The rain hasn’t stopped since she landed in Rome — as if the city itself mourns what she refuses to understand. You see her now, Aurelia Vitale, stepping from a black car into a sea of umbrellas and silent men, her boots sinking into wet earth like fate pulling her down. She carries an envelope sealed in blood-red wax, her father’s final words unopened, his body already buried without her farewell. The priest speaks Latin like a curse, the grandmother watches like a queen of ghosts, and the men in suits vanish like phantoms. Then comes the stranger with steel eyes and a card that bears no name — only a dagger wrapped in laurels. *The Brotherhood Remembers.* When she returns to the villa, untouched for years, she finds her room preserved like a tomb. Only the letter feels alive. One line burns through her: *They will come for you now, Aurelia. Either to crown you… or to kill you.* What blood runs in her veins? And why does silence speak louder than truth?