The ties that bind

The hallway leading to Isabella's room felt suffocating.

Not because of the walls, not because of the dim lighting—but because of what was waiting on the other side.

Serena had walked these halls a thousand times, but tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Like the house itself was holding its breath.

Lorenzo walked ahead, his steps deliberate, controlled. His silence was louder than words. Matteo and Vincenzo flanked him, their expressions unreadable, but their bodies were tense, braced for anything.

Marco, always restless, rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off an invisible weight.

Sofia was quiet beside Serena, her presence steady—but Serena could feel her sister's tension.

And Santiago?

He walked just behind her, too calm.

Not the smug, teasing presence he usually carried, but something sharper.

Something watchful.

Like he was preparing for whatever monster was about to crawl out of Isabella's past.

They stopped.

The door to Isabella's room stood before them.

Unopened. Untouched. A relic of a woman who had controlled their lives even from the grave.

No one spoke.

For a moment, Serena wondered if any of them had the nerve to do it.

To step inside.

To finally uncover what Antonio had died protecting.

Lorenzo exhaled once, sharp and slow. Then he reached for the handle.

"No more secrets."

He pushed the doors open.

A gust of stale air greeted them, thick with dust and something unspoken.

The past.

It clung to the room like a living thing.

Serena inhaled sharply as they stepped inside, her eyes sweeping over the space.

It was pristine.

Untouched. Like Isabella had never left.

The heavy wooden bed, draped in deep reds and golds, remained perfectly made. The vanity, covered in delicate glass bottles of forgotten perfumes, was frozen in time.

But it wasn't the furniture that made Serena's blood run cold.

It was the walls.

Photographs.

Framed. Unframed. Scattered along the desk. Some still pinned to the walls like a shrine.

All of them—of Antonio.

Lorenzo stilled.

Matteo muttered a curse under his breath.

Serena stepped forward, her throat tight.

These weren't just family pictures.

They were pieces of something bigger.

Newspaper clippings. Handwritten notes scrawled in Isabella's elegant, slanted handwriting. Some of them circled, marked, highlighted—like she had been searching for something.

Tracking something.

Serena's pulse pounded.

This wasn't just a bedroom.