Gunmetal skies stretched over the villa by morning, casting the estate in a strange, bruised light. Rain hadn’t come yet—but something was building. A storm. You could feel it in the air.

Emilia woke alone.

The sheets beside her were cold, unslept in. Alessandro hadn’t returned.

She rose, slipped into a silk robe, and padded to the window. Black SUVs were parked near the back gates. Not staff. Not security.

Strangers.

And she hated not knowing why.

Downstairs, Alessandro’s voice was low and sharp, clipped with something colder than anger. Emilia followed it to the library.

Three men stood with him—suits, yes, but wrong somehow. Their clothes fit too perfectly. Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

One of them—gray hair, sharp features, an air of Vatican-born cruelty—noticed her first.

“So this is the fiancée,” he said. “The girl causing all the noise.”

Alessandro stepped in front of her, protective. “She’s not part of this.”

“Everything is part of this now,” the man said. “Even your lies.”

Emilia didn’t blink. “I prefer strategic illusions.”

That earned a chuckle. Just one. But it was enough to tell her she’d been noticed—and not necessarily in a good way.

The man turned back to Alessandro. “You know what we’re here for.”

“And you know my answer,” Alessandro said, his voice like steel drawn slow from a sheath.

The tension was suffocating.

No one moved.

Then, without warning, the man placed a hand on Emilia’s cheek.

Gentle.

Too gentle.

“Pretty things make poor shields, Alessandro.”

Emilia froze.

So did Alessandro—just for a moment. Then he moved.

Fast.

The man’s hand was off her face in an instant, wrenched behind his back, his body slammed into the bookshelf.

Alessandro’s voice was low. Deadly.

“She’s mine.”

The other men reached for their coats, but Alessandro’s guards were already there—silent, waiting, armed.

It was a message.

A line drawn.

The men left. No apologies. No smiles.

Just silence.

Later, Emilia found Alessandro in the weapons room—loading a pistol, jaw clenched tight.

“You’re reckless,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “I warned you.”

“You told me I’d be safe.”

“No,” he said, locking eyes with her now. “I told you I’d protect you. That’s not the same thing.”

Her heart thudded in her chest.

He stepped closer, gun forgotten.

“They’ll test you,” he murmured. “They’ll try to use you. Hurt you.”

“And what happens when they succeed?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He smiled, but it wasn’t kind.

“Then I burn the world down.”