The air inside the Moretti estate was heavy — a suffocating silence that seemed to cling to every wall. Guards stood like statues at every door, their sharp eyes scanning every movement. Despite the layers of security, the tension still seeped in — cold, relentless, and unforgiving.
Alessia lay motionless on the large bed, her face pale against the crisp white sheets. Dark circles framed her closed eyes, her breathing shallow yet steady. Beside her, Valerio's mother sat quietly, her fingers clutching her daughter's hand as though her grip alone could pull her back from the haze.
"Come back to me, honey…" her voice broke, barely a whisper. Tears slid silently down her face, tracing the grief etched into her features.
The door creaked open, and Valerio stepped inside. His suit jacket hung loose over his shoulders, his tie undone — signs of a man who hadn't rested in days. His gaze softened as he saw his mother, her grief-stricken face staring blankly at Alessia.
"She'll be okay," Valerio said, though his voice lacked conviction.
His mother shook her head. "They said she hasn't stirred since…" She trailed off, her grip tightening on Alessia's fingers. "If she wakes up… if she remembers… what if—"
"She will wake up," Valerio cut in sharply, more to convince himself than anyone else.
His mother's eyes finally met his — red-rimmed and desperate. "And what if she tells us Vesper did this? What if that monster tried to kill her too?"
Valerio's hands clenched into fists. "Then I'll make sure Vesper pays for it," he promised darkly.
Behind him, Dante appeared in the doorway. "Val," his voice was quieter than usual, almost cautious. "You need some air."
"I'm fine," Valerio snapped.
"No, you're not," Dante countered firmly. "You've barely slept, and you're letting this—" He gestured toward Alessia — toward the pain — "eat you alive."
Valerio exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face. "How can I rest when my sister's lying here like this?"
Dante stepped closer, his voice low. "Because she needs you sharp. Losing control won't get you closer to Vesper."
For a moment, Valerio said nothing. His gaze shifted back to Alessia, his hardened exterior cracking just enough to show the turmoil beneath.
He stepped closer to her bedside, kneeling down beside her. His fingers brushed against her cold hand — small and delicate compared to his own. "I swear," he murmured, "whoever did this… they're going to pay. I'll make sure of it."
As he spoke, Alessia's fingers twitched faintly beneath his.
Valerio froze, barely daring to breathe. "Alessia?"
His mother shot upright. "Did she—?"
Alessia's hand stilled, her breathing unchanged.
"It's nothing," Valerio muttered, though his heart pounded painfully in his chest.
But as he stood to leave, he couldn't shake the feeling — that brief flicker of movement — a sign that Alessia was clawing her way back. And when she did, the truth — whatever it was — would come with her.
The storm wasn't over. It was just beginning.
Later in the evening
The warmth of Leona's smile lingered in Valerio's mind long after she left. He tried to push it aside, yet it clung to him stubbornly — like a melody he couldn't forget.
But the night had no time for warmth. Darkness carried its own agenda.
Hours later, across the city's shadowed streets, a different kind of meeting was unfolding.
In a forgotten alleyway near the docks, Marcus Trent stood beneath a flickering streetlamp. His leather jacket hung loosely over his frame, the collar turned up to hide his face. His fingers tapped anxiously against his leg as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
The air was thick with the stench of stale smoke and rotting dumpsters. Rats scurried through the puddles pooling along the pavement.
Tonight's deal wasn't just business — it was survival. Marcus had crossed the wrong people one too many times, and whispers suggested his time was running out.
But he didn't believe in whispers.
"You're late," Marcus growled at the approaching figure — a hooded man who barely met his gaze.
"Relax," the buyer muttered, producing a wad of cash from his pocket. "You've got the stuff?"
Marcus sneered, reaching into his jacket. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get this over with."
"You really should've been more careful."
The voice — cold, sharp, and unmistakably dangerous — came from behind him.
Marcus's blood turned to ice.
Before he could spin around, a blade kissed his throat.
"Don't move," the voice warned.
His fingers twitched toward the blade in his pocket.
"Don't," the voice repeated, firmer this time. "Or I'll make sure your death is slower than you deserve."
"Vesper…" Marcus barely breathed the name.
"Surprised?" he whispered. "You shouldn't be."
In one swift motion, Vesper dragged her knife down his chest, slicing clean through the fabric before shoving the cold steel deep into his heart. Marcus staggered back, gurgling as his legs crumbled beneath him.
Vesper knelt beside his fading body, twisting the blade slightly — just enough to make sure he felt it before the end.
