Chapter 5 The Deal

Morning came with a misty haze draping over the rolling Italian hills. The villa, normally silent in the early hours, was already stirring. Guards rotated posts, servants bustled in the kitchen, and Marco-Alessandro's right hand-was on the phone coordinating shipments that had nothing to do with wine or olive oil.

But in the center of it all, Elena sat quietly on the stone bench in the courtyard, sketchbook in hand. She hadn't drawn since before the accident. The pencil felt foreign between her fingers, but the motion brought her a strange peace.

Alessandro stood in the shadows of the balcony above, watching her. She had changed in just a few days. No longer the broken woman pulled from a burning café, she now looked like someone searching for answers-and perhaps, vengeance.

He joined her without a word. She didn't look up.

"I didn't know you could draw," he said.

"You didn't ask."

He studied the sketch. It was a loose outline of the villa's arches, with a storm brewing in the background. Accurate. Too accurate.

"I have business in Rome," he said. "It concerns the men responsible for the explosion."

At that, she did look up. "You found them?"

"I found who paid them."

She stood, the sketchpad dropping to the bench. "Let me come with you."

"No."

"You said I'm not a prisoner. Prove it."

He crossed his arms. "This isn't a movie, Elena. You don't follow leads into back alleys and interrogate men twice your size."

"I know that. But I also know they didn't just try to kill me-they killed people I loved. I won't sit here sipping espresso while you do the dirty work."

A tense silence settled between them.

"You want to be part of this world?" he said finally. "Then you play by its rules."

"Which are?"

"Loyalty. Precision. Discipline."

She stepped forward. "Then teach me."

His jaw tensed. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Then show me."

Their eyes locked. In that moment, Alessandro realized this woman wasn't weak-she was wounded. But wounds could heal. And sometimes, the strongest steel was forged in fire.

"I'll make a deal with you," he said. "You train under Marco. You follow every order. You don't act without command. If you pass, you come with me to Rome. If not... you stay."

Elena extended her hand. "Deal."

He took it, and for a moment, the touch lingered. Not businesslike. Not innocent.

Something else.

That night, Marco met her in the old ballroom, now transformed into a private training space. The floor had been cleared, mats placed down, weapons locked behind glass.

"You want in?" Marco asked, tossing her a training blade. "Then you earn it."

She caught it, breath shaking.

"Let's begin."

And as Alessandro watched from the shadows once more, a flicker of something crossed his face.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For her.