The Maserati's engine purred low as Ethan pulled into the underground garage. He didn't turn it off immediately — just sat there, fingers tapping the wheel, eyes fixed on the concrete wall ahead.
When his father had sent him to America, the message had been clear: Stay quiet. Get the degree. Keep your head down until the dust settles back home.
Not because Ethan couldn't handle Italy. He'd grown up with danger breathing down his neck. But in their world, even the strongest chess pieces had to be moved off the board sometimes — not out of weakness, but to keep them in play.
Now, though… staying "quiet" was becoming a joke.
He finally cut the engine and stepped out, his footsteps echoing through the empty garage. His phone buzzed before he even reached the elevator.
He didn't need to check the caller ID. He swiped to answer. "Yeah?"
A smooth voice spoke in Italian, sharp with amusement. "Your father hears you've been… busy."
"Busy?" Ethan's tone was calm, almost bored. "You mean doing the work you keep sending across the ocean?"
"We sent you there to disappear, Ethan. College, books, boring friends. Instead, we hear rumors about you being seen with a girl. Not just any girl — an innocent one."
"Leave her out of this," Ethan said flatly, stepping into the elevator.
"Then stop making her look important."
His jaw tightened. "I thought I was supposed to finish college quietly. That's what you said. But the moment I landed here, you started feeding me deals and clean-up work that should be handled by men twice my age. So don't talk to me about 'quiet.'"
Silence.
Then, the voice replied, cool again. "Handle the meeting tonight. And remember — America was supposed to be your safe zone. Don't turn it into another battlefield."
The line went dead.
Ethan slipped the phone into his pocket. They thought Emily was a liability. A weakness. A distraction.
Maybe they were right.
But for some reason, he didn't want to let her go.
--