"You shouldn't have sold poison to children," he whispered coldly. "They deserved better."
Pulling his knife free, he wiped the crimson edge clean with a cloth, leaving behind the signature 'V' carved into the handle. He let it rest in the man's chest — his mark, his warning.
Footsteps echoed faintly down the alley, distant yet growing closer. Without hesitation, Vesper melted into the shadows, vanishing like smoke in the wind.
The city would believe Vesper had struck again, another calculated kill in her bloody legacy.
But no one would know the truth — that tonight, Vesper's knife had done more than take a life.
Tonight, it had saved one.
As Vesper emerged from the shadows, the boots barely whispering against the pavement, he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The city stretched before him — cold, restless, and unforgiving.
He glanced down at his gloved hand, faint traces of blood still clinging beneath his fingernails. The weight of his knife rested heavy in his pocket — familiar, comforting, dangerous.
With a quiet smirk, he murmured to himself, "Another midnight, another sinner silenced… Guess the devil's working overtime nowadays."
By morning, the news would scream Marcus Trent's name. His body found cold and lifeless — with the infamous 'V' carved into his heart.
The bar buzzed with low chatter, glasses clinking as music thrummed faintly in the background. Leona moved between tables, her soft smile effortlessly brightening the dimly lit room.
Valerio sat at a corner booth with Dante, a glass of whiskey resting untouched in his hand. The weight of the morning's chaos still clung to him — his sister's fragile condition, the unanswered questions swirling around Vesper, and now… Leona. Her refusal still gnawed at him, but it was her unexpected warmth that lingered most.
"You're quieter than usual," Dante muttered, swirling his drink.
Valerio scoffed faintly. "Just thinking."
"About her?" Dante smirked knowingly, tipping his glass toward Leona.
Valerio's gaze flicked toward her, lingering for a heartbeat too long. "No," he lied. "About Vesper."
As if summoned by the name, the television mounted above the bar flickered to a breaking news segment.
"Breaking news this morning — Marcus Trent, a suspected drug dealer linked to multiple narcotic-related deaths, was found dead in an alleyway near the docks. Sources confirm that the infamous assassin known only as 'Vesper' is believed to be responsible. Authorities discovered Trent's body with a signature knife engraved with the letter 'V' embedded in his chest."
The room seemed to still for a moment. Murmurs rippled through the crowd — some curious, others uneasy.
"Bastard deserved it," someone muttered from the bar.
"Yeah, but Vesper's getting bolder," another added. "First Elias… now this?"
Dante clenched his jaw. "That psychopath's on a spree."
Valerio's fingers tightened around his glass. His mind drifted back to Alessia's battered form in the bed — her unconscious face pale and frail.
"He's not just bold," Valerio muttered darkly. "He's making a damn statement."
Leona approached their table then, carrying a cup of coffee for herself. "More for you two?" she asked sweetly, her voice light like a breeze cutting through the tension.
Valerio's hard stare shifted to her face — soft, warm, innocent. A stark contrast to the cold brutality dominating his thoughts.
He forced a smile. "Yeah… sure."
Leona poured their whiskey, oblivious to the storm raging in Valerio's mind.
Vesper had struck again — and now, more than ever, Valerio swore he'd find him.
No matter what it took.
Leona stood by the bar, her gaze frozen on the television screen. The news anchor's voice carried through the room — "…a knife engraved with the letter 'V' was found embedded in the victim's chest. Authorities believe the infamous assassin, Vesper, is behind the attack…"
Her breath hitched. Vesper… again. The name alone sent a chill down her spine.
How close had he been?
She swallowed hard, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron as she glanced over at Valerio and Dante. The two men sat in their usual corner booth, whiskey glasses half-empty.
Leona mustered her courage and approached them, trying to mask the unease crawling under her skin. "I… uh, shouldn't you two be having coffee instead?" she asked with forced brightness.
Valerio's gaze flicked to her, sharp and cold. "Not in the mood," he muttered before taking another swig.
"But… it's barely morning," Leona pressed, her concern slipping through. "Whiskey this early — what's going on?"
Dante sighed, swirling his drink. "Trust me, sweetheart, you don't wanna know."
Leona's eyes flicked back to the TV, where Marcus Trent's face filled the screen — a criminal, yes, but the idea of Vesper being anywhere close to the city…
"Well…" she trailed off, voice softer. "Just… take care of yourselves."
Valerio's expression faltered for a second, as if caught off guard by her sincerity. He grunted in response, barely acknowledging her as she walked away.
Leona returned to the counter, unable to shake the lingering fear curling in her chest.