OLIVIA

Glen's fist slammed into the wall next to my head. Plaster crumbled, the echo mingling with Noah's choked-off cries. Drywall dusted his skin.

"Where is it?" My stepfather roared. "You brats think you can hide Grandma's box from me."

The nightmare's grip loosened, but terror lingered as I jerked awake, tangled in the sheets.

For a moment, the scent of mildew and cheap vodka blended with the stale air in my tiny room. But even that faded, replaced by the cheerful beat of a pop song and the overpowering smell of burnt bacon coming from the rest of the flat.

Katie danced around the kitchen when I stumbled in looking for caffeine, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. She reached over my brushes standing in the drying rack for a mug and lifted it into my view.

"Thanks."

Aside from Noah, she was the closest thing I had to family here. We'd been flatmates since starting university together.

"Morning, sunshine." She beamed, setting a plate of food on the table. "Fuel up! It's essay-torture time."

My stomach flipped at the sight of food—nerves and tiredness, not hunger. Sleep was a luxury nowadays with my work schedule and nightmares, which blurred too easily with reality. Vivid dreams filled with glimpses of Noah turned into torments where I was the one bound and bloodied.

Last night was no exception. Enraged shouts replaced Luca's scorching gaze, but this time, it was my stepdad cornering Noah and me as terrified children.

Only dreams. I'm safe. For now, at least.

"Earth to Liv. Hellooo?"

"Sorry." I blinked, tuning back to Katie's rapid-fire account of a date.

My flatmate lived life fast and full, diving into wild adventures I could only imagine attempting. She was a spark to my steady flame. Back before...my world turned upside down.

"Last night was insane. Amir took me to this exclusive speakeasy bar."

Her eyes lit up as she gushed about the glitzy atmosphere and the signature cocktails. My thoughts wandered to L'Ombra and Luca. I didn't need to imagine the exhilarating, exclusive escape from reality. Not when my nights were spent in the city's most elite, hedonistic playground and my stolen moments with him were branded into my memory.

If Katie knew, she'd collapse in shock. Her best friend waitressing in a place like L'Ombra? Even I struggled to believe the turns my life had taken.

"Olivia! You're spacing out again." She looked at me, concern creasing her brow. "Okay, what's up with you lately? You're here but not really here, you know? I'm worried about you."

The truth nearly pushed its way out. Her worry wasn't misplaced—bottling up everything was crushing me. Stress pounded like a swarm of wasps in my head, threatening to explode. All I wanted was my brother back and to trade nightmares of blood and violent criminals for the pressure of coursework deadlines.

"You work too hard," she continued. "When's the last time you did something fun?"

Did I ever? "I don't know...I've got a lot going on right now."

"You and me both. But you need a break. A distraction. Go on more dates, like waaay more dates. Meet a sexy, distracting guy."

Apple juice nearly went down the wrong pipe. My closest prospect—and worst possible idea—was London's king of the underworld. Sexy and distracting took on a whole new meaning there.

Denial was easier, but there was no ignoring how I felt around Luca. It was more than physical attraction—an undeniable chemistry which drew me to him. And no matter how loudly my brain screamed danger, that part of me wouldn't shut up.

"Come on, when did you have sex last?" Another choke, this time at her directness. "Okay, the reaction alone says it's been way too long. You need some action to loosen up."

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"Fine." Her tone turned serious. "Listen, life can be this neverending hamster wheel. But you've got to enjoy the ride too. Who knows what tomorrow might bring."

Didn't I just know that? It was my greatest fear. Running out of tomorrows with Noah. 

"Like this poor guy in the news. Did you hear, Liv? So tragic."

"What news?"

"A body they found near The Met's building. A young guy, mid-twenties." Her tone dropped. "Police said it was messy. Something about criminals sorting out deals."

My lungs constricted, air trapped in my chest. "That's awful." Please, please don't let it be Noah.

"They don't know who he is yet." Katie shook her head. "Makes you scared, doesn't it? Knowing people capable of such things walk the same streets."

I could only nod. My voice would betray the terror rising inside me.

"Crap." She shot up and grabbed her backpack. "Late for my lecture. But we're not done talking about this, missy."

With a wink and reminders about weekend plans, she was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving me with the dread in my gut. 

The bartender's warning still rang fresh in my head. Could I end up like that unknown victim? Did Noah?

I needed answers, damn it.

