The screech of tires outside the estate broke the uneasy silence that had settled after the chaos. Both the Moretti and Russo parents stormed inside, their faces pale with dread.
The sight that greeted them froze their hearts — three lifeless bodies sprawled outside Alessia's room, blood still seeping into the floor. The air smelled metallic, sharp and heavy.
"Alessia!" Mrs. Moretti's voice cracked as she hurried forward, only to be stopped by Dante.
"She's fine," Dante reassured, though his voice still carried the weight of what had just happened. "Leona… she saved her."
It wasn't until they reached Alessia's room that the tension eased. On the bed, Leona lay curled up, her breathing soft and shallow. Valerio sat beside her, his fingers threading gently through her hair, a rare softness shadowing his features. His touch was protective, lingering as if afraid she might break beneath his fingers.
Alessia stood nearby, her gaze flicking between her parents and Leona. "She couldn't handle it…" she began quietly. "After… after everything happened, she panicked. Her breathing got bad, and she just… passed out."
Dante nodded. "She's strong, but… she's never had to deal with this. She couldn't take in what she'd done."
The room stayed quiet for a beat too long. Then Mr. Moretti exhaled slowly, his gaze locked on Leona. "She saved you," he murmured, looking at Alessia. "She saved all of you."
Alessia swallowed hard. "Yeah… she did."
Valerio's hand never left Leona's hair. His touch, steady and constant, was the only thing grounding her in that moment — even as her mind drifted in restless sleep, haunted by what she had been forced to do.
Leona blinked her eyes open, her vision still hazy from exhaustion. The familiar scent of cedar and faint cologne lingered in the air — Valerio's scent. Her gaze shifted across the room, landing on the neatly organized shelves, the sleek black furniture, and the faint glow of a city skyline through the window.
She sat up slowly, her head pounding. Valerio's room… again. A tired groan escaped her lips as she rubbed her face.
"Of course," she muttered under her breath. "Where else would I end up?"
The memories of the day slammed back into her mind — the gunshots, the blood, the way her hands had trembled on the cold metal of the gun. She sucked in a shaky breath and leaned back against the headboard, hugging her knees to her chest.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Valerio appeared, a cup of tea in hand. His expression softened when he saw her awake.
"You're finally up," he said quietly, setting the cup on the nightstand. "How are you feeling?"
Leona gave a dry chuckle. "Like I've been hit by a truck… twice."
Valerio's lips twitched, but the concern in his eyes remained. "You scared everyone."
"I scared myself," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think… I didn't know I could…"
"You did what you had to," Valerio interrupted firmly. "You saved Alessia… you saved yourself."
Leona shook her head. "I still feel like I can't breathe."
"You'll be okay," Valerio said, his voice softer now. "I promise."
For once, Leona didn't argue. She just stared at the cup of tea on the table — warmth she wasn't sure she deserved — and tried to believe him.
The Moretti and Russo families had gathered in the living room, their expressions a mix of gratitude and concern. Alessia sat close to Leona, clutching her hand tightly, as if letting go would mean losing her.
"You saved my life," Alessia said softly. "I… I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't have to," Leona replied, her voice tired but firm. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Valerio's mother stepped forward, her eyes warm yet pleading. "Leona, dear… you're part of this family now. You're safe here."
"I can't stay," Leona said abruptly, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I'm not… I'm not one of you. I don't belong here."
"You're not going anywhere," Alessia cut in, her tone stubborn. "Not until the baby's born. I need you."
"Alessia…" Leona's voice faltered.
"I mean it," Alessia pressed, her grip tightening. "Please. Just stay with me."
Leona swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares — hopeful, yet desperate. Part of her wanted to run, to distance herself from the nightmare of what she had done. But another part… the part that had felt Alessia's trembling hand in hers during the attack… knew she couldn't walk away.
"I'll stay," Leona said quietly. "But only for you."
Alessia's face lit up with relief, and she hugged Leona tightly.
Behind them, Valerio let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Dante shot him a knowing smirk.
"Looks like you're stuck with her," Dante teased under his breath.
"Good," Valerio muttered, his gaze never leaving Leona. "That's exactly where she should be."
Leona's head snapped toward Valerio, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Excuse me?" she blurted.
"I need you in my bed," Valerio stated, his voice firm — too firm, like he'd forced the words out before he could rethink them.
Silence.
The room froze. Dante's eyes went round, and for a second, he looked like he might choke on air. Valerio's mother's teacup clinked loudly against her saucer as her hand trembled, and his father rubbed his temples, muttering something inaudible.
