"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Alessandro's voice, cold and clipped, cut through the stillness of the hospital corridor like a blade.
Chiara spun around to face him, her eyes blazing. "What the hell am I doing?" Her voice cracked with fury, disbelief etched across her features. "I'm visiting my brother, who's lying in a goddamned hospital bed! That's what I'm doing! Or do you have a problem with that too?"
Alessandro strode toward her, his movements sharp and controlled, as though he were holding himself back by sheer willpower. "I do," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "You snuck out. Do you even realize how reckless that was? Someone could've followed you. Or worse."
Chiara laughed bitterly, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls of the hospital. "Oh, please. Don't act like I'm some helpless little girl. I've been taking care of myself for years. I don't need you—or anyone else—telling me what to do."
He stopped just inches away from her, towering over her. "This isn't about your independence, Chiara. Someone just tried to murder Stefano. You don't get to make unilateral decisions when we don't even know who's targeting us." His voice was steel, his words slicing through her defenses.
The reality of Stefano's attack hung between them like a ghost, but Chiara refused to back down. "You're such a jerk," she muttered, brushing past him and heading for the door.
"I needed to see him. That's all that matters," she said, her voice softening as she glanced back toward Stefano's room.
Alessandro exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not that I expect you to understand emotions," Chiara added coldly, her words striking like a slap as she stepped out into the corridor.
He followed her, his boots echoing against the tiled floor. His frustration was palpable, but before he could say anything more, a voice rang out from behind them.
"Chiara? Is that really you?"
Chiara turned toward the sound, her brow furrowing until recognition lit her features. "Lucia?"
The striking woman approached with an easy confidence, her auburn curls catching the fluorescent light. Her sharp green eyes sparkled as she broke into a grin. "Oh my God, it is you! Look at you! When did you get back?"
Chiara barely had time to respond before Lucia pulled her into a hug, the embrace warm and firm.
"Yesterday," Chiara replied, gesturing toward Stefano's room. Her voice wavered, the weight of everything catching up to her.
Lucia stepped back, her expression softening as she took in Chiara's tired features. "I'm so sorry about Stefano. He's tough, though. He'll pull through."
Alessandro cleared his throat behind them, and Lucia turned her attention to him. Her smile faltered slightly, replaced by a more formal nod. "Alessandro."
"Lucia," Alessandro said curtly, his impatience bleeding into his tone.
Lucia's reputation preceded her. As one of the five Caporegimes of the L'Ordaine Oscuro, she was as dangerous as she was charming. Her family, the Bianchis, were revered for their exceptional business acumen and financial expertise. They had elevated the art of laundering money to an empire, turning illicit funds into legitimate enterprises providing a valuable front for the mafia's illicit activities. She exuded poise, but beneath the surface was a sharp mind that never missed a detail.
Now the Bianchis were headed by Lucia and her twin brother Antonio Bianchi.
Lucia turned her attention back to Chiara, her smile returning. "Well, I just came in to check on the boss. Doctors say he is healing so that's good. I didn't expect to run into you though! How about we grab some lunch and catch up? It's been a while."
Chiara hesitated, glancing at Alessandro.
Lucia waved her hand dismissively. "He can come too, if he's worried about you wandering off again."
Before Chiara could protest, Lucia looped her arm through hers. "Come on. My treat. You look like you could use a good meal."
Alessandro scowled but didn't argue, and Chiara found herself nodding. "All right. Let's go."
Lucia beamed. "Perfect! I'll follow you there."
The three made their way to the parking lot, where Lucia got into her sleek red car, leading the way.
Alessandro drove in silence, his jaw tight as he navigated through the bustling streets. Chiara could feel his irritation but chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the strange sense of comfort Lucia's sudden appearance brought.
As they approached the restaurant, the aroma of rich Italian cuisine greeted them. It was a modest, family-owned trattoria tucked away in a quiet corner of the city—unassuming, safe.
The trattoria was everything Chiara hadn't realized she missed: cozy, unpretentious, and filled with the comforting aroma of fresh basil and slow-cooked tomatoes. Warm light spilled from old-fashioned lamps, casting soft shadows across the checkered tablecloths.
They settled into a booth tucked away in a corner, Alessandro taking the seat with a clear view of the entrance. Chiara slouched into the seat, feeling the tension of the morning begin to uncoil, if only slightly.
"So," Lucia began, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "What have you been up to all these years? Last I heard, you were in Paris?"
Chiara blinked, surprised by the question. "Paris was just a vacation. I work in Manhattan."
"Impressive," Lucia said, her eyebrows lifting. "What were you doing? Art? Design? You always had that creative streak."
Chiara toyed with the edge of her napkin. "Boring IT stuff really. I kept things… low-key."
Lucia tilted her head, studying her. "Low-key? That doesn't sound like the Chiara I remember. You used to dream big—fashion houses, gallery openings."
Chiara's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Dreaming big didn't exactly fit into my life after—" She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table. "Well, after I left."
Lucia's smile softened, and she reached across the table to give Chiara's hand a squeeze. "You don't have to explain. I get it."