Fragments from last night's nightmare flashed, and the old instinct kicked in. Noah had always been clever, a master of hiding our treasures from Mum and Glen. Anything to keep our stuff safe from being pawned for alcohol. What if there were clues at his flat? A crazy long shot, but—

My phone chimed. Matt. "Hey, checking in. Any updates?"

Should I tell him? He was a private investigator; maybe he'd see things I wouldn't. And with the news about the body, having backup wouldn't hurt.

"Heading to Noah's flat now to look for clues. Want to join? Could use help searching."

He answered instantly: "Of course. Meet you there."

Grabbing Noah's key, I hurried to the station and jumped on the train. Everyone in the carriage was lost in their own worlds, faces sombre. No laughter, no joy, much like my own gloomy mood.

I flipped my sketchbook open when the train began to move and absentmindedly started to doodle. Harsh lines, the rough angles of a jawline, the curve of a lip emerged as time passed.

"Is that your boyfriend, dear?" An elderly lady startled me.

Confused, I followed her gaze down to the page. A dozen half-finished sketches of Luca stared back. Heat rushed to my face. "No, erm, he's just a...a friend."

"Friend or not, he's clearly caught your eye. Very handsome fella, that one." The woman chuckled. "You've got a good eye for detail."

With a knowing look, she turned away, leaving me staring at the damning evidence of my subconscious.

Thankfully, the familiar ding and automated voice announced Wandsworth Town Station. I snapped my sketchbook shut, cheeks still burning, and hurried off the train.

Every corner here held a piece of us. Our first decent flat—the one we scraped and saved for a few years after escaping that hellhole back home when I turned eighteen—was just ahead. 

Noah had been so proud when his software job took off, granting us a bit of breathing room and a bigger place to live. Getting the small scholarship to study at Kingston University later had been a dream come true. 

Things were finally looking up for us, even if leaving him for a place with Katie near campus had been hard. But we both needed space, and I didn't want to be the dependent little sister holding him back, especially when he tried dating.

Except being here without him now felt less like independence and more like a gaping hole in my life.

I let myself in with the spare key, my fingers clumsy. Musty air surrounded me immediately.

Traces of him still lingered—a hoodie flung across the sofa, oversized headphones peeking out from under a pile of papers. As if he had popped down to Tesco and would return any minute...

A clink from the kitchen, and my heart leapt with hope. "Noah?"

But instead of my brother, it was Matt, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hand.

"Hey, Liv."

Disappointment washed over me, tight and cold. I forced a smile, taking a cup. "How did you get in?"

"Noah gave me a key ages ago. Figured I'd make us some coffee."

"Thanks." 

The warm drink eased my nerves a fraction.

"It's so strange being back here without him," he said as we sat around the kitchen table. "I keep expecting the door to open and Noah to stroll in."

A lump formed in my throat. "Me too." Having Matt here made it a little easier to endure, even if we didn't find anything.

"Have you managed to get any useful intel from the club?"

His question was another reminder of the impossible task. 

"Not much to report yet." I should have told him about the missing guy, but I wasn't sure what was happening there. "I'm still learning the ropes."

The smile slipped off his face, replaced by a frown. "You must have overheard something by now. Rumours, shady deals. Anything we can use."

"I'm working on it."

The drumming fingers on the table made it clear he wasn't happy with my update. "Come on, Liv. Anything about their operations or members? You've been working there long enough to gather something useful by now."

He was right, of course, and that stung even more. I hadn't used the hidden camera as much as I should have. But those moments in L'Ombra, those private escapes...I wrestled with the thought of invading them.

"I'm trying, but—"

"You know why we're doing this. Noah is probably running out of—"

"Don't you think I know that?" I snapped, the frustration breaking through. "He is my brother, Matt."

My outburst startled him. He flinched, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You're right, I know. It's just..."

We didn't have time for this. Both of us were stressed and worried about my brother, but talking wasn't helping. "Let's search the flat."

"Right," Matt mumbled. "I'll take the bedroom."

I wandered into the living room, my fingers trailing over Noah's curated book collection. Dog-eared coding manuals, his technical bible. Art books I'd admired in bookstore windows that became mine because my brother had checked every market in London to find them. There were so many reminders here of all the ways he'd looked after me.

God, I miss him. Swallowing hard, I focused. There had to be an overlooked clue that could bring him home. If he had secrets, there had to be something in this flat.

My eyes scanned the room with fresh determination, landing on a worn copy of Matilda. We must've read it a million times secretly at night as kids, huddled under the covers with a flashlight to avoid getting caught. And every morning, we stashed it under a... loose floorboard.

