Adriana

I woke to the weight of exhaustion crushing me. My cheek stuck to the hospital sheets, my arm draped across Matteo’s chest like I could keep him from slipping away if I just held on tight enough. The steady beep of the monitor was the only thing anchoring me.

“Signorina…”

The voice pulled me from the fog. I blinked hard, lifting my head, and saw the doctor standing at the edge of the bed. His face was tired, his mask was tugged down to his neck.

“You should rest in a proper room,” he said gently, but when my eyes darted back to Matteo, his expression shifted. “There has been some progress.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “Progress?”

He nodded, glancing at the monitors. “His body is responding better than we expected. The bleeding has slowed. His pulse is stronger than last night. He is still critical, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He is fighting.”

I sat up straighter, gripping Matteo’s hand in both of mine. His skin was warmer than before, faint color brushing his cheeks beneath the bruises.

My tears came fast, blurring everything, but this time they weren’t just grief—they were relief.

“Grazie, Dio…” I whispered.

The doctor gave a small nod, then lowered his voice. “He isn’t out of danger. The next few days will decide everything. But if he continues like this…” He let the thought trail off, but I clung to it.

When he left, the room fell quiet again, just the rhythmic hum of machines. I leaned down, pressing my forehead to Matteo’s hand, letting the tears fall freely.

“You hear that?” I whispered, my lips brushing his knuckles. “You’re fighting. That’s you. My Matteo.”

“I’ll give you everything,” I whispered, my lips brushing his collarbone. “A son, a daughter, the whole world. Just wake up. Please.”

His body didn’t move. Only the machines answered me.

My phone buzzed against the nightstand, its vibration loud in the quiet hum of Matteo’s machines. My head jerked up from his arm, the imprint of his bandages still pressed into my cheek. I blinked, throat raw, and reached for it with a trembling hand.

“Adriana,” Marco’s voice was clipped, urgent. “We’re outside. Come down.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I turned my head, staring at Matteo’s pale face, the tubes snaking from his skin like cruel leashes. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, not his own strength. My heart tore in two.

“I’ll be back,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his hand, tasting the faint sting of antiseptic. “I swear it.”

I grabbed my jacket, my heels clicking against the tile as I left the room. Nurses gave me careful glances as I passed, but no one stopped me. They all knew the woman who never left his side.

The cold morning slapped me awake as the hospital doors slid open. A black sleek jeep idled at the curb, its headlights carving pale lines through the dark. The back door opened before I even reached it.

Marco leaned out. “Come on, Adriana, get in.”

I slid inside, the leather cold against my thighs. Lorenzo sat across from me, broad shoulders filling the other seat, his jaw tight as stone. Marco climbed back in after me, shutting the door with a heavy thud that seemed to cut me off from the hospital, from Matteo, from the fragile thread I’d been clinging to.

The engine growled as Marco pulled into the street. For a few moments, no one spoke. The silence was heavier than the night air, heavier than the weight in my chest.

Then Lorenzo broke it. “We can’t wait anymore. Riccardo sent men into Matteo’s race. That was his declaration. That’s war.” His voice was sharp, hot.

Marco’s hands tightened on the wheel. “And if we hit now? With Matteo unconscious, half the city whispering he’s already dead? That’s suicide. Riccardo would tear us apart before Matteo even opens his eyes.”

“So we let him walk free?” Lorenzo shot back. “Let him build, spread, poison everything Matteo created?”

Their words sliced back and forth, steel on steel. I sat between them, every nerve in my body trembling, but not from fear. From something sharper, something that had been buried under love and distraction but was clawing its way back to the surface.

“Stop.” My voice cracked through their argument. They both turned to me, surprised.

“Adriana—” Lorenzo started.

“No.” My chest heaved, but I held their eyes. “You’re both right, but you’re both wrong. Matteo lying in that hospital bed doesn’t mean I can’t act. I wanted this long before him.”

Marco frowned. “Wanted what?”

“To take Riccardo down,” I said, the words ripping out of me before I could swallow them back. “Not just for Matteo. For what Riccardo’s empire really is.

The trafficking. The girls. The foundations and charities that are just fronts for selling women. I wanted to be inside it, to expose it, to burn it to the ground. I was going to. But then Matteo happened. And I… I got distracted.” My voice faltered. “But not anymore.”

