The edge of control
1044 Words
I barely slept.
Every time I drifted close, the image of the man at the gates snapped me awake—those eyes, that knowing stare. In the dark, the mansion creaked and shifted like a living thing, and each sound felt deliberate, purposeful. Watching. Waiting.
By the time dawn crept through the curtains, I was already dressed.
A soft knock came at the door precisely at six.
“Up,” Luca’s voice said from the other side. Calm. Commanding. As if he hadn’t just promised to burn a city down.
I opened the door.
He looked different in the early light—still sharp, still imposing, but stripped of the polished menace he wore like armor at night. Dressed in black training clothes, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms marked with faint scars, he studied my face with a gaze that missed nothing.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“Neither did you,” I replied.
Something like approval flickered across his eyes. “Good. That means you’re paying attention.”
He turned without waiting for me to follow. I did anyway.
The training room was buried deep within the mansion—reinforced walls, steel doors, no windows. The kind of place designed for problems that couldn’t be solved politely. Weapons lined one wall. Mats covered the floor. Cameras watched from every angle.
Sofia stood near the far wall, arms crossed.
“This isn’t about making you strong,” Luca said as the doors sealed behind us. “It’s about keeping you alive.”
He tossed me a lightweight blade. Training grade. Dull—but only just.
“Grip,” he instructed.
I copied him, adjusting my hand.
“No,” he snapped. “Like this.”
He stepped close, correcting my fingers, his touch brief but precise. Heat flared where his skin brushed mine. Not gentle. Controlled.
“Again.”
We repeated it. Again. Again.
Every correction came sharper than the last. Every mistake earned a clipped word or a look that cut deeper than shouting ever could.
By the time sweat slicked my spine, my arms were trembling.
“Stop,” he said suddenly.
I froze, chest heaving.
He circled me slowly. “When you’re tired, you get careless. That’s when people die.”
My jaw tightened. “So what—this is punishment? Because someone used me to send you a message?”
His eyes snapped to mine. Dangerous. “No. This is preparation because someone already did.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and electric.
“Again,” he ordered.
This time, when he lunged, I reacted on instinct—blocking his strike, pivoting away the way Sofia had drilled into me yesterday evening. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean.
But it was fast.
Luca stopped short, blade hovering inches from my throat.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, he lowered the weapon.
“There,” he said quietly. “That’s the difference between fear and focus.”
Sofia nodded from the sidelines.
Training ended hours later with my muscles screaming and my pride bruised—but intact. Luca dismissed Sofia and handed me a bottle of water without comment.
I drank greedily.
“You’re angry,” I said after a moment.
He leaned against the wall, watching me with that same unreadable intensity. “Observant.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“I don’t deny things that are obvious.”
I capped the bottle, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Is it because he came back—or because he used me to do it?”
His jaw flexed. “Both.”
The honesty startled me.
“He shouldn’t know where you sleep,” Luca continued. “He shouldn’t know which rooms you favor. And he definitely shouldn’t know how to get inside my systems long enough to lock you in a room.”
A chill slid down my spine. “You think someone on the inside helped him.”
“I know someone did.”
That settled like a stone in my stomach.
“Then why am I still walking around?” I demanded. “If I’m a target—”
“—you’re safest where I can see you,” he cut in. “And most dangerous when you disappear.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You make it sound like I’m bait.”
His eyes darkened. “You are not bait.”
“Then what am I?”
The question hung between us, raw and unguarded.
Luca stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You are the one thing he underestimated.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Later, after a meal I barely tasted, Luca left to deal with what he called “a problem.” I was escorted back to my room by guards who didn’t bother hiding the way they tracked every movement I made.
The mansion felt tighter than ever.
I sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the training in my head—the movements, the reactions, the way Luca had looked at me when I finally stopped freezing.
Not fragile.
Capable.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
Sofia stepped in without waiting for permission. “We found something.”
My pulse jumped. “What?”
“A match,” she said. “The coin. The crest. It’s not just Marcelli.”
She handed me a file.
Inside were photographs—old ones. Men standing shoulder to shoulder. Luca among them, younger, harder around the edges. And beside him—
The man from the gates.
Alive. Smiling.
My breath caught. “They knew each other.”
“They were brothers once,” Sofia said quietly. “Not by blood.”
I looked up. “Then what happened?”
Her gaze sharpened. “That’s Luca’s story to tell. If he chooses to.”
She turned to leave, then paused. “Until then, trust your instincts. They’re better than you think.”
When the door closed, I stared down at the photograph.
At the man who had crushed the coin into the dirt.
At the past Luca had never mentioned.
Whatever war was coming, it wasn’t new.
It was unfinished.
And this time—
I was standing right in the middle of it.
- Writer
