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Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Eyes on the City

Monteverde did not change. But Enzo Marino did.

By the time he was ten, Enzo had learned that dreams were dangerous things in a village where survival came before hope. His father called ambition "foolish," and his brothers laughed when Enzo asked about schools in the city. But he kept asking. He studied by candlelight after working in the fields. He borrowed books from the old priest who saw something burning in the boy's eyes — a silent defiance, too sharp for the soil he was born from.

While Antonio chased girls and Luca pretended to be sick to skip chores, Enzo would sit beneath the fig tree behind their house with a notebook stolen from the church. He scribbled broken Latin phrases, drew maps of Rome, and underlined words like honor, power, escape.

And that's where she found him.

Elena Moretti, the farmer's daughter, with wild curls and dirt-streaked knees. She was twelve, bold as thunder, with a smile that made even the crows pause. She sat beside him like she'd always belonged there.

"What are you writing, Enzo?"

He didn't look up. "Rome."

She scoffed. "Why would anyone want to go there?"

"Because no one tells you what you can be in Rome."

She went quiet. Then she said, "If you go, I'll come too."

That was how it began — a friendship shaped by secrets and promises. They were both children of the earth, but Elena carried a fire in her voice that matched the one in Enzo's bones. They ran through the fields together, stole fruit from trees, dared each other to touch the edge of the woods. And always, they came back to that fig tree. There, Enzo told her his plans.

"I'll wear a suit. Own five cars. Maybe a hotel."

"Will I be in the hotel?"

"You'll own half of it."

And they'd laugh. But even then, Elena knew — he meant every word.

As he grew older, Enzo began to notice things: how his sisters fought for their father's attention, how Antonio lied without blinking, how their neighbors whispered about the "Marino curse" — men who dreamed too big and died too young. He also noticed that his father watched him differently — as if sensing something he couldn't control. A threat. A future that didn't belong in Monteverde.

One day, Enzo's father came home drunk and slapped Enzo for not answering quickly enough. The boy bled from his mouth but stood still, refusing to cry. Later that night, Maria came to him with warm cloths and kissed his bruises.

"You're not like the others," she whispered. "But you will have to fight twice as hard to stay kind."

He didn't say anything. He just nodded.

From that night forward, Enzo's goal was no longer just to leave Monteverde.

It was to conquer whatever lay beyond it.

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