Giovanni
GIOVANNI
T he initiates exchange nervous glances when we pull up, clearly trying to size each other up. Chiara is off to the side, without her high heels, and she’s on edge. Good. She should be.
Connor walks towards them, a paintball gun slung casually over his shoulder.
“Here’s the deal. We’re huntin’ you,” he says, his voice taking on that playful, twisted edge that tells me he’s already enjoying this more than he should. “You’ve got two hours to find your shit in the forest. We’ve hidden somethin’ important to each of you—something you’ll need to find if you want to finish Legacy Week.”
I step up next to Connor, adjusting the holster strapped across my chest. The weight of it feels good, familiar. But the paintball guns aren’t just for show. It’s psychological warfare. Break them down with a few good shots, see how they crack under pressure. If they’re smart, they’ll make it out. If not? Well, that’s on them.
I look out over the initiates, my eyes locking onto them one by one, watching as their fear starts to settle in. This isn’t some simple game. It’s a test, a brutal one. We’re here to see who can keep their head while being hunted, who can stay calm when everything around them is falling apart.
“We’re giving you a ten-minute head start,” I say, my voice cold, hard. “After that, we’re coming for you. If we catch you before you find what we took, you’re out. Simple as that.”
A few of the initiates’ faces pale, and I catch the faintest flicker of fear in their eyes. Good.
Mihai’s standing to my right, loading his paintball gun like he’s bored out of his fucking mind. “Remember,” he drawls, barely looking up, “you’ve got two hours. Stay ahead of us, keep your heads down, and maybe you won’t get hit.”
He says it like it’s not a big deal, but we all know Mihai’s a crack shot. If he’s aiming at you, you’re as good as fucked.
There’s a long pause, the initiates shifting nervously under the weight of our stares. I can see them trying to steel themselves, but the tension in the air is thick, almost suffocating. They know what’s at stake.
“Go,” Connor says suddenly, his voice cold.
For a moment, nobody moves. Then, as if they’ve all been given permission to breathe again, the initiates take off running, scattering into the dark forest like they’ve got a pack of wolves on their heels. Which, to be fair, they fucking do.
I watch them disappear into the treeline, my fingers flexing on the grip of my paintball gun. There’s a thrill that comes with this—the hunt, the chase. It’s primal, and every part of me is ready for it.
I glance at Nikolai. He gives me a small nod, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. This is when we separate the weak from the strong.
“They’re gonna break,” I mutter.
Nikolai smirks. “They always do.”
“You ready to make these fuckers sweat?” I ask, glancing over at Mihai .
He shrugs, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. “I’ve been ready since this morning.”
We wait in silence, the seconds ticking by as the forest swallows the initiates whole. Then, when the ten minutes are up, Connor raises his paintball gun and fires a single shot into the air. The sound echoes through the trees, sharp and final.
“Alright, boys,” Connor says, his grin wide and dangerous. “Let’s go huntin’.”
We move as a unit, slipping into the forest like shadows. The thrill of the hunt pulses through me, my blood singing with the anticipation of the chase. The forest is dense, but I know every inch of it. I’ve hunted here more times than I can count.
The first initiate I spot is crouched behind a fallen log, his breathing fast and panicked. Rookie mistake—he’s not hidden well enough, and he’s making too much noise. I raise my paintball gun, take aim, and fire. The shot hits him square in the back, and he lets out a yelp before scrambling to his feet.
“Too slow, Morrone,” I call out, watching as he stumbles through the trees, his chance of winning already gone.
I hear a shout from somewhere deeper in the forest, followed by the unmistakable sound of another paintball shot. Mihai’s found one of them, and by the sound of it, they’re not going down quietly.
I push forward, moving silently through the underbrush. Every crack of a branch, every rustle of leaves—it all tells me where they are. They think they’re being careful, but in reality, they’re giving themselves away with every step.
I catch another one, hiding up in a tree like a fucking squirrel. He doesn’t even see me coming before I nail him with a shot to the shoulder. He yelps, nearly losing his grip on the branch, but I’m already gone, moving on to the next.
“Get the fuck back to the SUVs, Griffin,” I say before setting off again.
This isn’t about winning for us, it’s about breaking them. Making sure they understand that in our world, there’s no room for weakness. You either rise to the occasion or get crushed under the weight of it.
As I move deeper into the forest, I catch a glimpse of something in the distance—movement. I slip between the trees, closing the distance, and when I get close enough, I see her.
Chiara is crouched low, her eyes darting around wildly. She’s scared, I can tell, but she’s also smart. She’s staying quiet, moving slowly, trying to keep out of sight.
I smirk. Not bad. But not good enough.
I raise my gun, take aim, and just as I’m about to pull the trigger, something slams into me from the side, knocking me off balance. I hit the ground hard; the air knocked out of my lungs.
