Chapter 49

Chapter 49
Cecelia's POV

I heard the entire process of Lina and Luca's argument.

I heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, heard Luca chasing to the doorway, and heard the sounds of their exchange.

All these sounds strung together, I pieced together a conclusion I hardly dared believe: he was afraid she would leave.

The head of the Moretti family, the man who didn't even blink when crushing Marcus Winston with commercial terms in a board meeting, panicked the moment Lina turned away.

I should report this discovery to Dmitri.

This was more valuable than any movement pattern, any daily routine, because it found a crack in what appeared to be the most fortified defense.

Luca's weakness wasn't just Lina herself—it was the possibility of losing Lina.

Once a person fears losing something, that thing becomes the reins around his neck.

I took that black flip phone from the hidden compartment in the vanity drawer and flipped open the screen.

I held my thumb over the call button for a long time without pressing.

Dmitri had taught me that the value of intelligence lies in its timeliness.

If tonight's intelligence were transmitted now, within twenty-four hours it would become a precision strike plan against Luca.

Perhaps he would receive a false message mid-way through some business meeting saying Lina had an accident, then be ambushed on his way back.

Or even simpler—when dealing with Verona and other hostile families, have the opposing side precisely target Lina to threaten Luca.

In the end my thumb moved away from the call button, and I flipped the phone face-down onto my knee.

Not that I didn't want to transmit it, but that I couldn't do so now.

Dmitri's instructions hadn't come yet. The transmission window for the one-way encrypted channel hadn't opened.

Before the window opened, I could only receive, not send.

This was the failsafe mechanism he designed, ensuring every piece of information arrived at a time node he controlled.

He trusted no one, especially not those executing infiltration missions at the front line.

We were all variables in his eyes, needing to be locked down one by one through technical means. So tonight's intelligence was destined not to go out.

But that was fine too—it happened to give me a temporarily breathing space.

I put the phone back in the compartment, walked to the window, and lifted a corner of the curtain to look down.

The man in the dark coat by the streetlight below was still there, except he had moved into a car, the newspaper in his hand replaced by an electronic cigarette.

Luca's security layer hadn't loosened at all because of the argument in the study. This apartment building was still an iron plate, possibly even reinforced more solidly.

I let the curtain fall, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling in a daze.

Not transmitting tonight didn't mean not transmitting tomorrow. Not transmitting tomorrow didn't mean not transmitting the day after.

Dmitri's encrypted instructions would go out within these two days. Once those few dozen seconds of transmission channel opened, I would have to send out all accumulated intelligence at once.

Dmitri would ask whether Lina's movement patterns had changed, whether Luca's security deployment had adjusted, whether the timing for the weekend operation was still viable.

I guessed my confrontation with Lina under the oak tree had been seen. He would definitely ask me then—has Lina already discovered you?

That was a question I had to answer.

If I told the truth and said "yes," he would immediately cut off contact with me and switch to a backup plan I didn't know about to complete the mission. Then my sister and I would have no further value to exploit.

If I answered "no," he would maintain the current plan and have me continue playing this chess piece.

But the reality was that Lina already knew everything. The only thing I could do right now was find a third solution.

Forget it. I'd sleep first tonight.

Luca had just argued with Lina. I didn't think going to him right now would yield any good result.

The next morning, I was woken by an alarm clock.

The phone screen showed the time as six forty-five, fifteen minutes later than I usually woke up.

After several consecutive days of extreme mental tension, my body had finally temporarily given up its resistance.

I got up, washed, changed into my school uniform, and tied a simple ponytail in the mirror.

The person in the mirror looked somewhat pale, a light ring of blue-gray around the eyes.

I hesitated, then chose not to put on makeup.

I shouldered my backpack, pushed open the door, and walked out. A thin layer of morning light came through the window at the end of the hallway, dyeing the wooden floor a pale gold.

I stood at the elevator for a moment, wondering whether to go find Luca now.

But instinct told me it was better not to. And Lina might come out at any moment. I didn't want her to think I was trying to bypass her and go to Luca for a one-sided complaint.

So I pressed the elevator button and chose to go to school first.

When I entered the academic building, several groups of people had already gathered in the hallway.

Student council officers stood on a ladder hanging a banner above the bulletin board, on which gold letters spelled out "Autumn Ball Countdown: 3 Days."

A girl carrying a gold balloon hat squeezed past me with the dance partner sign-up board. The signatures had already nearly overflowed the edges.

The air was thick with the new perfume girls had been testing and the lingering deodorant smell from boys after exercise—St. Herman's unique scent in this season.

I stopped in front of the bulletin board, looking up at the ball poster.

The gold lettering on the poster caught the morning light in a faint gleam. Saturday evening at 7 PM, school auditorium.

This time and place—Dmitri would like it.

A crowded, enclosed space, security concentrated only at the entrances and exits, all students drinking and dancing.

In this kind of environment, making someone lose control would be ten times more effective than in a quiet apartment hallway.

I stared at that line of text on the poster, going over the plan's details in my mind again and again.

Just then, several girls passed by me. One patted me on the shoulder.

She was the vice president of the literature club Maggie belonged to, a short-haired girl with round-framed glasses.

"Cecelia! Good morning!" she said. "What are you wearing to the ball this weekend? I heard the dark green dress you ordered is gorgeous!"

