~ Alina’s POV

I stood there, dumbfounded as he continued to stare at me, “You’ve accessed things that don’t exist…officially,” he continued. “That puts you in a very… fragile position.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” I asked quietly, even though my heart drummed in my chest.

“Nothing,” he said.

I blinked, confused. “Nothing?”

“I’m not here to stop you,” he clarified. “Not directly. I’m here to make sure you understand what happens if you don’t stop yourself.”

“That sounds like the same thing,” I said.

“It’s not,” he replied.

I studied him carefully, something shifting in my thoughts. “If you were going to hurt me,” I said slowly, “you wouldn’t be standing here talking.”

A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Good,” he said. “You’re thinking.”

“Answer me one thing,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Are my parents actually dead?”

For the first time, he hesitated. It was brief, almost unnoticeable, but I saw it. “You’re in deeper than you realize,” he said instead of answering.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Frustration tightened in my chest. “Then you’re wasting your time,” I said. “Because I’m not stopping.”

“I know,” he replied, and something about the certainty in his voice caught me off guard.

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Because someone has to be,” he said quietly, before turning and walking away as if the conversation had already ended.

I stood there long after he was gone, my mind racing, my heart still pounding. “What the hell was that…” I whispered to myself as I finally sat down, my hands trembling slightly as I turned back to my system.

I pulled up the files I had accessed the night before, my fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. There was nothing. My breath caught as I searched again, trying different entries, different filters. Still nothing. “No… no, no…” I muttered under my breath, my pulse quickening as realization settled in. The Russo archive was gone. The Moretti records were restricted. Access was denied.

I leaned back slightly, forcing myself to breathe through the rising panic. “You think this is enough to stop me?” I whispered, my voice steadier now despite everything. If the files were gone, then I would find another way. I had already come too far to turn back now.

My fingers moved again, this time pulling up external registries, cross-referencing names, estates, financial logs, anything that hadn’t been completely erased. “Russo… Milan…” I murmured as fragments of data began to appear, incomplete but enough to follow. And then I saw a transaction record. But it was large, extremely large.

My breath caught as I opened it, my eyes scanning the details quickly. The date made my heart drop; it was only days after my parents’ supposed death.

“Who authorized this…” I whispered, my voice barely audible as the signature field loaded. And then I froze.

“No…” Because right there, clear and undeniable—the authorization wasn’t hidden, or erased; it was signed by none other than Luca Moretti.

~ A Few Days Later

The estate stood in front of me like something untouched by time, and yet, it felt like it had been waiting. I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag as I stared up at the tall iron gates, my reflection faintly visible in the polished black surface. The structure beyond it was massive, elegant in that cold, calculated way only old money could achieve. Every window was shut, every corner too perfect, too controlled. It didn’t look abandoned… it looked protected.

“What are you doing, Alina…” I whispered to myself, my breath barely steady. “You can still leave.”

But I didn’t even move. Because deep down, I already knew that I had crossed that line the moment I saw my father’s name signed on a transaction made after his death. There was no going back anymore.

This journey here had been careful and calculated. I avoided direct bookings, used cash wherever I could, and kept my routes unpredictable. No official requests, no digital trails that could lead anyone back to me. It wasn’t paranoia anymore, it was instinct.

Because someone had already wiped my access once. And someone like Riccardo didn’t appear out of nowhere without reason.

I exhaled slowly and turned away from the estate, forcing myself to move. Standing here and staring wouldn’t get me answers. I needed information…real, documented, and undeniable.

The city of Milan felt different from Florence. Sharper. Faster. Less forgiving. People moved with purpose here, and the weight of power wasn’t hidden behind history; it walked openly through the streets.

I blended in as best as I could, keeping my head low as I made my way toward the local registry offices. If the archive systems were compromised, then the only place left to dig was the physical backbone of it all. Milan was the place that had records that weren’t fully digitized yet, records that people often forgot still existed.

Inside, the air was colder than I expected, the quiet hum of old systems and scattered footsteps filling the space. I moved toward the terminal stations, keeping my movements natural as I slipped into a seat and logged into the public registry interface.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding…” I murmured under my breath as my fingers began to move. I searched names, estates, transfers, and everything I could.

At first, it was the same pattern I had already seen: fragmented data, partial records, inconsistencies that didn’t quite align. But the deeper I went, the clearer it became. This was clearly not just manipulation or tampering of the documents; it was systematic in some way.

I leaned closer to the screen, my eyes scanning through a sequence of linked identities, my breath slowing as the realization settled in. “This isn’t property fraud…” I whispered. “This is identity control.”

The profiles that were marked as deceased still appeared in financial authorizations. The accounts were linked to individuals who, legally, no longer existed. My chest tightened. “They’re not just erasing people…” I said quietly, my mind racing. “They’re reusing them.”

~ Alina’s POV

A cold realization settled over me when I realized what they were doing.

Legal erasure.

People were declared dead on paper and had their identities freed from oversight. But they were used again where it mattered. For money, power, and ownership, their names were used as if they were invisible and untouchable.

I sat back slowly, my fingers hovering above the keyboard as everything started to connect. “That’s how they’re doing it…” I whispered. “No one checks the dead.”

