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Chapter 5 - Chapter 3: The Girl and the Godfather

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Chapter 3: The Girl and the Godfather

The next morning in Milan was soaked in amber light, the streets gleaming from a fresh sweep of rain overnight. Kairo's luxury car pulled up to the entrance of Luce Studios, the largest soundstage in northern Italy — his studio. His empire.

Kairo stepped out, dressed in a charcoal grey suit tailored like second skin. His sharp jaw moved slightly as he muttered instructions into his Bluetooth earpiece.

"No press leaks. No photographers. I want total silence around her involvement until I say otherwise."

He ended the call and entered the building, bodyguards trailing quietly behind him like shadows.

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Meanwhile, Elira stood nervously near the front gates, hugging a messenger bag to her chest. She hadn't slept much. Her stomach had twisted in circles all night, trying to convince her she'd dreamt the entire audition — that Kairo Seo hadn't picked her out of hundreds.

But she hadn't dreamt it.

She was here. And the security guard was already confirming her name and handing her a guest pass.

"You'll be escorted inside, Miss Wynne," he said politely. "Mr. Seo is waiting."

Those five words were enough to spike her pulse.

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Inside Studio B, the first table read was about to begin.

A few well-known actors had already gathered — celebrities she'd only ever seen on screen or from a balcony seat in the theatre. Their stares lingered on her — some curious, others cold, and one or two outright hostile.

Of course they were wondering who she was. What she was doing here. What she had that got her cast in the lead role of Revenant's Kiss, Kairo's upcoming prestige mafia film.

She didn't know either.

Until he walked in.

Kairo didn't greet the actors. He didn't sit down or smile or even acknowledge their presence.

His eyes went directly to her.

"Elira," he said simply.

She straightened. "Mr. Seo."

"Come with me."

Murmurs echoed behind them as he led her out of the studio, up a private elevator, and into a glass-walled conference room overlooking the soundstage.

There, he finally spoke more than one word.

"You're nervous," he said, pouring himself an espresso.

She blinked. "I am."

"Good," he said again — like he had at the audition. "Nerves mean you care. Just don't let them drown you."

"I'll try not to."

He studied her. Not her clothes. Not her face.

Her center. Like he was looking through the veneer of her voice and bones and reading the blueprint of her soul.

"You need to understand something, Elira," he said, sipping the espresso. "This film — it's not just a film. It's a message. And I don't cast people. I choose weapons."

Elira's brows pulled together. "Weapons?"

"My art is war. And war requires precision."

She swallowed.

"Why me, then?" she asked, the question burning in her chest. "I'm not trained. I'm not famous. I've never done a single movie."

He leaned closer, placing the espresso down.

"Because you've never learned how to fake emotion. Not yet. You bleed real."

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At that exact moment, Celeste Raines was finishing her midday yoga session at the luxury spa inside the Valtteri Hotel, a property owned by none other than Kairo himself.

A towel wrapped loosely around her sculpted body, she lounged by the poolside cabana, scrolling through social media. Her fingers stopped on a tagged post — blurry paparazzi photos of Kairo's car at Luce Studios the day before. One image showed a faint glimpse of a girl stepping out hours later.

The caption read:

> "New face on set? Kairo Seo's mystery muse or rising starlet?"

Celeste's eyes narrowed.

> "She won't last," she murmured to herself, flipping her phone face down.

She wasn't threatened. Yet.

But she knew the scent of attention shifting when she smelled it.

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Back in the studio, Elira found herself immersed in rehearsals by afternoon. The scene they were blocking was emotionally intense — the first confrontation between her character and the mafia boss.

The actor playing the male lead wasn't Kairo — it was Luca Ferranti, a respected Italian star. But even as she ran lines with him, she could feel Kairo's presence watching from behind the camera, his silhouette barely moving.

"You need to hate him more," he finally said.

"I'm trying—"

"No. Feel it."

Kairo stepped down from the shadows and walked toward the stage.

Then he shocked everyone.

"Switch. I'll read the scene with her."

The room fell dead silent.

Luca, clearly annoyed but professional, stepped aside.

Kairo walked up to Elira, stood inches away, and stared down at her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry.

"From the top," he said.

She began the lines — quivering, uncertain.

But he didn't act back. He didn't speak. He just looked at her, as if her character's entire pain was his fault — as if she had every right to scream at him, slap him, sob in his arms.

And suddenly, her words flowed differently. Her voice cracked at the right places. Her fingers shook. Real tears stung her lashes.

When the scene ended, she barely noticed her knees buckling slightly.

Kairo caught her.

