Days passed slowly in the Moretti mansion. Hazel followed the rules, but she felt like a bird in a golden cage. Every move she made, someone was watching—mostly Marco. But sometimes, Zyran.
He never said much. He watched her. Studied her. Like he was trying to understand her.
One rainy afternoon, Hazel asked Isabella, "Is there a library here?"
Isabella smiled. "Yes, but it's not used much. Follow me."
The library was big and full of old books. It smelled like paper and secrets. Hazel walked between the shelves, touching the spines of books she had never seen before.
She pulled one out—and something clicked.
A piece of the bookshelf moved.
Hazel froze. "What was that?"
Isabella looked nervous. "That's... not for us to touch."
But Hazel was curious. She pushed the shelf a little more, and it opened into a small hidden room. It was dark, with only one small window and a table full of papers and photos.
"What is this?" Hazel asked softly.
Then, she heard footsteps.
Zyran.
He stood at the door, eyes hard.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"I didn't mean to find it. The shelf moved."
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "This room is for business. Dangerous business."
Hazel looked at the papers—names, maps, red marks. "Mafia business?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her.
"You really have no idea what kind of world you've stepped into," he said quietly.
"Maybe not," she whispered. "But I want to understand."
That surprised him. For the first time, his face softened—just a little.
"I don't need your trust, Hazel," he said. "But maybe... I need your silence."
She nodded. "You have it."
For a moment, they stood in silence. No hate. No anger. Just... something new. Not trust. But not fear either.
Maybe, just maybe, the wall between them had a small crack.