A Silent Strike

The night air was heavy, a chill seeping through the Moretti estate as tension gripped the guards stationed around the perimeter. Hours had passed since Vesper struck — swift and brutal — leaving behind nothing but a lifeless body and a trail of confusion.

Inside the estate, Leona lay fast asleep in the guest room, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just beyond those walls. The room was dim, a faint glow from the bedside lamp barely illuminating her peaceful face. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks, and her hair spilled over the pillow in soft waves. She had barely changed before crawling into bed — still in a loose T-shirt and shorts, her exhaustion winning over any effort to properly settle in.

Outside her door, footsteps hurried past. The guards whispered in low, frantic tones, speaking of the body that had been discovered south of the estate. Their panic never reached Leona. She shifted slightly in her sleep, clutching the blanket closer to her chest as if seeking comfort in its warmth.

Her mind drifted — scattered thoughts blending into faint dreams. She thought of Valerio, his brooding eyes, and the tension that had lingered between them lately. Had she been too harsh? Maybe her constant rejections had driven him away for good. A pang of guilt flickered through her chest. She missed him — more than she cared to admit.

In her dream, she pictured his frustrated scowl, the way his fingers raked through his dark hair when she infuriated him. She wondered if he'd come back to the bar, if he'd sit quietly at his usual table like he always did. Maybe she should have stayed behind that night instead of leaving early. The bar's noise might have been better than her own thoughts.

A loud knock outside startled her awake. Her eyes shot open, heart hammering. For a moment, she stayed still, listening. The footsteps outside faded, and the whispers died down.

She sighed and flopped back against her pillow, her breath shaky.

"Stop overthinking," she muttered to herself, tugging the blanket higher.

Moments later, she drifted off again, never knowing that just beyond the estate walls, Valerio's men were hauling away the body of one of their own — their most trusted hacker — whose throat had been slit cleanly at midnight. His blood still pooled across the gravel in the south courtyard, a single knife marked with the letter 'V' protruding from his chest.

The security system had been wiped — no CCTV footage, no alarms triggered. The hacker had been targeted for his skill, and whoever did it had vanished without a trace.

But none of that reached Leona. For now, she remained in blissful ignorance — fast asleep in the very house that had become the assassin's playground.

The morning air hung heavy over the south side of the Moretti estate, a grim silence settling as Valerio's men gathered around the crime scene. The flashing red and blue lights of patrol cars danced across the cold pavement, illuminating the blood that stained the floorboards of Elliot Greco's small apartment.

"Damn it…" one of the guards muttered, his face pale as he stared down at the lifeless body.

The signature knife gleamed from Elliot's chest — a sharp, clean blade engraved with the infamous letter 'V'.

"It's him," another man whispered, his voice tight with dread. "Vesper."

One of the guards rushed to the corner of the room where Elliot's computer sat — the screen flickering with static. His fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard, yet nothing responded.

"Everything's wiped," the man said grimly. "All footage from the CCTV — gone. Whoever did this hacked straight into our system and erased everything."

"That's impossible," one of the others argued. "Elliot's our guy. He designed our security system himself!"

"Doesn't matter now," the man growled. "He's dead — and Vesper's still out there."

The door banged open, and Valerio stormed inside with Dante right behind him. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing instantly on Elliot's corpse. For a brief moment, Valerio said nothing, his expression hardening like ice.

"Who found him?" he asked coldly.

"We did," one of the guards spoke up. "Patrol wasn't answering, so we came to check."

Valerio knelt beside Elliot's body, eyes narrowing at the twin knives embedded in the man's chest.

"Two blades," Dante murmured, standing at his side. "Double the message. Vesper's never done this before."

"He's getting bolder." Valerio clenched his jaw.

"Or desperate," Dante muttered.

Valerio's gaze shifted to the bloodstained keyboard. "He wasn't just killed — he was silenced. Whatever Elliot found must have been important."

"I'll have our tech team comb through the system," one of the men offered.

"You won't find anything," Valerio muttered bitterly. "Vesper doesn't make mistakes."

The air thickened, tension curling in the room like smoke. For years, Valerio's men believed they could hold their ground against Vesper — but now, the assassin had taken out one of their own, effortlessly breaching their security.

Valerio straightened and turned to Dante. "Get the word out. No one moves alone — and I want eyes on Leona and Alessia at all times."

"You think Vesper's after them?" Dante asked, startled.

"I don't know what Vesper's planning," Valerio muttered darkly, "but I'm not giving him the chance to find out."

Meanwhile

The cold night air clung to Vesper's skin as he stood alone in the shadows, his dark attire blending seamlessly with the night. The city lights flickered in the distance, faint and blurred against the smoke curling from his cigarette. He barely noticed the cold — his thoughts were too loud, too sharp.

"Alessia…"

Her face had flashed before him that night — just for a second — but it was enough. She had been standing at the window, pale and wide-eyed, her delicate features frozen in horror.