How had I not thought of it? 

I dropped to my knees, knocking along the floorboards. A hollow echo in the far corner sent my pulse into overdrive, so I pressed until a board shifted at my touch.

Excitement and adrenaline surged as I pried it free, revealing a dusty box. I swiped my thumbs over the tarnished top and gasped. 

Grandma's music box.

This couldn't be right. Mum sold it when she'd finally gotten hold of it, a desperate act for a few quid I'd never forgiven her for.

Yet, the chipped corner, the rose carving on the side... There was no mistaking it. But how?

My hands trembled as I lifted it out, flipping open the lid. No soft melodies played, but an old-fashioned key with an elegant 'M' sat atop a cigar case bearing an unusual crest. I turned them over in my hands. What had Noah come across?

A faded polaroid lay folded at the bottom with 'Amore' and 'Spiaggia di Cavoli' scribbled on the back. When I unfolded it, a young woman's face gazed up, creased with laughter. Her arms twined around the neck of a man whose face was obscured, the two clearly in love.

She radiated happiness, leaning into his tender embrace. His fingers splayed across the curve of her waist, both lost in the moment on some beautiful sandy beach with turquoise sea, clearly far from the grey English skies.

The woman's smile, the wheat-blonde hair. Was it...Mum? I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her this full of joy. Alcohol had ravaged her look in the past couple of decades. 

But the more I stared at it, the surer I was.

Matt's footsteps tapped down the hallway, and I shoved the box and its contents into my bag before he appeared. "Any luck?" 

"No, nothing yet." 

Why did I lie to him? He was here to help... yet, the discovery was far too personal to share. At least not until I knew better what it was.

"You okay, Liv?" He looked puzzled, sensing my unease. All I could do was nod. "I need to head out—something came up. Will you be alright here on your own?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Call me if there is anything."

As soon as he left, I pulled the photo back out. Was that Glen with my mother? The man's features were blurred, but the way he held her, the protectiveness...

No, it couldn't be my stepdad, judging by the tiny baby bump. The picture must have been taken when she was pregnant with Noah, so the man had to be—

My legs gave way, and I sank to the floor, the photo clutched in my hand. The first proof of our biological father's existence. Where had Noah found it? And why hadn't he told me?

Childish hope of finding our father competed with bitterness. After a lifetime of disappointments, I'd stopped thinking about the man who only contributed his DNA. He had never been more than a shadow in my life, a question mark that would forever go unanswered. 

I wiped away a stray tear. Crying was futile, but I couldn't ignore these clues. They were breadcrumbs on a trail to find my brother.

The second I was back in my flat, my bag hit the bed, my laptop already humming to life.

Be methodical, Liv. The elaborate 'M'. It had to mean something. A lead to someone important. An initial? A brand?

An hour of fruitless searching left frustration gnawing at me. Each digital rabbit hole led to a dead end, and I was no closer to understanding the mysterious key. It was a needle-in-a-haystack kind of situation, made worse by not knowing the shape of the needle.

Focus. Onto the next clue. 

The cigar case felt heavy in my palm, its leather worn and cool. I traced the circular crest: an ornate square tower framed by two cypress trees. Olive branches crossed behind it, a banner underneath with grapevine outlines and a deer head on each side.

It wasn't Glen's. His idea of fancy was a half-empty bottle of whisky. Mum hadn't owned anything like this. And Noah didn't like smoking, let alone cigars.

Could it be my father's? Was it why Noah kept it—a memento of the man who never bothered claiming us?

My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a description into the search bar, hoping for better luck. This seemed more distinctive, at least. Traceable. Something more concrete than a single letter.

Several links down, I froze. An identical crest stared back from the screen. A wine and olive oil business near San Gimignano in Tuscany...owned by the Moretti family.

What did it mean? Could they be—No. It was ridiculous.

I scrambled to open a new tab, punching in 'Spiaggia di Cavoli' before I hit 'Enter'. My breath hitched as the results loaded. A stunning beach, crystal-clear waters, nestled on the island of Elba.

Tuscany. Like the Moretti family business. 

The crest, the ornate 'M'. The pieces clicked with sickening clarity. They weren't random clues.

My numb hands reached for the key again, flipping it, the 'M' no longer just a letter.

Did he work for them?... Was he one of them?

No. Nonono. It couldn't be real. 

Everything started to crash around me as the impossible explanation stared back at me—one way or another, the man who'd abandoned us was somehow connected to the Moretti empire.