The jeep went silent, the city lights sliding over our faces like ghosts.

“You can’t be serious,” Lorenzo muttered.

“But I am serious,” I said. My hands balled into fists on my lap. “He won’t see me as a threat. To him, I’ll just be another girl, another pretty thing playing at power. That’s how I get close. That’s how I listen. That’s how I find the cracks.”

Marco’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking toward me in the rearview. “You’re talking about being a spy.”

“I’m talking about being useful,” I shot back. “About being the one who can slip in where you can’t.

He’ll underestimate me. He’ll trust me. And while he does, I’ll be feeding everything back to you. Routes. men. money. His weak spots. You’ll know it all.”

Lorenzo leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You know what happens to spies in Riccardo’s world? To women he finds in his circle who aren’t who they seem?” His voice dropped, cold as the grave. “They don’t walk out.”

I met his stare. My voice shook, but I forced it steady. “Then I’ll be smarter. Careful. Invisible. You wanted war. I’ll give you the only kind we can win.”

Marco exhaled through his nose, his knuckles pale against the wheel. “You’d go to him willingly as bait?”

“As a weapon,” I whispered. “If Matteo can’t fight Riccardo right now, then I will.”

The jeep fell silent again, but this time it wasn’t disbelief that hung in the air. It was the weight of a plan none of us could take back.

“We can’t make this call while Matteo’s still flat-lined,” Lorenzo snapped, cutting across the car. His voice was low and hard. “You don’t decide to walk into Riccardo’s world while the head of the family is stripped on machines. That’s not brave. It's stupid. If anything happens to you…”

My mouth went dry. Shame and anger collided in my chest.“If I wait for a man to wake up so you boys can sign off, nothing will get done. Riccardo moves while we argue.”

Marco kept his hands steady on the wheel, watching the road. “She’s right about one thing—doing nothing is a choice. But she’s inexperienced. This isn’t a movie. You don’t just stroll into trafficking rings and walk out.”

“I’m not talking revenge,” I said. “I planned this before Matteo.

Lorenzo barked a laugh that had no humour. “You’d be bait.”

“A weapon,” I corrected. “He underestimates women like me. He thinks we’re distractions. I’ll be careful. I’ll listen. I’ll find names, routes, safe houses. You move when I hand it to you.”

Marco watched me in the rearview for a long moment. Then he exhaled and set terms. “You don’t go in untrained. Six a.m. tomorrow, gun training. Close quarters. You learn to shoot, to move, to vanish.

Relief and fear tangled in my gut. “I’ll do it,” I said.

“Good,” Marco said flatly. “We’ll keep you in sight. Madonna is in Riccardo’s ring too; she’d be helpful and keep you safe”

Lorenzo nodded once, curt. “Six a.m. sharp. Don’t be late. And Adriana…” He looked at me properly then, not like some woman puppeted by grief but like someone who could be broken or sharpened. “Be careful. This is not just a mission. It’s a life now.”

When the jeep pulled up under the penthouse, a different kind of quiet settled over me.

The lobby lights were dimmed; the usual night concierge was there, but his eyes flicked to the doors with something like suspicion.

I climbed out, my heels clicking against concrete louder than they should’ve. The doors opened, and I stepped into the elevator, breath fogging in the cool air.

On the penthouse floor, the hallway felt too still. I shouldn’t have been able to hear my own heartbeat over the hum of the building, but I could. I rounded the corner toward our suite and froze.

There were two extra men by the door. One of them stepped forward, nodding once at me, but his gaze lingered on my legs the way all men did, and the look made my fist tighten.

Behind them, I noticed more movement: another man stationed at the stairwell landing, a figure lingering by the service elevator, and, through the sliver of the glass door, a pair of boots at the far end of the living room.

I drew a breath that tasted like metal and felt the hallway tighten around me.

The door clicked behind me, and for a moment, the sound echoed too loud. I could feel them out there, the extra guards, the way they stood like soldiers, calculating who would move first.

I slid my back against the wood and breathed shallow, everything inside me split between fear and cold.

Tomorrow was the first step. Tonight, the apartment watched me, silent and waiting.