"Did she see me?" Vesper muttered under his breath, flicking the cigarette aside. It landed in a shallow puddle, the embers hissing out. He couldn't be sure. It had been dark, and she had been far away. But if she had seen him… if she could somehow connect him to the killing…

His fingers twitched, instinctively brushing the hidden blade at his side. He had always been precise — no loose ends, no mistakes. That's what made him the most feared name in the underground. Yet now, a sick feeling gnawed at him.

"She's too close."

Alessia wasn't just some bystander; she was part of the Moretti family — a protected name, a powerful one. Killing her would start a war. One he couldn't afford right now.

"But if she talks…"

His hand clenched the hilt of his knife. The idea of silencing her clawed at his mind, cold and demanding. It was safer — simpler — to remove the threat.

But the memory of her face lingered. Frightened, yes — but not accusing. Not certain. Maybe she hadn't seen him at all. Maybe it was his paranoia twisting the details.

Vesper leaned back against the wall, exhaling sharply. He couldn't risk moving too soon — not without being sure. And yet… waiting too long could cost him everything.

"What would she say if she did see me?"

His thoughts circled back to Leona — that strange, infuriating woman who kept weaving her way deeper into Valerio's life. She was always too close to Alessia. If Alessia did know something… would she confide in Leona?

Vesper's grip tightened again. His mind raced with possibilities — none of them good.

"One wrong word… one slip… and this all falls apart."

For the first time in years, hesitation crept into his chest. He had always been decisive, ruthless — yet here he was, debating a kill. His instincts screamed to end the problem now.

But no — not yet. He needed to know what Alessia had seen.

"I'll watch," he decided. "Wait… and if she knows too much—"

His fingers traced the sharp edge of his blade.

"—then I'll do what I have to."

In Valerio's office

Valerio stood in his dimly lit office, his fingers pressed tightly against the edge of his desk. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The air felt heavy, suffocating almost, as if the weight of the last 24 hours had settled on his chest and refused to budge.

Another one of his men — gone. And not just any man — his hacker. The one who ensured every move his family made remained calculated and precise. The one who could expose weaknesses in rival families, who had layers of security wrapped around their systems like armor. Now he was dead. Killed right under Valerio's nose, near the southern end of the estate.

And worst of all… Vesper's knife.

Valerio clenched his jaw. The image of that cursed blade, gleaming cold and silver from the dead man's chest, was burned into his mind. That damn letter 'V', carved like a signature in blood.

"How does he keep getting in?" Valerio's knuckles turned white as his grip on the desk tightened. They had tightened security, doubled patrols, even installed more surveillance after the last incident — yet Vesper had still slipped through, like a shadow in the dark.

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "He's mocking me." That had to be it. Killing one of his most vital men — not for power, not to gain territory, but to send a message. A reminder that Vesper could reach anyone. Anytime.

But no matter how much he tried to focus on Vesper, his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.

To her.

Leona.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. That woman — loud, stubborn, impossible. She had no place in his world, yet somehow she'd wedged herself right into the heart of it.

The way she had cried the other day — over something as ridiculous as a salad — haunted him more than he cared to admit. The way her voice had trembled, her eyes glassy yet defiant, stirred something in him that he didn't know how to handle. He'd grown used to cold stares and calculated conversations. Yet Leona… she was raw. Honest. Frustratingly open with her emotions.

And now — she's in danger too.

His fingers dragged through his hair. Vesper was unpredictable, ruthless, and far too close to the estate. If Leona ended up crossing paths with him… the thought twisted something deep inside his chest.

"Why does it matter so much?" he muttered under his breath, yet the answer gnawed at him.

Because he cared. Because somehow, between her snide remarks, her habit of wandering into trouble, and that damned smile of hers… she had become important.

He hated it. The distraction, the weakness she seemed to create in him. He was Valerio Moretti — cold, calculated, untouchable. Emotions had no place in his life.

"But what if something happens to her?"

The thought slammed into him like a punch to the ribs. Images flooded his mind — Leona's lifeless body, Vesper's blade lodged in her chest, her voice silenced forever. His heart hammered in response, a sharp reminder that this feeling — this pull toward her — wasn't something he could keep ignoring.

He couldn't lose her.

"She's safer here," he told himself, but doubt lingered. What if Vesper came back? What if he found her alone, vulnerable?

His gaze drifted to the empty glass on his desk, the faint traces of whiskey still lining the bottom. He had spent the night trying to drown these thoughts, but it hadn't worked. Nothing seemed to dull the growing knot in his chest.

For the first time in years, Valerio felt powerless — not because of Vesper's threat or the hacker's death — but because of Leona. Because she made him feel something stronger than fear or anger. Something he couldn't control.

"I'll protect her," he vowed quietly, his voice hard with determination. "Even if it kills me."