The moment was interrupted when the restaurant door burst open with a deafening crash. A group of armed men stormed in, their faces obscured by dark masks, their weapons glinting under the dim lights.
Gasps and screams filled the room as diners scrambled for cover, overturning chairs and spilling drinks in their desperation to escape.
Alessandro moved instantly, his movements swift and practiced. He shoved Chiara against the back of the booth. "Stay low. Don't move," he hissed, his voice sharp and steady.
"Lucia, on me!"
Before Chiara could even process what was happening, Alessandro had drawn his gun, the metal glinting briefly before he raised it with practiced ease. Lucia followed his lead. The attackers spread out, their movements coordinated, their intentions clear. This wasn't a robbery—it was a message.
The first shot rang out, deafening and sharp. Alessandro fired back without hesitation, his aim deadly accurate. One of the assailants dropped, his weapon clattering to the ground. Chaos erupted as more gunfire echoed through the restaurant, shattering windows and overturning tables.
Chiara's heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating in her ears. She clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She couldn't see much from her position, but the sounds—the screams, the gunfire, the shouts—painted a vivid, terrifying picture.
"Alessandro!" she called out, her voice trembling as she lost sight of Alessandro and Lucia. Her mind was racing with the worst-case scenarios.
"It's fine Chiara, just stay there!" Alessandro shouted over the ruckus.
Lucia moved with calculated grace, using overturned tables for cover as she fired at the advancing men. "How could they know about us being here?" she questioned, her voice steady despite the chaos.
"We were being followed," Alessandro growled, ducking behind a pillar as bullets whizzed past.
Chiara's heart pounded as she continued hiding in the booth, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the table. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
But it was.
She had spent her life shielded from the worst of what the mafia had to offer and not even 24 hours after arriving back, she was in the middle of a shootout.
One of the assailants, a tall man with a shotgun, spotted Chiara peeking out from the booth. His eyes narrowed, and he took the aim. Time slowed as Chiara stared down the barrel of the weapon, her breath catching in her throat.
Alessandro saw him at the last moment. "Chiara, down!" he roared.
She ducked just as Alessandro fired, his bullet finding its mark. The man crumpled to the floor, his shotgun discharging harmlessly into the ceiling.
One by one, the attackers fell until the last man standing tried to run. Alessandro's gun didn't waver as he barked a command in clipped Italian, forcing the man to his knees before delivering a swift blow that rendered him unconscious.
Now, amid the shattered glass and the acrid scent of gunpowder, Chiara felt a deeper chill settle into her bones. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as Alessandro stood before her, his eyes scanning the wreckage with the precision of a predator assessing the aftermath of a hunt.
The silence following the chaos was jarring. The faint hum of a broken overhead light and the muffled cries of terrified patrons were the only sounds that remained. Alessandro lowered his weapon, but his posture was still coiled tight, ready for any lingering threat.
Lucia emerged from behind an overturned table, her auburn curls disheveled but her expression resolute. She tucked her weapon into her coat and surveyed the room, her sharp green eyes narrowing as they settled on the unconscious assailant Alessandro had subdued.
"Amateurs," she muttered, brushing glass off her sleeve. "Whoever sent them underestimated us."
Chiara willed her legs to move, to steady beneath her, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins left her shaky and disoriented. Alessandro's hand remained firm on her shoulder, grounding her. She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why? Why go this far? Stefano is already... hurt. What more do they want?"
Alessandro's jaw tightened. "This isn't about Stefano anymore. They're escalating. Targeting you means they're sending a message to the family. This was meant to provoke." He glanced at the fallen men with disgust. "And they were disposable."
Lucia crouched beside the subdued assailant, tilting her head as she examined him. "This one might know something. Looks like a street-level thug, but even pawns can talk if you push the right way." She flashed Alessandro a grim smile. "Want me to take him, or do you?"
"Take him," Alessandro said curtly, pulling out his phone to make a call. "I need to get her home first."
Alessandro placed a hand on Chiara's arm, causing her to jump a little. "Come on. We have to go."
Chiara hesitated, her gaze flickering between Alessandro and the chaos around them. Finally, she nodded, letting him guide her toward the back exit.
As they slipped into the alley, the city's cool night air hit her like a slap, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the restaurant. The sound of sirens faded into the background as Alssandro's car pulled up.
"Are you okay?" Alessandro asked as they climbed into the car, his tone uncharacteristically soft, yet underpinned with tension.
Chiara's hands trembled as she struggled to buckle her seatbelt. Her breath hitched. "No," she admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of the evening's chaos.
Alessandro reached out, his hand steadying hers. "You're safe now," like his words, the warmth of his touch was grounding, even as fury burned behind his eyes.
"I'll find the ones behind this," he continued, his jaw tightening as each word fell like a promise carved in stone. "And trust me, they'll pay for what they've done."
The sheer intensity in his tone made Chiara swallow hard. She had no doubt he meant every word. Whoever had orchestrated this wouldn't escape Alessandro's wrath—and Chiara knew that wrath would be merciless.