“Fuck!” I growl, rolling over and scrambling to my feet. But when I look up, there’s no one there. Whoever hit me is already gone, disappearing into the darkness.
I grit my teeth, my pulse pounding in my ears. This hunt just got interesting.
I push forward again, my focus sharp. They think they can win this, think they can outsmart us. But they don’t know what we’re capable of. I catch a glimpse of movement ahead, and this time, I’m ready.
I raise my gun, aim, and fire.
The paintball hits its target square in the back, splattering bright red across the figure’s jacket. The initiate stumbles forward, a curse flying from their lips before they hit the ground with a thud. I keep moving, not bothering to stop.
“Out,” I mutter under my breath, leaving them behind as I press deeper into the trees.
But my mind isn’t on that victory. It’s on Chiara.
I’d spotted her just moments ago, crouched low like she thought she could hide from me. She’s smart—smarter than most of these fuckers—but she doesn’t know who she’s up against. I’ve been watching her, learning how she moves. The little tricks she thinks will keep her safe in this forest won’t work. Not on me.
I weave through the trees, the sound of my boots crunching on the underbrush filling the air. The night feels alive, pulsing with tension. Every second feels like a countdown. Every step, a step closer to her. I catch a flicker of movement ahead and drop low, slipping behind a bush as I aim my gun, my eyes scanning the area.
She’s right there.
I raise my gun again, and this time, I’m not missing.
I pull the trigger, but just as the shot rings out, Chiara drops down, rolling behind a fallen tree. The paintball slams into the bark, missing her by inches.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, a grudging smile tugging at my lips.
She bolts, but I’m on her in seconds, vaulting over the tree, my gun ready. She scrambles to her feet, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Caught you, Kitten,” I say, my voice low and teasing.
She straightens up, her chin tilting up defiantly. “You haven’t won yet!”
I chuckle, the paintball gun still aimed at her. “Oh, I think I have.”
She narrows her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You really think you’re that good?”
I grin, cocking my head to the side. “Kitten, I know I am.”
For a moment, we just stand there, locked in a silent standoff. I know I should shoot, but I’m enjoying this way too much.
Chiara’s eyes flicker down to my gun, then back to me. She knows she’s cornered. There’s nowhere for her to go.
And then, without warning, she bolts again.
I react instantly, my body moving on pure instinct. I fire off a shot, but she’s fast—faster than I expected. The paintball whizzes past her as she ducks and weaves through the trees. I grit my teeth, stepping forward cautiously, my paintball gun raised, ready to fire at the first sign of her.
She can’t have gotten far.
And then, I hear it. The faintest sound—a twig snapping to my left. I swing around, gun aimed, and catch a glimpse of her dark hair peeking out from behind a tree trunk.
Gotcha.
I fire off two quick shots, the paintballs slamming into the bark where her head was just a second ago. She’s already gone, darting further into the forest, disappearing into the shadows once again.
She’s leading me on a wild chase, and as much as it pisses me off, I can’t help but admire her for it. She’s not giving up. She’s fighting, and I can’t lie—it’s making this hunt more fun than I anticipated.
I crash through the underbrush, my eyes locked on her as she darts between the trees, her movements quick but frantic. She’s running out of steam. I can see it in the way her steps are faltering, the way her shoulders are hunched in exhaustion.
She’s slowing down.
This is my chance.
I push forward, gaining ground with every step, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m close—so close I can practically taste the victory. Then, just as I’m about to close the distance between us, she does something unexpected.
She stops.
I skid to a halt, confused for a moment as I watch her standing still, her back to me; that sexy as fuck tattoo on full display. Her chest is heaving with labored breaths, her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath .
“What are you doing, Micetta ?” I call out, my voice low and mocking. “Giving up already?”
She doesn’t answer.
I raise my gun, taking aim, ready to put an end to this. But something makes me hesitate. Something in the way she’s standing, in the way she’s not even trying to run anymore.
“Chiara?” I ask, my voice softer now, more cautious.
She straightens up slowly, turning around to face me. Her green eyes are bright, defiant, but there’s something else there too—something I can’t quite place.
“You think you’ve won, ?” she asks, her voice steady despite the exhaustion.
I narrow my eyes, keeping my gun trained on her. “I know I have.”
She smirks, and for the first time tonight, I see something in her that makes me pause. Confidence. Control. Like she knows something I don’t.
And then she lifts her hand and I see the locket.
Her item. The one she’s been hunting for all night.
She found it.
“I win,” she says, her smirk widening as she holds it up, taunting me with it.
I stare at her for a long moment, my grip on the paintball gun tightening. I should be pissed; I should be furious that she’s outplayed me, that she’s won.
But all I can do is grin.