Chapter 2: The Kiss
1439 Words
The silence after that single word — fiancée — seemed to stretch for an eternity.
I stood frozen by the stairs, heart pounding in my chest as the woman entered the villa like a ghost stepping through memory. The flickering firelight painted her face in gold and shadow. She was beautiful in a way I found almost mythic — porcelain skin, dark almond eyes, high cheekbones, and long black hair falling like silk over her shoulders.
Alice Valenti.
The name rang in my mind like a warning bell.
The Valenti family is another mafia dynasty — old money, old grudges, and deeply entwined with the Dante empire. A political engagement between the families had long been rumored. Clearly, it wasn’t just a rumor.
Alice’s eyes swept the room like a hunter appraising prey — her ripped jeans, paint-stained shirt, and pale face — and narrowed with quiet contempt.
“I didn’t realize you were taking in strays now, Enzo,” she said coolly.
“Alice,” he said, stepping forward, voice sharp, “what are you doing here?”
“You disappeared,” she said, brushing an invisible thread from her sleeve. “Your father was concerned. And when you vanished off the grid after the attempted hit, he sent me. I see I wasn’t the only one who found you.”
My breath caught. Your father was concerned. Don Giovanni still pulled the strings, then. And this woman, his would-be daughter-in-law, was clearly more than a pretty face.
“Isabella is under my protection,” he said, voice firm. “She's innocent. She saw the attackers. That makes her a target.”
Alice tilted her head. “How... convenient.”
“I don’t have time for games.”
“No, you never did,” Alice said, her gaze lingering on him a moment too long.
“But I suppose we all have roles to play.”
She turned to me and offered a hand—gloved in black leather as if even touch was a calculated gesture. “I’m Alice Valenti. And you are?”
“Isabella Leonardo,” I said stiffly, not taking the hand.
Alice smiled — a blade in lipstick. “Ah. The art student. You know, your drawings are rather infamous in certain circles. Especially that sketch of Don Giovanni. You have a fascinating memory.”
My skin prickled. “How do you know about that?”
“I know a great many things.”
“Alice,” Enzo snapped, “enough.”
But the tension had already seeped in like fog. Alice’s eyes glittered, pleased with the c***k she’d created.
“I’ll stay the night,” she said smoothly, removing her coat. “This estate is under our family trust. I assume you won’t object.”
“I will,” Enzo growled, “but it won’t matter, will it?”
“No,” she said sweetly. “It won’t.”
We sat in uneasy silence around the dining table an hour later. Enzo had gone to check the perimeter, leaving Alice and me alone in the candlelit dining room.
Alice picked at her wine glass, inspecting the rim as though it might hold a secret.
“You’re clever,” she said finally. “Too clever to be caught up in this by accident.”
I bristled. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No,” Alice said, “but you didn’t run either. You stayed. With him. That says something.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Isabella. In our world, neutrality is a myth. People who claim to be bystanders are usually just players who haven’t made their move yet.”
“You think this is a game?”
“I think you’re the wildcard.”
We locked eyes, two opposing queens across a bloodstained board.
“Do you love him?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Alice didn’t flinch. “Love? I belong to this life, Isabella. Love is a weakness we can’t afford.”
I felt something cold and hard settle in my chest.
Before I could respond, Enzo reappeared, a pistol in his hand and tension in his jaw.
“They know we’re here,” he said.
Both women stood instantly.
“How?” Alice asked.
“Doesn’t matter. They’re coming.”
“How many?”
“Three cars. Maybe more behind them.”
“Then we fight.”
I stared at them like they were mad. “Fight? With what? This is a villa, not a bunker!”
He opened a hidden cabinet and pulled out a shotgun and two automatic pistols. “This villa was built during the Fascist regime. It has escape tunnels, reinforced walls, and enough firepower to hold a siege.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel safe,” I muttered.
He handed me a small pistol. “Ever used one of these?”
“No!”
“You’re going to learn fast.”
“Wait—!”
But there was no time. Tires screeched outside. Headlights flooded the windows.
And then came the first explosion.
The blast shattered the front windows, flinging glass across the parlor. I was knocked to the floor, ears ringing, dust in my mouth. Enzo dragged me up, shielding me with his body.
“They’re trying to flush us out!” he shouted over the chaos.
Gunfire lit up the night. Shadows moved across the lawn. I followed him and Alice as they retreated to the back hallway. A secret panel in the wall opened to reveal a stone staircase descending into darkness.
“This leads to the catacombs,” he said. “We’ll lose them in the tunnels.”
“I’ll hold the entrance,” Alice said, c*****g her gun.
Enzo stared at me. “You won’t make it.”
“I never planned to. Now go.”
He hesitated, then kissed my forehead — a soldier’s farewell.
“Alice—”
“Don’t look back.”
She slammed the panel shut behind us.
We ran. Downward, into the cold earth.
The tunnels were ancient — narrow, winding, and slick with moss. I stumbled more than once, but Enzo caught me each time. The gunfire above became a dull, distant drumbeat. We passed burial chambers, crumbling statues, and walls etched with Latin prayers.
After what felt like hours, we emerged into a crypt lit by moonlight filtering through an old grate.
Enzo pried it open and helped me climb out.
We surfaced in the ruins of an abandoned chapel, miles from the villa. The windled through the broken rafters. Church bells rang faintly in the distance.
I collapsed onto the ground, shaking. “Is she dead?”
Enzo looked away. “If she held them off long enough... maybe not. But she knew what she was doing.”
“She saved us.”
“She bought us time.”
“Why do you even have a fiancée?” I asked, choking back emotion. “Do you love her?”
Enzo sat beside me, resting his head against a marble column. “I don’t know what love means anymore.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He turned to her. “Alice is the past. You’re something else. I don’t know what yet... but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the moment I saw you.”
My heart raced. “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about our world is.”
And then he kissed me — sudden, fierce, like a spark-catching flame. I should’ve pushed him away, screamed at him for dragging me into this hell. But I didn’t. I kissed him back like I was drowning, and he was the only air left.
When we broke apart, his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face went white.
“What is it?” I asked.
He handed her the screen.
It was a video.
Alice. Bloodied, tied to a chair.
Behind her stood a man with cruel eyes and a scar down his cheek.
“Enzo, Enzo, Enzo,” the man said in the video. “You took something from us. Now we take something from you.”
He raised a knife to Alice’s throat.
“But not her. That would be too easy.”
The camera shifted.
And I saw my own father — bound, gagged, barely conscious — on the floor.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s impossible... he’s in Naples.”
“Not anymore,” the man said. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Isabella.”
And the screen went black.
- Writer
