Epilogue - Sofia
The nightmare is always the same, except for the parts I can’t remember.
Blood on marble floors. Screaming in a language I shouldn't understand but do.
A boy's voice calling for his brother while gunfire echoes through halls I know like my own heartbeat.
But when I try to focus on the details, to grab hold of what really happened that night eleven years ago, my mind goes white.
Like someone took an eraser to my memories, leaving only the emotions behind: terror, guilt, and something else. Something worse.
I wake in my suite at the Rosetti compound, sheets soaked with sweat, the taste of copper in my mouth. Three AM. Always three AM, like my subconscious has an appointment with trauma.
The sleeping pills sit untouched on my nightstand.
I stopped taking them two weeks ago, after the yacht dinner.
If the memories want to come back, I need to let them.
The family thinks I'm handling everything well—the Russian attack, Emma's near-death, my spectacular failure in judgment.
They see me returning to my routines, attending family dinners, running my part of the business with typical Rosetti efficiency.
They don't see me at three AM, standing at my windows overlooking the compound gardens, watching the guards patrol while my mind tears itself apart trying to remember what I've forgotten.
I pull on a silk robe and move to the small office attached to my suite.
The space is immaculate, everything in its place, controlled.
Unlike my mind. The laptop opens to encrypted files I've been collecting for two weeks now.
Everything I can find about the Volkov family. About Mikhail. About Alexei.
His photograph fills the screen, pulled from a security feed at one of our warehouses.
Those pale eyes that looked at me like he could see through skin and bone to whatever I'm hiding from myself.
In the photo, he's mid-conversation with one of his men, but there's something about his posture, the way he holds himself, that screams predator.
I cross-reference shipping manifests with his known appearances. He's been circling us for months, maybe years. Patient. Strategic. Almost like he's been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I recognize the technique—it's exactly what I would do.
"Your debt comes due soon, Sofia."
I touch the screen where his face is, remembering the feeling of his finger on my cheek, how he wrapped my hair around his finger like he was already claiming ownership.
I should be terrified. I am terrified. But there's something else there too, something that makes my pulse race for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.
My phone buzzes. Marco, because of course my brother is also awake at three AM.
Marco: Heard you moving around. You okay?
The walls in this compound hide nothing from him. He probably knew I was awake before I did.
Me: Fine. Couldn't sleep.
Marco: Come to my study.
It's not a request. I close the encrypted files and make my way through the familiar hallways. The compound at night feels different—more fortress than home. Every shadow could hide a threat, every corner could conceal an enemy. Or maybe that's just my paranoia talking.
Marco's study door is open. He's standing at his window, a glass of whiskey in hand, still wearing his suit from yesterday. Or is it today now?
"You've been researching the Russians," he says without turning. It's not a question.
"I need to understand."
"No, you need to be protected." He turns then, and I see the exhaustion in his eyes. "We're doubling your security. You don't go anywhere without—"
"That won't stop him."
"It will if I put a bullet in his head first."
"Marco—"
"He threatened you, Sofia. In our home. Made it clear he's coming for you." His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes grown men wet themselves. "That's a declaration of war."
I sink into one of his leather chairs, suddenly exhausted. "What if it's not a threat? What if it's… justice?"
His glass hits the desk hard enough to crack. "Justice? For what? For being a child who mentioned a friend to her family?"
"I got Mikhail killed."
"Luca killed Mikhail. During an attack the Russians started." But even Marco doesn't sound entirely convinced. We all know there are pieces missing from that night, things none of us talk about.
"There's something I'm not remembering," I tell him, the words rushing out. "Something important about that night. About before. I have these fragments—images, words in Russian I shouldn't know, this feeling that I've forgotten something crucial."
Marco crosses to me, kneeling so we're at eye level. My big brother, who rules Chicago's underworld with an iron fist, looking at me with such concern it makes my chest ache.
"Whatever happened, you were fifteen years old. A child. Nothing that happened was your fault."
But I'm already shaking my head. "I found something. In my old room." I pull the small bracelet from my robe pocket, the silver charm catching the lamplight. "Half a heart. I think… I think I gave the other half to someone."
Marco's face goes very still. "Sofia."
"What if I knew him, Marco? Really knew him. What if we were—"
"Stop." He takes the bracelet, examining it with the same intensity he brings to everything. "This doesn't change anything. Alexei Volkov is a threat to this family. To you. Whatever childhood connection you might have had died with his brother."
I want to argue, but something in his expression stops me. He knows more than he's saying. They all do—the careful way they've discussed that night for eleven years, the gaps in the story that no one acknowledges.
"I'm not going to hide forever," I tell him.
"You won't have to. We'll handle the Volkovs."
"Like we handled them eleven years ago?"
"We thought the Morettis were to blame at the time," Marco says quietly.
I laugh. "Exactly. The Volkovs have always had the upper hand. They're always one step ahead of us."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Marco stands, returning to his window.
"Go back to bed, Sofia. Tomorrow we're increasing security protocols. You'll have a detail with you at all times."
I stand to leave, but pause at the door. "Alexei said I have something that belongs to him. What if he's right?"
Marco doesn't turn around. "The only thing you have that he wants is your life. And he's not getting that."
I return to my suite, but I don't go back to bed.
Instead, I sit at my desk and open a new document.
Not research this time. A plan. Because Marco's wrong—a security detail won't stop Alexei Volkov.
He walked through our defenses like they were made of paper.
He could have taken me that night of the dinner party if he'd wanted.
I think about Emma, how she walked into our world with her head high despite the danger. How she chose to save Alessandro even after he betrayed her. How she claimed her place at our table through courage, not birthright.
Maybe it's time I stopped being the princess in the tower.
The bracelet sits on my desk, its broken heart a reminder of something I've lost and can't quite recall. Somewhere in Chicago, Alexei Volkov is planning his next move.
"Your debt comes due soon."
I close my eyes and make a decision that would horrify my brothers if they knew. When Alexei comes for me—and he will come—I won't run. I won't hide behind my family's protection.
I'll go with him. Voluntarily. Walk straight into the monster's den with my eyes open and my head high.
Because the only way to pay a debt is to face it.
And the only way to remember what I've forgotten is to return to where it all began.
The nightmare might be the same every night, but I'm done being its victim.
Thank you for reading Gilded Lies! Emma was supposed to be a placeholder. Alessandro was supposed to stay heartless. But some lies unravel more than secrets—they unravel people.