He didn't say anything. He just steadied her, one hand firm on her waist.

Then he whispered, just loud enough for her ears:

"That's the rage I saw in your eyes when you walked into the audition. Use it. Every damn time."

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Later, in the studio lounge, Elira sat curled up on the leather couch, sipping tea. She didn't even notice Celeste Raines enter the room.

"You must be Elira," Celeste said smoothly, her voice like silk and venom.

Elira stood up politely. "Hi. Yes. You're Celeste."

"I am. Kairo's... partner," she said, letting the word hang in the air like perfume.

"Oh. I've read your interviews."

Celeste smiled, teeth perfectly white. "He doesn't usually bring girls up to the conference room. Or hold their hand in front of the entire crew."

Elira's cheeks flushed. "It wasn't like that."

"No?" Celeste stepped closer, voice dropping. "Then let me give you some advice, new girl — Kairo Seo is not a man you want to misunderstand. He looks like warmth, but he is steel. He will break you without meaning to."

Elira nodded slowly. "Thanks for the warning."

Celeste tilted her head. "Oh, honey... that wasn't a warning. That was a promise."

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The sunlight had long faded from the sky, and now Rome pulsed under a blanket of stars and amber streetlamps. The studio's corridors were quieter, humming only with the residual energy of what had been an eventful first day of filming.

Elira stepped into the hallway outside her dressing room, her script clutched to her chest. Her heart was still galloping from the intense energy of being on set—and more than that, from the weight of Kairo Seo's gaze. She could still feel it on her skin, like the imprint of heat from a flame she hadn't meant to touch.

She turned the corner and froze.

He was already there.

Leaning against the glass wall at the far end of the hallway, his tall frame outlined by the dim backlighting from the parking garage. A cigarette rested between his fingers, unlit.

"You always walk this quietly?" he asked without looking at her.

Elira hesitated. "You always wait like that?"

He glanced at her then — eyes unreadable, face shadowed, voice smooth like midnight silk. "Only when I'm curious."

She stepped closer, arms still folded protectively around the script. "Curious about what?"

Kairo tilted his head, a small half-smile tugging at his lips. "Why an actress who's clearly hiding something steps into an industry where everyone's watching."

She stiffened. "I'm not hiding anything."

His gaze traveled across her face, not in the way other men did, not with hunger — but with piercing observation, like he was searching for cracks.

"Elira Wynne. Stage name. No public family. No past credits. No drama school history. You appeared out of nowhere. And yet, you shine under pressure like you've done this a thousand times. That's not normal."

She blinked, her grip on the script tightening. "You had me investigated?"

"I have everyone investigated," he said coolly. "Especially the ones that interest me."

There was a beat of silence between them, a breathless pause that spoke more than any confession. Elira could feel it — the danger curling behind his calm, the way he walked the edge between menace and magnetism.

"What do you want from me, Mr. Seo?"

The question hung in the air, almost like a challenge.

He stepped forward now, the distance between them shrinking. She didn't back away.

"I want honesty," he said softly, dangerously. "Something rare in my world."

A lump formed in her throat. "And if I can't give you that?"

He studied her. "Then I'll take the lies instead. Just make them beautiful."

She couldn't help the small tremble in her fingers. "Why me?"

Kairo smiled then — not the cold smile the world knew, but something almost... weary.

"Because Celeste is perfect in photos, but you... you're real when no one's watching."

Elira swallowed hard, stunned into silence. She had no words — not for the compliment, not for the pain she sensed behind his words.

The moment shattered when Kairo's phone buzzed. He answered, turning away slightly.

"Yes?"

A pause.

His tone shifted. "How many bodies?"

Elira's blood chilled.

Another pause.

"Tell Marco to get the footage. I want names. I want faces. No loose ends."

Then he hung up.

When he turned back, his expression was unreadable. "Apologies."

Elira tried to hide the panic rising in her chest. "That didn't sound like a business call."

"It wasn't," he said simply.

She narrowed her eyes. "Then what kind of business are you in?"

Kairo stepped close once more, his scent washing over her — rich spice, leather, and something darker. "The kind you shouldn't ask questions about."

"But you just asked everything about me," she whispered.

"I never said I was fair, piccola fiamma," he murmured. "Only that I'm curious."

And with that, he brushed past her — not touching, but his presence lingering like smoke in her lungs.

Elira turned slowly, her entire body tense. Something told her that tonight, she hadn't just spoken to a producer… she'd walked into a world far deeper and far darker than the lights of the studio could ever illuminate.

And somehow, she couldn't stay away.

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