Chapter One #2
"Dio mio," Matteo wheezed, lowering his hands and wiping the sweat from his brow.
He looked at her with a mixture of deep, unadulterated respect and lingering suspicion.
"I have trained fighting men my entire life, Ari.
You did not learn that kind of footwork in a local gym.
Whoever taught you how to fight... they taught you how to kill. "
Arielle simply unspooled the tape from her knuckles, her chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled rhythm. Her face remained an unreadable, serene mask.
"I had very protective older brothers, Matteo," she murmured quietly, turning to walk back toward the locker room. "Have a good evening. I will see you tomorrow."
She left the dojo, stepping back into the quiet, invisible peace of her coastal life, blissfully unaware that miles away, the universe was preparing to violently intersect her isolated world with another dynasty of kings.
***
Miles to the south, the sprawling, sun-drenched Falco estate perched high on the cliffs of Naples was anything but quiet.
The Mediterranean wind swept across the expansive limestone terraces, carrying the sharp scent of the sea, blooming lemon groves, and the fragrant aroma of roasting garlic and tomatoes from the industrial kitchens inside.
The compound was a fortress of unimaginable, generational wealth, guarded by men in tailored suits, but inside the grand parlor, the atmosphere was dominated by the boisterous, chaotic warmth of family.
Valentina Falco, the sharp-eyed, aristocratic grandmother of the Falco brothers, sat in a high-backed velvet armchair. She was wrapped in a delicate cashmere shawl, her silver-handled cane resting against her knee, looking unusually pale and slightly out of sorts.
"I am perfectly fine, Salvatore," Valentina snapped, though her voice lacked its usual biting edge, betraying her fatigue. "Stop hovering over me like a vulture waiting for a carcass. I simply need a moment of peace."
Salvatore Falco, the booming, formidable patriarch of the family, stood nearby with his hands planted firmly on his hips, ignoring her completely. "You are not fine, Mama. You did not even touch your espresso this morning. You look tired, and you are far too pale for a woman living in Naples."
Ana Falco, his wife, bustled into the parlor carrying a silver tray with a pot of fresh mint tea and porcelain cups. "Salvatore is right, Valentina. The humidity in the city has been absolutely stifling lately. It is draining your energy. Drink this, it will settle your stomach."
The oak doors of the parlor clicked open.
Enzo Falco strolled into the room, moving with a fluid, arrogant grace.
He had made a miraculous, full recovery from the catastrophic shotgun blast to his chest that had nearly ended his life months prior, and the youngest brother was back to his usual, deeply dramatic self.
Enzo plucked a green apple from a crystal bowl on the side table, taking a loud, crisp bite as he leaned his shoulder against the marble archway.
"If Nonna is tired, it is because she is exhausted by the nauseating amount of romance currently polluting this estate," Enzo declared loudly, making sure his voice carried into the adjoining corridor.
"It is enough to make anyone lose their appetite.
I can barely walk down a hallway without tripping over a profound display of devotion. "
Right on cue, Lorenzo Falco, the Don of the syndicate, walked into the room.
His arm was wrapped securely, possessively around the waist of his wife, Roselia.
The fierce, brilliant assassin had long ago shattered the Don's blindness, and their marriage was an unapologetic display of unyielding devotion.
Behind them walked Marco Falco, his hand laced tightly through the fingers of his pale-haired, sea-green-eyed Bratva wife, Raisa. The newly minted couple had recently returned from a brutal stint in Russia, and Marco was looking at her with a raw, desperate reverence that bordered on worship.
Enzo looked at his two older brothers, rolling his eyes so hard it looked physically painful.
"Look at you both," Enzo groaned, pointing the half-eaten apple at Lorenzo and Marco in disgust. "You guys are whipped.
It is an embarrassment to the bloodline.
Can you at least walk into the next room without holding their hands, or do you also need to take permission from your wives just to breathe the air? "
Lorenzo didn't even flinch. He calmly led Roselia to a velvet settee, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before looking at his youngest brother with an amused smirk.
"I am perfectly content with my reality, Enzo.
You are simply bitter because you are standing alone in the archway, complaining to a bowl of fruit. "
"I am sickened," Enzo corrected, placing a hand over his heart in mock agony.
"Oh gosh, it's so sickening. I know exactly what I am going to do.
The next time I am here, I am going to take videos.
I am going to record you both, post them to the encrypted servers, and show everybody in the European underworld how the great, Lorenzo and Marco Falco have started behaving like lobotomized lapdogs. "
A low, vibrating grumble echoed from the floorboards. Bruno, the charcoal-colored Cane Corso, padded into the room and immediately sat his hundred-and-fifty-pound frame squarely on Roselia's boots, looking up at Enzo as if daring the youngest brother to step closer.
Roselia let out a rich, throaty laugh, leaning down to scratch the beast behind his cropped ears. She exchanged a brilliant, wicked look with Raisa across the room.