Adunni Brooks, a rising star in the field of cultural anthropology, sat in her office, surrounded by stacks of dusty tomes and papers scattered across her desk. Her specialty, ancient African-European ritual symbology, had earned her a reputation as a leading expert, at a young age. The phone's shrill ring cut through the silence, and Adunni's eyes flicked to the caller ID: an unfamiliar number with an Italian prefix.
"Dr. Brooks?" a smooth, accented voice asked.
Adunni confirmed her identity, and the voice introduced himself as Mr. Dune, secretary to Mr Luca DeLuca, a billionaire with a vast empire, in Italy.
"Dr. Brooks, we've been referred to you by a colleague. We've discovered a relic in a ruined chapel in Rome that requires your expertise, our boss will like the chapel to be renovated for charity, so we're tight on time, as we will like the relic to be inspected on site, before moving it. It's an artifact from an ancient cult that shows...fascinating syncretism between African and European traditions."
Intrigued, Adunni scribbled notes as Mr. Dune described the relic: A gold disc engraved with both Yoruba and Latin glyphs. depicting a figure with African features, surrounded by symbols reminiscent of ancient European mysticism.
"I'd love to take a look," Adunni said, her mind racing with possibilities. "But I'll need my partner, Dr. Camilla Harts, to accompany me."
"Of course, Dr. Brooks. We'll arrange everything. We'll send a car to pick you both up from the airport."
At the airport, Adunni and Camilla were greeted by Mr. Dune, who welcomed them with a warm smile.
"Benvenute, Dr. Brooks and Dr. Harts. I'll escort you to the ruined chapel. Mr Luca is eager to hear your expert opinion on the relic."
As they followed Mr. Dune to the chapel, Adunni's excitement grew. The relic could hold secrets about the ancient world, and she was ready to uncover them.
The ruined chapel was hidden away in a quiet corner of Rome.
The first time Adunni Brooks stepped into the ruined chapel beneath Rome's Via Aurelia, she felt something ancient turn its eyes toward her.
Dust bloomed under her boots as she descended into the cavernous space, flashlight beam sweeping over fractured marble, broken pews, and a collapsed altar. The air smelled of soot, myrrh, and something older—iron and roses and rain-soaked ash.
She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.
"You sure this is the place?" came a voice behind her.
Dr. Camilla Hart, always ten steps behind but eager to claim a discovery, adjusted her oversized designer glasses and squinted into the dark. "Looks like every other ruin in this cursed city."
Adunni didn't bother responding. The artifact—the one Luca DeLuca's people had paid her to study—was rumored to have been hidden here. A gold disc engraved with both Yoruba and Latin glyphs. If it was real, it could rewrite everything anthropologists believed about cross-cultural shifter mythologies.
But she wasn't here for myths.
She was here for the truth. For the story her grandmother used to whisper in Yoruba when lightning cracked the sky. For the ache in her bones that only flared during certain moons.
Her flashlight flickered, then landed on a carved symbol in the wall. A crescent moon bleeding into flame.
Her breath caught.
"Got you," she whispered.
Behind her, Camilla grumbled, "Don't tell me this means something to you."
"It does," Adunni murmured, brushing dust from the symbol. "And if I'm right, this chapel wasn't just Roman."
She turned, ready to explain, but a shiver rolled down her spine. Not from Camilla. Something else.
Something watching.
She turned slowly toward the arched doorway behind them.
And there he was.
Luca DeLuca, billionaire philanthropist, patron of historical preservation, and, according to half the tabloids, dangerous recluse. Tall, suit tailored to perfection, face carved from marble, eyes like burning topaz. He moved with the grace of something that didn't quite belong in the realm of men.
"Dr. Brooks," he said, voice smooth as aged scotch. "I see you've found the beginning of your legend."
Adunni's heartbeat stuttered.
So did Camilla's.
She stepped forward—predictably. "Mr. DeLuca, I didn't realize you were joining us in the field."
"I wasn't," he said without looking at her. His eyes were locked on Adunni. "But I heard the Flame had touched the ruins."
Adunni frowned. "Excuse me?"
He smiled then, small and sharp. "Nothing. Just... an old family phrase."
But something in the way he said it made her stomach flip.
He stepped closer, and she didn't move. Couldn't. Every instinct screamed at her to back away from him—and another told her to go toward him.
"The artifact you're searching for," he said, voice dropping, intimate. "It isn't just history, Dr. Brooks. It's prophecy. And whether you believe in it or not... it believes in you."
Her breath caught again, and this time it wasn't from fear. It was something deeper.
Something... older.
Meanwhile... Elsewhere in Rome
Matteo DeLuca stood on the balcony of the DeLuca estate, drink in hand, eyes on the city lights. At his side, Sabine Rousseau leaned against the railing, arms crossed.
"She doesn't know what she is," he said.
Sabine snorted softly. "Neither do you."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Careful, Rousseau. That almost sounded like flirting."
She turned to him then, her face unreadable. "If I were flirting, you'd know it. You'd be on your knees."
There was a charged silence between them—one that buzzed with challenge, and something else.
"Promises, promises," he murmured.