Rome — Underground Training Room, Villa DeLuca
"Ariella..." he whispered. "What have you done?"
Matteo's fists crashed into the punching bag again. And again. His knuckles were raw, skin peeled back, but he didn't stop. Every punch was a plea. A punishment. As if pain could scrub away the guilt clawing at the walls of his mind.
Overhead, Verdi's classical score spilled from the ceiling speakers — soft, refined, almost holy.
Ironic.
Because inside him, the only symphony was rage.
And regret.
He finally stopped. Breathing hard. Shoulders heaving.
The sweat that rolled down his skin wasn't from exertion.
It was from doubt.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
The steel door creaked open without a knock.
"Luca found something," Giovanni said calmly as he entered — always composed, always watching. "Kael's car is heading north. Possibly Siena."
Matteo didn't turn.
His eyes were rimmed red. His breathing uneven.
"How many men?"
"Two vehicles," Giovanni replied. "New orders: don't touch Ariella. Only Kael."
Matteo's grip tightened around the hand wraps.
"It's my fault," he muttered. "I let her believe the world outside was safe. I thought… she'd never leave us."
Giovanni remained still.
He understood.
Matteo wasn't just furious at Kael.
He was bleeding from within.
"Can I handle him?" Matteo asked, voice too calm to be harmless.
Giovanni hesitated. "Salvatore wants to deal with him personally."
Matteo gave a short, bitter laugh. "He wants to erase the past. But me? I need to know why he's back… and why he chose her."
Autostrada A1, Near Chiusi — 3:47 A.M.
Kael eased off the accelerator.
The highway ahead was veiled in mist, a dreamlike curtain cutting them off from the world behind. Dim streetlights flickered, painting ghostly shadows on the wet asphalt.
Rome had vanished behind them — fading like a memory you force yourself to forget.
Ahead, there was only silence.
And uncertainty.
Ariella was curled in the passenger seat, head against the window, hair cascading over her shoulder. From the outside, she looked serene.
But Kael knew better.
Her dreams were laced with shards.
She didn't sleep — she braced.
He looked at her.
Too long.
Just last night, she was standing under golden chandeliers in a dress made to impress. Now, she was running. With him. Carrying secrets strong enough to burn kingdoms — and unknowingly carrying his heart closer to a cliff he had avoided all his life.
He reached into the dash for the burner phone.
The screen lit up.
One message.
"Matteo personally involved. You have 24 hours max."
Kael's jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the steering wheel until his knuckles went bone white.
"Too soon…" he whispered. "He's not supposed to be in this yet."
Matteo.
The last man he wanted to face.
Not out of fear.
But because memories hurt more than bullets.
And if Matteo was moving… this wasn't an escape anymore.
It was war.
He glanced at Ariella again.
Time was slipping through their fingers.
If they didn't act before the clock ran out — they wouldn't just lose the truth.
They'd lose their lives.
In the mafia world, time isn't gold.
It's a bullet.
With your name etched on the casing.
Rome — Salvatore's Office, 4:10 A.M.
Thunder rolled over the Roman skyline like a war drum.
The rain hadn't come yet, but inside the glass-walled office, a storm was already brewing — one made of blood, power, and betrayal.
"She's your daughter too," Matteo said, low but unwavering. "You don't get to make this decision alone."
Salvatore didn't move.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city fade beneath the shroud of fog. A cigarette burned between his fingers, untouched.
"Kael isn't just a threat," he said. "He's not a boy you can scare with a gun."
Matteo stepped forward, boots thudding on wood.
"He's not a boy anymore. And Ariella — she's not a girl you can lock in a tower. She left with him. On purpose."
Salvatore turned.
His face was lined. Weathered.
But his eyes — they blazed like coals that refused to die.
"Kael must disappear. Before he unearths what we buried fifteen years ago. Before he drags our family back into the grave we dug with our own hands."
Matteo approached, face-to-face now.
"And if Ariella doesn't return?"
Silence.
Then — a cigarette crushed beneath a polished shoe. A drawer yanked open.
Salvatore pulled out a Beretta 92FS. Sleek. Loaded. Cold.
He placed it on the desk with purpose.
"She will return."
"And if she refuses?" Matteo's voice rose, sharp and dangerous.
Bang.
The grip of the pistol slammed into marble.
"She's my daughter! She's a DeLuca!"
Matteo didn't flinch.
"If you touch her… I'll pull the trigger myself."
Seconds passed. Quiet but violent.
Their eyes clashed like blades.
KRIIING!
The door burst open. A guard stumbled in, sweating.
"Sir! CCTV flagged a black Maserati headed to Siena. Facial match confirmed. It's Kael Morreti."
Salvatore snapped his fingers. "Activate Alpha Tracker."
"But sir—"
"I said now."
The guard rushed out.
Salvatore exhaled, slow and seething.
"Ariella made a choice. But she forgot… her blood still belongs to me."
Matteo stood straight.
"And I'll make sure she's free of your legacy."
He turned. The doors slid open.
And he stepped into the breaking dawn — carrying a promise sharper than a bullet:
If Kael and Ariella wanted to survive…
He'd have to reach them first.
Siena — Road to the Safehouse, 5:00 A.M.
The sky had begun its shift — from night's darkness to steel blue, laced with slivers of morning gold.
The fog lifted, revealing olive groves in slumber and the winding path leading into the heart of Tuscany.
Kael's Maserati whispered across the road, its engine in sync with the beat of his pulse.
Both steady.
But on edge.
"We're close," he said, his voice level, not calm — just controlled.
Ariella turned toward him. The sunrise kissed her face, casting light on the faint bruise beneath her eye — the shadow of last night's fight.
"If they catch us… will you kill them?" she asked, barely audible.
Kael didn't answer immediately.
The question sat between them.
Heavy.
Then —
"I'll protect you. That's what matters now."
Ariella lowered her eyes. Her fingers clutched the hem of his jacket in her lap.
The morning wind slipped through a cracked window, bringing the scent of earth and forgotten dreams.
Her chest tightened.
What she felt wasn't fear anymore.
It was something far more dangerous.
Trust.
"I don't know who you really are, Kael," she whispered. "But I think I'm starting to believe in you."
Kael glanced at her.
"Don't trust too easily, Ariella. Not even me."
"Why?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Not kind. Not cruel.
Just real.
"Because trust… always costs you something."
She didn't reply.
But the way her hands steadied.
The way she took a slow breath.
Said she wasn't running anymore.
And that was braver than any bullet waiting at the end of the road.
Rome — Hidden CCTV Room, Villa DeLuca, 5:15 A.M.
"Zoom in," Matteo ordered, eyes locked on the screen.
The operator complied.
Kael Morreti's face filled the monitor — sharp, undeniable.
The glow from the screen stretched Matteo's shadow across the wall — long, quiet, and unforgiving.
"He's changed," someone muttered behind him.
Matteo said nothing.
His left hand curled behind his back.
His right squeezed his watch strap — grounding himself.
"Should we dispatch a team to Siena, Signore?" the operator asked carefully.
Silence.
Then — a smile.
Cold. Sharp. Calculated.
"No," Matteo said softly. "I'll bring my sister home myself."
The air turned still.
Even the screens seemed to hold their breath.
Matteo turned and walked out.
No theatrics. No sound.
Just resolve.
Behind him, Kael's face remained frozen on the screen.
A ghost from the past.
Now walking hand in hand with his sister.
And Matteo knew one thing for certain —
The past wasn't dead.
It was on its way back.
With fire.
.