Chapter ten: Blood on the grass

The morning after their visit to the gallery, Geneva felt different. Something had clearly shifted.

The sky was clear, but the air held a quiet tension, it was almost as if the city itself was holding its breath. Serena Vale stood at the window of their penthouse suite, the soft silk robe clinging to her skin as she watched the city stir to life.

Down below, tourists spilled onto cobbled streets. Boats hummed across the lake. Everything was beautiful.

But something wasn’t right.

Matteo sensed it too.

He was on the phone across the room, his voice low, Italian sharp and clipped as he issued instructions to someone on the ground team. In as much as the circumstances were somewhat bad, Serena loved seeing the authority he exuded. She watched him carefully as he continued to give orders.

He hadn’t let her out of his sight since they left the gallery. The night they'd shared hadn’t softened him,it had sharpened him. Made him more alert. More protective. It exposed a Part of Matteo that Serena didn't know existed. It was evident now that Matteo couldn't bear to loose her.

She didn’t know whether to be grateful or afraid of what that meant.

---

“We leave this afternoon,” Matteo said, pocketing his phone. “I want you packed and ready in an hour.”

Serena turned to him immediately. “Why so soon?”

“Because someone leaked our location.”

Her stomach tightened. “How do you know?”

Matteo crossed the room and handed her a phone.

A photo filled the screen.

Serena and Matteo outside Galerie Marelli.

Taken from a distance.

Zoomed. Cropped.

Captioned in bold red letters:

“The Valentino Heiress Walks Free—De Luca Takes Bride to Mother’s Graveyard.”

Serena’s breath caught in her throat.

“Who sent this?”

Matteo’s voice was as cold as steel. “A contact from New York. This photo’s already been sent to every major faction in Western Europe. They know you’re here.”

“Arturo?”

“Maybe. Or someone watching him. But this was deliberate. A provocation.”

Serena handed the phone back to him. “Do you think they’ll come after us?”

“I know they will.”

---

They left the hotel at noon.

Black car. Tinted windows. Two backup vehicles with security. Matteo’s men were silent, eyes sweeping every corner, every rooftop, every alley.

The roads were too quiet.

The lake seemed to be too still.

Serena felt it building in her bones.

Something terrible was coming.

---

It happened at the intersection near the bridge.

The lead vehicle turned left—and exploded.

The sound was like thunder. Glass shattered everywhere and the car went up in flames.

Serena screamed as the shockwave hit.

Matteo shouted something in Italian—then pulled her down, his body covering hers as bullets ripped through the windshield.

Chaos erupted around them.

Gunmen on motorcycles, masked and armed, swarmed from side streets. The backup car behind them tried to reverse—only for a second explosion to flip it sideways, The metal crumpled like paper.

The street was war.

---

“Move!” Matteo threw the door open, dragging Serena behind him.

They sprinted into a nearby alley, ducking behind a dumpster as bullets flew overhead. Matteo fired back—three shots, precise and deadly. One attacker dropped. Another reeled off the motorcycle, crashing into a railing.

“Who are they?” Serena gasped, her heart hammering in her chest.

Matteo’s jaw clenched. “Not Council. Not Bianchi. Too reckless.”

“Then who?”

He checked the magazine. “Someone who wants to see both bloodlines erased.”

---

They ran.

Through alleys and side streets, past cafes and shuttered bookstores, until Matteo yanked her into a subterranean passage—a maintenance tunnel under the old train station.

He slammed the steel door shut behind them and locked it with a bolt from his belt.

For a moment, the world was silent again.

Just their breathing. Just the echo of what had nearly killed them.

Serena collapsed against the wall, hands shaking.

Matteo crouched beside her, gun still in hand.

“Are you hit?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You?”

He nodded once. “Shoulder. Graze.”

Serena reached for him. “Let me see—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve bled before.”

She looked into his eyes.

And for the first time, saw something terrifying behind them.

Not rage.

Not pain.

But fear.

He hadn’t been scared for himself.

He’d been scared for her.

---

They stayed hidden for two hours.

Matteo patched the wound with a field kit. Serena kept watch, her back to the door, every muscle tight with adrenaline.

Finally, he checked his phone.

“Signal’s blocked. We’ll have to move.”

“To where?”

“There’s a safehouse near the Italian border. One of my father’s old estates. If we make it past the checkpoints, we can lay low there until the extraction team clears a path.”

Serena nodded. “Let’s go.”

---

They resurfaced in a quiet corner of the city, near the old cathedral.

By now, emergency services had flooded the streets. Sirens wailed. Drones hovered. But none of them looked for Serena or Matteo.

Whoever had launched the attack didn’t want public glory.

They wanted a body count.

---

It took another hour to reach the safehouse.

The safehouse was a stone villa buried in the hills, just beyond the city limits. Abandoned by most of the De Luca family after the war, it was quiet, cold, and empty.

But safe.

For now.

---

Inside, Serena collapsed on the couch, her hands still trembling.

Matteo locked every door. Drew the shutters. Checked the cameras. Then sat beside her.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

They sat there in silence, blood still drying on his shirt, smoke clinging to their skin.

Finally, Serena broke the silence between them.

“I should’ve stayed behind. This happened because of me.”

He turned sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No.” His voice was harsh now. “This happened because someone is afraid of what you are.”

“And what am I?”

He leaned forward.

“You’re the first person in twenty years who’s made the council nervous. You’re Valentino’s heir. You survived Bianchi’s lies. You walked into Geneva like a queen and didn’t bow.”

She shook her head.

“I’m not a queen.”

“Yes,” he said fiercely. “You are. And that’s why they want you dead.”

His hand reached out—cupped her jaw, brushing the dirt from her cheek.

“I won’t let them touch you,” he whispered. “Not while I’m breathing.”

---

She didn’t stop the tears this time.

Serena didn’t hide the fear. Or the way her hands clutched his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

And when he pulled her into his arms, it wasn’t like before.

There was no heat, only the quiet ache of two people who had nearly lost each other before they even had a chance.

---

Later that night, Serena stood at the window of the upstairs bedroom, watching the moon rise over the hills.

Matteo came in silently, wrapped her in a blanket, and stood beside her.

“Do you know who sent them?” she asked.

“No. But I’ll find out.”

She looked up at him.

And for the first time, she said it.

Not in fear. Not in fury.

But in truth.

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

He closed his eyes.

Then touched his forehead to hers.

“Then I’ll burn anyone who tries to take you.”