Two weeks later, Lena stood in the middle of a penthouse apartment overlooking the city.
Even now, the place still felt unreal.
Her old apartment had been barely three hundred square feet peeling paint, crooked cabinets, and walls so thin she could hear her neighbor snore every night. The heater worked when it felt like it, and the couch had a spring that poked anyone unlucky enough to sit in the middle.
This place was the opposite of that life.
Marble floors. Glass walls stretching from floor to ceiling. Furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread instead of a home.
It was beautiful.
And sometimes it felt like a cage.
This was one of Marco's safe houses.
His world.
She hadn't gone back to her apartment since the night everything changed.
Since the blood.
Since the bodies.
Matteo had sent people to "clean it up."
Lena hadn't asked questions.
Somehow she knew the answers would only make things worse.
So instead, she stayed here hidden and unwatched.
But every night, Marco came back.
And those hours talking about books, arguing about music, sharing quiet dinners on the balcony made the cold, empty penthouse feel less like a prison.
Until this morning.
When Lena woke up and found Matteo sitting by the window.
He looked perfectly comfortable there, like he belonged in the space more than she ever would.
He didn't speak at first.
Just watched her.
His eyes were sharp and observant, the kind that seemed to notice everything.
Finally he smiled faintly.
"Good morning, Lena."
She sat up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"How did you get in?"
Matteo tilted his head slightly.
"I have a key."
A pause.
"It's my building."
Of course it was.
Lena swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
"What do you want?"
"To talk."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the hallway.
"Without my brother."
He gestured toward the chair across from him.
"Sit."
She hesitated, but curiosity won.
She crossed the room and sat down.
For a moment he simply studied her.
Like she was a puzzle he hadn't finished solving.
"I've been observing you these past two weeks," he said calmly.
"You haven't tried to escape. You haven't called the police. You haven't done anything reckless."
"I'm not stupid," she replied.
"No," he said quietly.
"That's exactly what worries me."
Matteo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"My brother is in love with you."
The words struck her harder than she expected.
Her chest tightened.
"I don't think"
"You don't have to deny it," he interrupted gently.
"I've known Marco his entire life. I know the way he looks at people."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"And I know the way he looks at you."
Lena looked away.
Matteo reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a thick envelope and set it carefully on the table between them.
"Fifty thousand dollars," he said.
Her eyes dropped to the envelope.
"That's enough for you to disappear," he continued.
"New documents. New identity. A fresh start somewhere far away."
"Where?" she asked quietly.
"California. Vancouver. Somewhere quiet."
His voice turned colder.
"Somewhere Salvatore Bianchi's men won't think to look."
Lena's stomach tightened.
"You want me to leave."
"I want you to survive."
Matteo leaned back slightly.
"My brother is about to start a war. A real one. Not the quiet maneuvering you've seen so far."
His voice softened slightly.
"And if you stay with him… you'll always be a target."
Her fingers curled together in her lap.
"Every enemy he makes," Matteo said, "will see you as the easiest way to hurt him."
Silence filled the room.
The envelope sat between them like it carried its own gravity.
Fifty thousand dollars.
A clean slate.
A life where she could finish school.
Where she didn't wake up wondering if someone might try to kill her because of a man she had met by accident.
But that life wouldn't include Marco.
"I can't answer this right now," she said finally.
Matteo raised an eyebrow.
"I need to talk to him first."
"He'll tell you to take the money."
"Maybe," she said quietly.
"But I still want to hear him say it."
Matteo studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"That's fair."
He stood and straightened his jacket.
"The offer stays on the table."
He gestured toward the envelope.
"Whenever you're ready."
Then he left.
The envelope remained exactly where he had placed it.
Marco arrived that night like he always did.
But the moment he stepped inside, Lena knew something had changed.
His shoulders were tighter.
His eyes darker.
The war Matteo had warned her about had already begun.
She waited for him on the balcony.
The wind tugged lightly at her hair as she stared out at the endless city lights.
"You're going to freeze out here," Marco said as he stepped outside.
"I'm fine."
He slipped off his jacket anyway and draped it over her shoulders.
It was warm.
And it smelled like himsoap, leather, and the faint metallic scent of gun oil.
"Matteo came to see me today," she said quietly.
Marco froze.
"What did he want?"
"He offered me money."
His jaw tightened.
"To leave."
Lena turned to face him.
"Fifty thousand dollars. New documents. A life somewhere far away."
Marco didn't speak.
The silence stretched between them.
"What did you tell him?" he asked finally.
"I told him I needed to talk to you first."
He looked out over the city for a long time.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"He's right," Marco said.
Lena's chest tightened painfully.
"You should take the money."
"Is that what you want?"
He shook his head immediately.
"No."
The word came out rough.
"I want you to stay," he admitted.
"I want to wake up and know you're here. I want to come back at night and see you standing right where you are."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"But wanting something doesn't make it right."
His gaze met hers again.
"Lena… I'm going to war."
The words hung heavily in the cold air.
"People will die," he continued quietly.
"Some of them because of me."
Her throat tightened.
"And if you stay with me," he said, "you'll be part of that world too."
He stepped closer.
"Maybe not with blood on your hands."
A pause.
"But close enough to see it."
His voice softened.
"Can you live with that?"
Lena thought about the night in her apartment.
The bodies covered in blood.
The look on Marco's face afterward.
Not with pride or anger.
Just exhaustion.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"But I know something else."
She stepped closer to him.
"Running away won't erase any of this."
Marco watched her carefully.
"What are you saying?"
Her heart pounded.
Every logical thought told her to take the money.
Leave.
Forget him.
But when she looked into his eyes, none of those thoughts felt strong enough.
She reached up and touched his face.
"I'm saying I'm not ready to leave you."
For a moment Marco looked like he couldn't breathe.
"I can't promise you safety," he said quietly.
"I can't promise peace."
His hand closed around hers.
"But I swear I'll fight for you."
The words felt heavier than any vow.
"And if anyone comes for you…"
His voice turned cold.
"They won't leave alive."
Lena kissed him.
The city lights shimmered beneath them.
For a moment everything felt still.
Quiet felt safe.
But inside the penthouse, something buzzed.
A sharp electronic sound cut through the night.
Marco pulled away instantly.
His phone.
He checked the screen.
And the color drained from his face.
Lena felt a chill crawl up her spine.
"What is it?"
Marco looked at her slowly.