The Hunt Begins
I’m not naïve.
I know when the air changes.
And I know when a man looks at a woman… as if he could lose her all over again.
From the restaurant terrace, Alessandro hadn’t taken his eyes off me. Not even to breathe.
And me?
I felt that burn under my skin.
Instinct. The alert-frisson.
The same one I’d felt the night I almost died.
Only this time… I refused to be the one who suffered.
I was in our room, still damp from our last night.
I paced.
I stared at my hands. My arms. My reflection in the mirror.
And I repeated to myself:
“She won’t have me.”
I went downstairs. Alessandro was in the office, Lorenzo beside him, Matteo monitoring the cameras.
All three of them looked up at once.
“You already know,” I said flatly.
He nodded. Alessandro stepped forward.
“We didn’t tell you… because we wanted you to breathe a little longer.”
“Mistake. I breathe better when I fight.”
I placed my phone on the table. I’d already traced the origin of the payment that had covered the restaurant bill tonight.
A dormant account. Reactivated two weeks ago. By someone named C.S.
C.S. as in Sofia Candelori.
“She left a trail,” I murmured. “She wanted us to know. She wants to scare me.”
“And are you scared?” Alessandro asked softly.
I raised my eyes to his.
“I’m angry.”
He smiled. Almost proud. Almost lethal.
“Then we strike back.”
He held out his hand.
And without hesitation, I took it.
Matteo slid a tablet across the table.
“We already have one of her men in our sights. Corrado. He’s moving again.”
Lorenzo arched an eyebrow.
“Not the kind of guy you interrogate with kid gloves.”
“Good,” I said.
They all stared at me. One second. Two.
Then Alessandro declared:
“We hunt her. But our way. Quiet. Legal if possible. Final if necessary.”
I smiled. Cold. Controlled.
“Let her come. I’m waiting.”
Dawn hadn’t broken yet.
The villa slept.
But not me.
And not Lorenzo.
He was already on the terrace, coffee in hand, looking like a man ready to go to war without losing his grin.
The kind of grin that said: you can count on me, and I can do anything… even the worst.
I sat across from him.
“You spoke to her?”
He nodded.
“Sofia’s holed up. But not invisible. She resurfaced fifteen days ago. A contact spotted her in Zisa. A secondary hideout owned by one Lidia Ferrera.”
I noted it mentally. Lidia. Marco’s ex. Bingo.
“She’s our way in.”
Lorenzo dragged on his cigarette, eyes momentarily lost in the mountains.
“You saw Hope last night?”
“Yeah.”
“You saw her eyes? She’s back. But not the same. Sharper.”
“She’s ready.”
Lorenzo nodded, then rose, drained his coffee.
“We go to the hideout. No knocking. Not yet. We watch. We listen. We wait for the first crack.”
“And if there’s none?”
He smiled.
That smile wasn’t innocent at all.
“We make one.”
Two hours later, we were parked in a narrow alley, hidden in an unmarked car.
Direct view on the house. Curtains drawn. Jammed antenna. A black car I knew too well parked out front.
Corrado.
The bastard was inside.
Lorenzo tapped on his phone.
“I just triggered a signal. Fake meeting. Fake promise. If she bites, we’ll know she’s nervous. If she doesn’t, she’s preparing something bigger.”
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the front door.
My hand already rested on my weapon.
But this time… no shooting.
We needed to understand. Unmask. Trap.
Hope deserved truth before vengeance.
And I’d make sure she got it.
The trap worked.
A hooded figure slipped out of the house.
Not Sofia. Too small. Too twitchy.
But a messenger.
Lorenzo shot me a glance.
“We follow. Not too close.”
We pulled out, slow.
The alley opened onto the working-class streets.
The guy zigzagged, switched sidewalks, stopped for nothing.
Not an amateur.
But neither were we.
We watched him slip into a nearly empty bar.
An old TV, smoke, two men playing cards.
He sat, slid something to the bartender.
Lorenzo got out. Not a word.
He walked in like he belonged there. Ordered a coffee. Dropped a bill.
“You know that guy?” he asked the barman.
The bartender shrugged.
“Never seen him.”
Lie.
Lorenzo came back with a small piece of paper lifted on the way. An address. Written in capitals.
VILLA DELL’OMBRA. MONDAY. 9 PM.
Sofia would strike soon.
I did my makeup in the bathroom mirror.
Not for vanity. For necessity.
If Sofia wanted a duel, she’d have it by the book.
I had proposed a charity gala in Palermo.
An event under the patronage of the Romano Foundation.
Open to the notables, the powerful, the curious… and to her.
Alessandro watched me from the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled, jaw tight.
“She’s coming,” I breathed.
“I know.”
“Then look at me.”
He lifted his eyes. I stepped closer.
“I’m not your protected anymore. I’m your ally. Your partner. Your future wife.”
He gripped the back of my neck, pulled me against him.
“And if she tries to touch you…”
“She’ll touch nothing but air.”