"You… need what?" Leona's voice rose, a mix of shock and disbelief.
"I meant—" Valerio faltered, his face turning crimson as he struggled to backtrack. "I meant that… you need to stay close… for safety."
Dante barked out a laugh, loud and unrestrained. "Sure, sure," he teased, clutching his side. "Safety, huh?"
Valerio shot him a murderous glare, but Dante's grin only widened.
Leona, still processing what she just heard, turned to Valerio's mother. "Please tell your son that I'll be needing a separate room. One that's not his."
Valerio's mother barely stifled a chuckle. "Of course, dear. I'll have one arranged."
"Thank you," Leona said with a sweet smile before glancing back at Valerio. "See? Problem solved."
Valerio muttered something under his breath, his embarrassment still visible.
"Oh, don't worry," Dante whispered as he walked past him. "I'll be sure to tell your men that even you turn red when it comes to her."
Leona crossed her arms, her expression firm. "I'm serious, Valerio. I'm going back to work at the bar."
"You're not," Valerio shot back, his voice cold and unwavering.
"It's my job!" she argued. "I can't just sit around here like some prisoner."
"You're safer here," he insisted, stepping closer.
"I don't care!" Leona snapped. "I'm not some delicate flower you need to lock up. I can take care of myself."
Valerio's jaw clenched. "You mean like how you 'took care' of those men?" His tone was sharp, and regret flashed across his face as soon as he said it.
Leona's face fell, her breath hitching. "That's low," she muttered, voice trembling.
Valerio exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. "Look… I didn't mean that." His voice softened. "But I'm not letting you go back there. Not now."
"You can't stop me," she challenged.
"I can," Valerio said, stepping so close that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "And I will."
Leona's eyes narrowed, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Fine," she said sweetly. "If you won't let me leave, I'll stop wearing decent clothes around here."
Valerio's expression hardened instantly. "Don't." His voice was low, almost a growl.
"Oh?" Leona arched a brow. "What's wrong? Afraid your men might get a little too distracted?"
His jaw tensed, fists clenching at his sides. "I'm serious, Leona."
"So am I," she shot back. "I'm tired of feeling like a prisoner here. Either let me leave, or get used to me walking around in whatever I feel like."
The thought of anyone else seeing her like that — in those shorts, oversized shirts slipping off her shoulder — made Valerio's blood boil.
"You're not doing that," he said through gritted teeth.
"Then let me leave," she challenged.
Valerio let out a bitter chuckle. "You're impossible."
"And you're controlling," she retorted, folding her arms smugly.
Later that evening, despite Valerio's obvious frustration, Leona managed to slip away to the bar for her usual shift. The warm buzz of conversation, clinking glasses, and distant music greeted her as she stepped inside.
She slipped behind the counter, greeting a few familiar faces with her usual bright smile. For a while, it felt normal — the chaos of the Moretti estate, the tension with Valerio, all of it seemed far away.
But what she didn't notice was the figure watching her from the corner of the bar. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable — and fixed solely on her.
The night air was cold, biting through the dark alleys where Vesper moved like a shadow. The city was alive with noise — faint music from distant bars, the hum of passing cars, the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the streets. But here, in the forgotten corners of the city, silence ruled.
Two men stood beneath the flickering streetlamp, their voices low but urgent. Their conversation, thick with tension, barely masked the sound of footsteps approaching — footsteps they never heard.
Vesper emerged from the shadows, swift and calculated. The taller man barely had time to reach for his concealed weapon before a blade sliced across his wrist, sending his gun clattering to the pavement. His strangled cry was cut off by a knife plunging into his chest — straight through his heart.
The second man staggered back, drawing his own weapon with shaking hands. He fired once — a wild, desperate shot that missed by inches — before Vesper's arm snapped forward. The second knife buried itself in his throat. He crumpled instantly, blood pooling beneath him as he gurgled his last breath.
Both men lay motionless, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. Vesper knelt beside them, wiping the crimson-stained blades clean with a black cloth. He reached into his coat pocket, fingers curling around a thick envelope — payment, double the usual amount. The weight of the cash felt heavy in his hand, but no more than the weight of the blood now staining his gloves.
Without a word, Vesper tucked the envelope away and stood. His gaze lingered briefly on the two bodies — cold, lifeless reminders of the brutal world he thrived in. Then, like smoke, he vanished back into the shadows, leaving behind nothing but the blood-soaked pavement and those signature knives — sharp, gleaming, and unmistakably marked with the letter 'V.'