a cream-colored envelope, gold seal embossed.
No signature.
Just one line, in calligraphy:
"A gift to celebrate the bloom of something rare."
She opened the case cautiously. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a crystal vase shaped like a twisting flame. No flowers. Just the vessel.
Elegant. Heavy. Expensive.
Too expensive.
She didn't take it inside.
Instead, she called Mr. Crane.
"Do you know someone named Silvio Mysterio?" she asked the moment he picked up.
There was a pause. Then, tightly: "Where did you hear that name?"
"I met him. At the gallery. He sent me… something."
Crane cursed softly. "Rose, listen to me. He's not someone you want in your life. Stay away from him. He doesn't approach people without a reason."
Rose's spine straightened. "He already has."
Later that evening, as the last customers left, she found herself standing in front of the vase again. Still untouched on the step.
There was no note asking for thanks. No card requesting a call.
Just presence.
Like smoke in the room.
---
The next day, an envelope arrived. This time hand-delivered.
Inside: an invitation.
Private dinner. Il Serpente. Midnight.
She shouldn't go.
She knew that.
But something had shifted inside her since their first encounter — a question she didn't yet have the answer to.
And Silvio… he wasn't pushing. He wasn't forcing.
He was simply waiting.
And sometimes, the quietest threats are the ones that pull you in the deepest.