A faint sound behind me pulled me out of my thoughts. I stilled when I heard footsteps echo behind me. At first, I ignored it since it was a public place. People were always coming and going, I’d be a fool to think someone would try anything here.

But then it happened again, and a shiver ran down my spine when I realized it was closer this time. I resisted the urge to turn around immediately, forcing myself to keep my posture relaxed, my eyes still on the screen. “You’re imagining things,” I told myself quietly.

But I wasn’t. I could feel it now. I could feel the cold creeping up my back, the same way it did in Florence, as if someone was watching me.

I shut the system down calmly, my movements controlled despite the tension building inside me. “Don’t react,” I whispered under my breath. “Just move.”

I stood up, adjusting my bag over my shoulder, and walked toward the exit without looking back. However, the footsteps followed again.

My pulse quickened. “Okay…” I breathed out slowly. “I’m definitely not imagining it.” I stepped outside into the open air, the noise of the street wrapping around me instantly, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. There were too many people and too many places to disappear…or to be followed.

I walked faster now, turning down a side street without hesitation, my mind racing through options. “Think, Alina, think…”

“Running won’t help.” The calm and familiar voice came from behind me.

I stopped. For a second, I considered ignoring it, but I didn’t. Gathering the courage, I slowly turned around and almost sighed in relief.

Riccardo stood a few steps away, his expression sharper than before, his usual composure edged with something I hadn’t seen until now, urgency.

“You have a habit of appearing where you’re not supposed to be,” I said, crossing my arms despite the tension coiling in my chest.

“And you have a habit of going where you shouldn’t,” he replied.

“Funny,” I muttered. “I thought you said you weren’t here to stop me.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But this—” he gestured slightly around us “—this is different.”

I frowned. “How?”

“Because now you’re visible.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Visible to who?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “To people who don’t have conversations before they act.”

I held his gaze, refusing to let the fear take over. “Then maybe you should start explaining things instead of speaking in riddles.”

“I told you before,” he said. “You don’t need explanations. You need distance.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said immediately.

“I know,” he replied, and something in his tone made my chest tighten. It was as if he was angry…angry at me for not listening, but then he continued, “That’s the problem.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment. Then I stepped closer. “I saw the records,” I said quietly. “The transactions. The identities. People who are legally dead… still signing off financial transfers.”

His eyes flickered, just slightly. “You’re starting to see the structure,” he said.

“Then deny it,” I pressed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Which told me enough. “They’re erasing people,” I continued, my voice lowering. “And then using their identities like tools. No oversight. No trace.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said.

“Then make it simple.”

“I can’t.”

Frustration surged through me. “You keep saying that!”

“And you keep asking questions that will get you killed,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the air.

The words hit me harder than I thought they would. But instead of backing down, I stepped closer. “Then maybe I’m asking the right ones.”

His gaze locked onto mine, something unreadable passing through it. “You’re already on their radar, Alina,” he said quietly. The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. There was an urgency in his tone that showed how serious the matter was.

My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

“It means what you’re doing isn’t unnoticed anymore,” he replied. “It means the systems you’re accessing… the places you’re going… they’re being watched.”

“By you?” I asked.

“Not just me anymore.”

The answer sent a chill through me. “Then why are you here?” I asked.

He hesitated just for a second. Then he stepped slightly to the side, his posture shifting just enough to block my direct line of sight toward the main street. “Because you’re about to walk into something you won’t walk out of,” he said quietly.

My eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he nodded subtly toward the building across the street, the one I hadn’t paid attention to before. It was a registry annex, and access was restricted for that building.

“You go in there like this,” he said, “you won’t make it past the first level without being flagged.”

“And if I don’t go in?” I challenged.

“Then you stay ignorant.”

I let out a quiet breath. “That’s not an option.”

“I figured,” he said.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I asked the one question that had been sitting at the back of my mind since Florence. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not,” he replied immediately.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” he said. “I’m helping myself.”

I frowned. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t need to,” he said. “Just understand this…you don’t have much time before this escalates.”

My pulse quickened. “Escalates how?”

“You’ll find out,” he said, stepping back. “Try not to make it easy for them.”

Before I could stop him, he turned and walked away…again. He always left before I got real answers. I stood there for a moment, my thoughts racing, before I turned toward the building he had pointed out. “If I don’t have time,” I whispered to myself, “then I won’t waste it.”

The registry annex was quieter than the main office, its security tighter but not impossible. I moved carefully, timing my entry, slipping past the first layer without drawing attention. My heart pounded steadily in my chest as I navigated through the restricted sections, my instincts guiding me more than logic at this point.

“Just one file…” I murmured. “Just one answer…”

I reached a terminal deep inside the restricted archive, my fingers moving quickly through the keyboard as I accessed the deeper layers of the system. I accessed the hidden directories and the encrypted logs.

And then…there it was. A file that seemed like it shouldn’t exist. It didn’t have any classification, not even standard labeling. It only had a piece of paper with a coded reference.

My breath slowed as I opened it, my eyes scanning the contents carefully. It had names, statuses, and future declarations. My fingers trembled slightly as I scrolled. And then I saw it.

I froze mid-stance. “No…” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Because right there…among the list of identities scheduled for legal erasure….

Was my name.

Alina Moretti.

And next to it, in cold, official text….

Pending Deceased Declaration.