Chapter 8 – Training Shadows
The villa was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of blades slicing through the air. Emma's heart pounded—not from fear, but anticipation. She stood across from Lorenzo in the training room, her fists raised awkwardly, sweat already dampening her hair.
"Lower your guard," he instructed, voice calm but firm, dark eyes never leaving hers. "You can't anticipate an attack if you're stiff with fear."
Emma exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. "I know… I just…" She stumbled, nearly dropping her stance, and his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, steadying her with a strength that made her pulse spike.
"Relax," he said softly, leaning just slightly closer than necessary. "Trust me. Trust yourself."
Her gaze met his, and for a heartbeat, the tension between them shifted. The memory of his kiss—the alley, the danger, the brush of his lips—was still vivid. She shook it off, focusing on the training, determined not to be distracted by him again… yet every touch, every correction, sent shivers down her spine.
They moved through drills: defensive maneuvers, knife work, hand-to-hand combat. Lorenzo was patient but exacting, correcting her stance, her timing, her instinct.
"You're fast," he remarked, stepping back to observe her spar with him. "Faster than most. But speed without control is useless. You must control yourself… or you'll get yourself killed."
Emma's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then teach me to control it."
Hours passed, muscles burned, sweat soaked their clothes, and Venice's sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the villa's terrace where they sometimes trained outdoors. The air smelled of salt, old stone, and Lorenzo—an intoxicating mix she could neither resist nor ignore.
Finally, she paused, chest heaving. "I feel… alive," she admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Like I'm finally doing something real… something I should have been able to do before."
Lorenzo's gaze softened, a rare vulnerability threading through his dark eyes. He stepped close, lowering his voice. "You are alive. And now you can defend yourself… and me."
Emma shivered at the intimacy, though she didn't lower her fists. "I don't want to just survive anymore. I want to be ready. I want to stand beside you."
He studied her for a long moment, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her damp face. "And you will," he said softly, voice heavy with emotion. "But you must remember—this world… my world… it's dangerous. More dangerous than you can imagine."
Emma's eyes narrowed with determination. "Then I'll learn. Every day, every fight. I'll keep up with you, Lorenzo. I swear it."
A faint, approving smile curved his lips. "Good. I want to see that fire in your eyes. That's what keeps you alive… what keeps you mine."
Her heartbeat quickened at his words, the closeness, the unspoken promise. Venice stretched beyond the villa, quiet canals reflecting the last light of the day, but inside the walls of the villa, a storm of desire, determination, and danger began to brew between them.
Training wasn't just about survival. It was about trust, control, and closeness—and Emma realized that with Lorenzo, every lesson, every touch, every shared breath was teaching her something more than fighting.
It was teaching her to fight… for him, with him, and because of him.