Queen of Ashes

The phone glowed in the darkness, casting a pale light on the man’s face.

On the screen, there was the photo of Alba taken earlier that evening. Proof that she was being watched.

She maintained a neutral expression, though inside an alarm blared.

Who had taken her photo?

The man in black tilted his head slightly.

— "You seem surprised."

Alba let out a brief chuckle, folding her arms.

— "Surprised? Not really. Disappointed, perhaps."

— "Why?"

— "Because it’s badly framed."

Silence.

Then, a smile appeared on the half-hidden face of the man.

— "I’ll give you credit for your guts."

He put his phone away and plunged his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

— "Don’t you want to know who took your picture?"

— "If I’m here, I’ll find out sooner or later."

A brief chuckle.

— "You think you’ve got the situation under control, huh?"

Alba met his gaze, impassive.

Of course she didn’t.
She was alone, facing a stranger who seemed to know everything about her. But if she showed even a hint of hesitation, it would be over.

So she did what she did best: she bluffed.

She took out her phone and pointed it at him.

— "Smile. Now it’s my turn to take a photo."

The man burst into laughter—a genuine, rough laugh.

— "I like your style, Elena."

— "Me too."

A tense silence followed.

Then, the man pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

— "Take this."

Alba didn’t move.

— "What is it?"

— "An address."

She hesitated for a second before taking the piece of paper. Handwritten. Black ink.

A single line: "Port of Naples. Warehouse 17. Tomorrow, 11 PM."

Alba looked up at him.

— "And if I don’t come?"

The man shrugged.

— "Then we’ll come get you."

Boom.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But her face remained impassive.

— "Charming."

The man slowly backed away, gradually disappearing into the shadows.

— "Don’t be late, Elena."

And he was gone.

Alba stood motionless for a moment, staring into the void.

Port of Naples. Warehouse 17.

What did they expect from her?

And above all… who were they?

---

The Next Day, 10:50 PM – Port of Naples

The air was icy, filled with the smells of oil and salty water.

Warehouse 17 loomed before her, immense and silent.

Alba moved forward slowly, avoiding dark puddles on the asphalt.

She hadn’t informed anyone.

Not because she didn’t want to… but because she didn’t know whom she could still trust.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy metal door.

Inside, only a pale light hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows on the concrete floor.

— "Right on time."

She turned her head.

The man in black was there, leaning against a wooden crate. But this time, he wasn’t alone.

Enea stood with him.

And he was looking at her with that calculating stare that made her want to slap him.

Alba crossed her arms.

— "It’s an obsession, Moretti."

He gave an amused smile.

— "Perhaps. Or maybe I just like seeing how you react under pressure."

The man in black straightened up.

— "Is she ready?" he asked Enea.

— "She always has been."

Alba furrowed her brows slightly.

— "Ready for what?"

Enea stepped forward slowly.

— "You wanted answers, didn’t you?"

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her.

A silver pendant. Old. Beautiful.

Alba recognized it immediately.

Her blood turned to ice.

It was her father’s.

— "Where did you find this?" she murmured.

Enea tilted his head, an enigmatic smile on his lips.

— "What if I told you… that your father isn’t dead?"

Boom.

Her heart exploded in her chest.

She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

Enea kept watching her, waiting for her reaction.

— "You’re lying."

Her voice trembled, just for a moment.

But Enea heard her.

And he smiled.

— "I lie all the time, Elena. But not tonight."