My face instantly switched to its social mode smile. "Morning! Don't get me started. The zipper on that dress is a bit tight. I still need to go get it altered after school today."

My tone made them laugh. They asked if they should go to the tailor together.

I said sure, what time do you finish class?

They grinned and said they'd come find me in the classroom after lunch, then waved goodbye and left. The area in front of the bulletin board was once again just me.

I didn't take this casual promise to heart. I also knew they had only said it in passing and weren't actually expecting me to go with them.

Then I swept the end of the hallway with my peripheral vision.

Unsurprisingly, the one in the dark blue hoodie was there again.

Today he'd changed positions, standing next to the fire hydrant pretending to look at his phone.

Except he wasn't performing particularly professionally. The way he held his phone was quite rigid, his thumb resting precisely on the volume button that could directly take photos.

It was the kind of thing anyone would recognize as covert photography at a glance.

I withdrew my gaze, adjusted my backpack straps, and started toward the classroom.

When I passed by that person, he glanced up at me, and I glanced at him.

From his expression I could tell he hadn't realized I was Dmitri's person, taking me for just an ordinary high school girl.

I never quite understood why Dmitri and Verona kept their respective planted people isolated from each other, like two bombs buried on the same chessboard.

Perhaps it effectively prevented one person's failure from compromising the whole operation, I thought.

I didn't dwell on it further. I withdrew my gaze and walked quickly into the classroom.

When Maggie saw me come in, she nodded as usual, then immediately bent over to look through her textbook, reducing any further contact with me.

Her way of keeping distance had a soft kind of firmness to it—she didn't say anything unkind, but she wouldn't leave any extra space either.

I knew it was Lina who had told her things about me in private. I had no objection to this, and I wouldn't blame her, because I knew anyone would have done the same.

The morning classes passed in an eerie calm. I hadn't signed up for afternoon classes.

When I was packing my bag to leave, Maggie quietly came up to me and asked somewhat awkwardly: "You... where are you going this afternoon?"

I was momentarily startled. Then I instinctively looked up to find Lina's position, and only after seeing that it was just Maggie alone did I realize I had misread her.

She wasn't here at Lina's direction to fish for information. She was genuinely concerned about me.

"I need to go to the tailor to get my dress altered," I said.

This wasn't a lie. I really did have a dark green gown hanging at a tailor shop on Fifth Avenue, and the zipper really did need altering—it just wasn't today's priority.

Before going back to the apartment, I deliberately took a detour to the shop where Maggie bought her sandwiches every morning and bought a cup of hot cocoa to take with me.

I held the hot cocoa, drinking as I walked to the vicinity of the apartment, carefully observing the street corner.

The person I'd seen last night had changed clothes today and was sitting in the back seat of a car, the newspaper replaced by a tablet.

The people stationed here generally rotated shifts every two days, at seven in the morning and ten at night. If one wanted to act during the gap between security rotations, seven in the morning should be the optimal window.

I filed this detail away, drank the last sip of hot cocoa, tossed the paper cup in the trash, and quickened my pace back to the apartment.

I returned my backpack to my room, straightened my hair and collar in the mirror, and retied my ponytail more tightly.

Then I walked to the doorway of Luca's study, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.

"Come in." His voice came from behind the door, low and brief.

I pushed open the door. Luca sat at the desk. The desk lamp's light fell on the side of his face, making those deep brown eyes look particularly sharp.

He looked up, and seeing it was me, his expression showed no obvious change—but I noticed the fingers holding his fountain pen tightened slightly.

"Luca," I let my voice tremble faintly, hands clasped in front of me, "there's something I need to tell you."

Luca said nothing, only gave a slight nod to indicate I should continue.

I took a deep breath and let the lines I had rehearsed countless times come out word by word.

Lina and I had a confrontation on the field yesterday. I said many things in a moment of impulse that I shouldn't have said.

But I didn't come today to argue my own case. I came to tell you—Dmitri has ordered me to act this weekend.

His target is Lina. He wants me to drug her at the ball, make her lose control in front of everyone, and then he'll use the chaos to take Lina away from the school.

I said I didn't want to do this, but I have no choice. He has my family—my sister. If I don't follow orders, she will die.

"Lina said you don't trust anyone's tears," I looked into Luca's eyes, letting that wetness remain at the edge of my lids—neither falling nor retreating, "but I still need to say this. I'm not asking you to forgive me, or to believe me. I only ask for one thing: if I have to act this weekend, I want you to be there. Because only you can stop Lina from getting hurt in the chaos, and only you can stop me from doing what I don't want to do."

My voice trailed off, and my head dropped.

The study was quiet for a moment. Only the distant sound of car horns from outside the window could be heard.

Then Luca closed the file in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and said one sentence in a flat, even tone.

"Cecelia, are you finished?"

My heart sank. I snapped my head up.

Luca's expression hadn't changed at all, but something had appeared in his eyes—scrutiny. The kind that reassesses a person from head to toe.

"If you're done, go back," he said. "Your sister's situation—I'll look into it."

Luca had not expressed any opinion about my confession, but he said he would look into what happened to my sister.

That sentence made my throat tighten more than any response I had imagined.

I bowed deeply to Luca, turned and walked out of the study, quietly pulling the door closed behind me.

Sister, will we ever be truly free?

I hope so.