A CROWN OF ASH AND PROMISES

The sun wore its golden cloak over the Tuscan hill, a phoenix of promise spread out upon yesterday's blackness stained with blood. Villa Monticelli was wreathed in white roses and satin—unbroken, royal, and unmoved by fire and treachery that had but yesterday seemed to lie and devour it. The courtyard was thick with the bitter sweet scents of the string quartet's rendition of some crusty old Italian waltz as pungent as its creator on the morning breeze. But within marble halls, there was quiet. For today was memoriam—not that. Today was a symbol. A threat. A warning to the universe that the Mafia King and his soon-to-be Queen had busted out of the hurricane. Bianca posing in front of a giant antique mirror in a boudoir. Morning sunlight played over even stitches on her ivory dress, following the single vine and flower of the embroidery. Her hair was stacked on her head in a disheveled chignon, held in place with gold leaves and tiny pearls, for bare roots had been—Italian nobility and sin. "I still see her eyes sometimes," Bianca breathed, looking at her own reflection. "Sophia. In the streets of my mind." Raphael's figure stood framed in the door, black tuxedo, fiddling with cufflinks. "She is dead, Bianca. You killed her. That apparition does not come to your wedding." "She was my sister." Bianca turned to face him, a whisper now. "And I killed her." Raphael's eyes went cold. "She attempted to kill you. You went the long way around. And Luca? He would have walked through hell a hundred times for you." Bianca smiled weakly. "He did." A knock at the door interrupted them. Luca's mother, her hair done in midnight blue, poked her head into the room. "The guests are waiting. Come now." Raphael bowed his head and disappeared into the shadows, and Luca's mother advanced and took Bianca's hand in a gentle grasp. You're a queen, she gulped, her words shaking as she spoke. And you've gained every moment of peace today is able to grant you. Bianca smiled, unshed tears biting at the corners of her eyes but not yet falling. Behind the rose-covered and silver-ivy-covered chapel garden stone entrance doorway, Luca waited. Behind him were his men—fighters, warriors, survivors—their black suits as unmoving as statues. Luca's gaze never left down the aisle through the mourners. When Bianca finally emerged at the top of the stairs, Raphael behind her, the world disappeared. Her eyes met Luca's, and everything else was blotted out. Power, betrayal, bloodlust—all blotted out. Only them. Finally. With a tender grasp of his hand, Luca touched her knuckles with his lips and breathed a rough breath, "You're real. You're here." Bianca's smile. "I've always been here. You just had to look." The ceremony reached its climax. But even in peace and beauty, the past raged. Kneeling in the vineyard shadows, among grapes that were south, a slouching form between the vines was. Dark-haired youths, green sword-shaped eyes, which flashed through—and he held the phone in his trembling hand. "She said she was killed by them," he growled. "She told lie. She told—" Screen lighted. Message from coded number. 'Time. Tell them what she said to you. Make them bleed before they bind.' He looked in the direction of the chapel where the vows were being made. Perspiration ran down the back of his neck. He reached under his coat and pulled out a red-waxed envelope as large as a letter. He stood up. And he walked. In the chapel, the previous day's lesson was read by the priest, but up to his shoulder came only Bianca's in and out. He kissed her hand again to his lips, and as at the start, so at the finish, began the priest, "If any soul has cause to object— A rustling of wind swept through the stillness like the report of a pistol. "I object!" The heads turned. Arms went out for the guards to take them. The boy stumbled forward from the aisle's end, eyes wide, sweat soaking through his collar. 'Please… I'm sorry—I didn't want to do this." Bianca's brows furrowed. 'Who are you?" 'My name is Matteo," he said quickly. 'I knew Adraine. She gave me this before she died." He raised the envelope. Luca's guards seized him instantly, guns drawn. 'Wait," Bianca said, stepping forward. Matteo relaxed. "She's written if you don't know you'll be lying. That it's not Sophia alone… that there's another." Luca tore open the letter, broke the seal. Bianca stood near him as he opened the letter. It was Adraine's handwriting beyond a doubt. "If you're reading this, Luca, then I'm already dead. But I couldn't possibly die without leaving you the last piece. Sophia wasn't alone. She had an inside man. Someone known to you. Someone close to and dear to you. Someone who wears your crest." Luca's heart dropped. He read the rest of it with wide eyes. "Survived of the Hollow Crown." You'll recognize him when the time comes. He's the one who wanted the wedding. Because he's wagering it won't happen. Bianca placed a gentle hand on his arm. "What do you mean?" Raphael eased closer, his muscles humming with tension. "We tested them all—" "No," Luca snarled. "Not all of them." He slowly turned in thought, his gaze sweeping the room, finally coming to rest on the head of the Eastern Division: Lorenzo Di Franco. Dirty gray hair graying, his hardened heart, kept his scowl in stony reserve. "Lorenzo?" Bianca asked. "You've known him your entire life." He brought the families together," Luca growled. "He proposed this marriage be announced publicly. Guarded. But watched." Lorenzo had only spoken once. "She was right, Luca. You didn't know until it was done after the wedding." Guns were drawn. Bianca's breath caught. "Working with Sophia?" Luca snarled, his voice cutting like a blade. "I worked for the legacy," Lorenzo replied. "Working for the world to get into shape. Not this. fairytale of yours." "You were part of our blood oath," Raphael sneered. "And I bled," sneered Lorenzo, whose voice now grew cold. "I bled for a King who was in love with a liability. For a woman whose sister tried to burn us all to the ground." Bianca didn't flinch as she retorted, "You mean a woman who survived." Lorenzo smiled again. "You won't survive what's waiting for you." Luca cocked the gun. "Wrong." Once—through Lorenzo's heart. Lorenzo was muzzled in silence. Pandemonium broke out, but Luca flung a hand into the air. "Stand down!" Matteo cried out, "I did not know! I did not know what he was going to do!" Bianca placed a hand on his shoulder. "You had every right to defend yourself." Matteo nodded, still crying. The priest's eyes widened as he breathed, "Do you still want to go on?" Luca looked at Bianca. "After all that?" Bianca smiled gently. "Due to all of this." And they made their vows—not to one another, but to a fire-smelted-one. They shared a peck between the burning flames that consumed the blackened golden sun, a symbol of eternity. But there stood steadfast on some unseen hill far above. A woman. Black hood covering her face. She breathed slowly, "Enjoy thy crown, Bianca. As long as it still lies upon thy head."