Rome — Via degli Orti d'Alibert, Trastevere
The alley was narrow and worn, paved with centuries of forgotten footsteps and soaked in the orange hush of antique streetlamps. Rome felt distant here — as if they'd crossed into a world built of silence and old secrets.
Kael's black Maserati Quattroporte pulled into the shadows like a ghost slipping through velvet curtains. The engine purred low, almost inaudible, and the fake license plate glinted under the fading lights. Every inch of the car — from its tinted windows to its matte finish — was designed to disappear. Just like its driver.
Ariella sat beside him, her chest still rising and falling too fast. Her hand clutched the small black purse on her lap — no longer an accessory, but a vault. Inside, the papers Kael had handed her still burned against her thoughts: her father's betrayal, the secret deals, the truth she was never meant to know.
"Is this place safe?" Her voice was small, stripped of its usual poise.
Kael nodded once. "For tonight."
He parked beside a crumbling apartment complex, its façade wrapped in creeping vines and neglect. The kind of place a DeLuca heiress would never step foot in — and precisely why he brought her here.
Kael stepped out first, scanning the alley. A moment later, he opened her door.
"Come. Keep your head down."
Inside, they moved through a narrow side entrance. The wooden stairs groaned under their weight as they climbed. Ariella followed closely behind him, fingers brushing the back of his jacket — not from fear, but instinct. He didn't pull away.
Third floor. Unit 3B.
The key screeched in protest as Kael turned it. The door opened to a small apartment lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. Dust hung in the air like quiet judgment. Old books filled the shelves, the couch was worn, and a faint trace of tobacco clung to the walls. It wasn't a home. It was a hideout.
Ariella hesitated at the threshold. "This… this is yours?"
Kael locked the door behind them. "No. It's where I disappear."
He checked the window. Drew the curtain halfway. A pistol sat at the edge of a wooden table — a reminder, not a threat.
Ariella sat slowly on the couch. Her clutch still pressed tight to her chest, as if the truth could be kept at bay by proximity.
"I can't believe I did it," she murmured. "I ran. I left everything."
Kael said nothing at first. He stood by the window, his reflection blurred in the glass. There was something different about him in the quiet. Softer, maybe. Or just more real.
"Who are you, Kael?" she asked again. "Really."
He turned. The edges of his jaw cast long shadows under the warm light. "Someone who gave his loyalty to the wrong people. And paid for it in blood."
Her eyes dropped. "Just like me."
Kael stepped forward, placing the gun gently on the table.
"I used to think you were just another spoiled heiress," he said. "Pretty. Untouchable. Living in a world that people like me only get close to when we're paid to bleed for it. But tonight…" His gaze lingered. "You didn't freeze. You didn't beg. You asked to know more. That takes more courage than most men I've seen with guns in their hands."
Ariella let out a breath that was part laugh, part surrender. "You think I'm brave? I feel like I'm shattering."
"That's how freedom begins."
The moment held.
Then — her clutch vibrated.
Ariella looked down. Her phone lit up.
No caller ID.
Kael's voice cut in sharp. "Don't answer."
She hesitated.
The call ended. Then — a message.
You're twelve hours late. We're already watching.
Her hands trembled.
"They know?" she whispered.
"They suspect. That's enough," Kael replied grimly. He crossed to a cabinet, pulled out a folded map of Rome, and laid it across the table. Several red circles marked routes, exits, safe zones. Each one had a name in faded ink. Some were crossed out.
"We leave now. This place is burned."
"Go where?" she asked, standing slowly.
Kael's eyes met hers. For the first time that night, his face softened.
"To a place without DeLuca. Without Morreti. Just you… and truth."
Ariella blinked. "If I follow you… there's no going back."
"There's nothing left to go back to," he said simply.
She didn't speak. Just nodded — once.
Kael grabbed a worn duffel from under the couch and slung it over his shoulder. As he passed her, their hands brushed. This time, she didn't flinch.
They stepped into the cold Roman night once more. The shadows embraced them like old friends.
Across the street, in a derelict building half-swallowed by ivy, a lens moved.
Click.
Zoom. Focus.
One photo.
Then silence.
And somewhere, in a room not far from the Vatican walls, a voice whispered through a comms link:"They've moved. Orders?"
Another pause.Then —"Let him lead us to the files. Do not engage… yet."
To be continued…