Chapter 175
Aria- First Person POV
When I woke up, I expected the same thing I’d gotten for the past few weeks. Blank ceiling. Heavy silence. Maybe Enzo reading in a chair nearby or Dante sitting on the edge of the bed watching me quietly. Matteo usually slept in, but sometimes he’d already be gone by the time I opened my eyes.
But today was different.
First thing I noticed was the smell. Something warm, sugary, and slightly burnt.
Then voices.
Not hushed or tense, but… light.
I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around my body, still a little sore from the night before. I dragged myself to the door and peeked down the hallway.
The scent hit stronger there. Pancakes. Or something pretending to be pancakes.
I followed the voices until I reached the kitchen.
And there they were.
Matteo standing in front of the stove, flipping a sad–looking pancake with a grin on his face like he’d just discovered fire. Dante sitting at the counter with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look. Enzo leaning against the counter, drinking coffee and looking far too elegant for someone in a hoodie and joggers.
“You’re burning them,” Dante said flatly.
“They’re crispy,” Matteo argued.
“They’re black,” Enzo corrected gently.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Three heads turned toward me all at once.
“There she is,” Matteo said brightly. “Our sleepy little kitten.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled. “What… are you doing?”
“Making you breakfast,” Enzo replied simply, holding out a cup of coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. “And taking you out.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
“You heard him,” Matteo said. “No bodyguards. No black cars. No mission briefings.”
“We’re just going out,” Dante said, standing now and walking toward me. “Italy is out there. And you’ve been stuck inside long enough.”
I stared at them, my mouth slightly open.
“For real?”
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Chapter 175
“For real,” Enzo said. “Get dressed. We’ve got a full day planned.”
I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. So I just nodded, smiled, and ran off to change.
I didn’t stop smiling the entire drive.
The car wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t armored or blacked–out or hiding secret weapons. It was just a silver Jeep with the windows rolled down, music playing low, and the smell of the countryside drifting in.
I sat between Dante and Enzo in the backseat while Matteo drove, sunglasses on, one arm out the window.
We passed golden fields, hills full of olive trees, small villages that looked like postcards. I leaned my head against the window and let the wind blow through my hair. I hadn’t felt air like that in weeks. Not filtered through a vent. Not heavy with fear.
Just air.
Fresh, warm, real.
We arrived in a small town built on a slope, full of stone buildings with vines growing up the sides and flowers in every window box. The streets were cobblestone, the colors were faded and beautiful, and the sun hit everything just right.
It looked like something out of a dream.
My dream.
We walked slowly, just taking it in.
I tried on scarves at a little boutique with hand–painted tiles at the doorway. Dante watched from the side, quietly observing until I wrapped a soft cream–colored one around my neck. Then he pulled out his wallet and bought it before I could protest.
In another shop, Matteo found a leather journal. He handed it to me, flipping it open to show my initials already pressed into the corner.
“Magic,” he winked.
I rolled my eyes but clutched it to my chest.
We sat at an outdoor café, ordered four different kinds of gelato, and passed them around the table like kids. Enzo got coffee flavor, naturally. Dante chose lemon. Matteo had three scoops piled on a cone that ended up melting all over his fingers and shirt.
“I’m under attack,” he declared, holding up his hand dramatically as melted chocolate dripped down his wrist.
“You’re an idiot,” Dante muttered, handing him a napkin.
“I’m a visionary,” Matteo argued, licking his thumb.
I laughed so hard I had to lean against Enzo’s shoulder to catch my breath.
We stayed in that village all afternoon.
We didn’t talk about the Russians. Or the island. Or the mess of everything waiting back home.
We just walked. Ate. Took silly pictures. Sat on the edge of a fountain and made fun of each other. I sketched a couple holding hands and smiled when I noticed all three of the boys watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the square.
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Chapter 175
Enzo tested a hand on my knee and just slayed quiet, eyes soft.
Matteo kept talking. Always talking. Filling every space with laughter and light.
Dante didn’t smile much. But when he did, it was only for me.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder. I wasn’t thinking about threats or secrets or who might be watching. I was just… there. Breathing. Smiling. Existing in a little town that didn’t know my name, with three men who made me feel like maybe I could have a life again – not just survive one.
We got back after sunset.
I kicked off my shoes at the door and dropped the scarf Dante bought me on the couch. My sketchbook was in my lap, a half–finished drawing inside. The gelato container was on the table, mostly empty.
I felt tired, but in a good way.
Like I’d lived something worth remembering.
I curled up on the couch, blanket over my legs, and watched them move around the kitchen, laughing, arguing about dinner, stealing bites from each other’s plates.
Matteo caught me staring and grinned.
“Don’t get used to us being normal,” he said. “This was a one–time thing.”
Lstuck out my tongue and threw a pillow at him.
Enzo shook his head. “She’s not even pretending to be afraid of you anymore.”
“She never was,” Dante added.
And somehow, that made my heart warm.
I leaned my head back against the cushion and whispered to myself, “This… this was a day I’ll remember.”
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