Fault Lines

The Valenti estate felt different after the firefight.
Quieter. Tighter. Like the walls themselves had learned how close everything had come to breaking.

Bella sat on the edge of a low couch in one of the side rooms, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air. Dried blood darkened the seam of her sleeve, stiff where it had soaked into the fabric. The wound in her shoulder wasn’t deep, but it burned steadily, a low, persistent ache that refused to fade into the background.

Not pain meant to stop her.
Pain meant to remind.

Alessandro stood in front of her, sleeves rolled to his elbows, movements precise and unhurried as he worked. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. His hands were steady, practiced, familiar with the careful balance between efficiency and restraint. This wasn’t his first battlefield. It showed.

“You’re lucky,” he said finally, voice low. “Another inch and it would’ve been worse.”

Bella nodded once. “Lucky.”

The word tasted hollow.

He glanced up, studying her face with an attention that went beyond the wound. The tightness in her jaw. The way her shoulders remained rigid, as if she were braced for another impact that never came. She looked composed. Controlled.

He knew better.

Alessandro finished cleaning the wound and reached for the bandage. His fingers brushed her skin briefly, warm against the cold sting of antiseptic. The contact was brief, but deliberate.

“You scared everyone tonight,” he said.

Not accusation. Not anger. Just truth.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

He wrapped the bandage carefully, methodical, as if the order of the steps mattered more than speed. When he finished, his hand lingered at her arm. Not gripping. Not demanding. Waiting.

“Bella.”

She lifted her eyes to his.

He leaned in, slower this time. Not uncertain. Expectant.

She didn’t pull away.
Not right away.

The kiss was brief. Controlled. Nothing like the reckless, furious one she had thrown at him earlier in the smoke and chaos. This one was quieter, steadier. A test. A question.

When it ended, she exhaled, her breath leaving her like something she had been holding too tightly.

Alessandro searched her face. “Earlier,” he said. “That kiss. Was that because you wanted to… or because of everything happening?”

The question was sharper than his tone suggested.

Bella didn’t flinch.

“It was adrenaline,” she said.

And lied cleanly.

“And now?”

She forced herself to stay in his gaze. To not look away. To not think of anything else.

“Now I’m choosing,” she said. “You.”

Not because it felt right.
Because it was necessary.

Something in Alessandro’s expression shifted. Not triumph. Not relief. Understanding. He nodded once, accepting the terms for what they were.

“Then we move forward,” he said. “Properly.”

She nodded.

When he stepped back, there were no illusions left between them. But there was alignment. Shared direction. That would have to be enough.

Marco had watched everything from the doorway.

He hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t moved.

He had seen Bella earlier. Had seen the way her focus fractured for the briefest moment when Luca Santoro appeared across the sector. Had seen the way her breath changed, the way her posture shifted.

No one else noticed.

Not Alessandro.
Not the men checking weapons and injuries.

Only him.

And that unsettled him far more than the bullet that had grazed her shoulder.

Across the city, the Santoro estate moved with controlled urgency.

Alessia sat in a leather chair in one of the private rooms, jaw tight as Luca finished dressing her wound. Blood had soaked through her sleeve earlier. Now it was clean. Wrapped. Contained.

Like everything else.

“You didn’t have to pull me back like that,” she said. “I could still shoot.”

“I know,” Luca replied evenly. “You were hit.”

She studied him closely. His hands were steady. His expression locked down into something familiar and distant.

“You reacted fast,” she said. “Faster than usual.”

He secured the bandage. “Training.”

It was enough of an answer to end the conversation. Alessia let it drop, though the thought stayed with her.

Outside the room, Don Vittorio waited.

“The Morettis took the sector,” Luca said as he stepped out. “They’re fortifying.”

“I expected it,” Don Vittorio replied calmly.

“This shifts the balance,” Luca continued. “Both we and the Valenti were forced back. Temporary.”

“Nothing ever is,” Don Vittorio said quietly. “You did what was required tonight?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation.”

Luca met his gaze. “None.”

It wasn’t a lie.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Don Vittorio studied him longer than usual. There was something there. A pause too long. A silence carrying weight.

He turned away without pressing further. Some truths revealed themselves when pushed. Others cracked under time.

Luca remained where he was, staring after him.

For a moment too long.

Back at the Valenti estate, Don Giovanni listened to Marco’s report without interruption.

“The Morettis were prepared,” Marco said. “We couldn’t hold the sector.”

Giovanni’s expression didn’t change. “Next time, we will.”

His gaze shifted to Bella. “You did well.”

She inclined her head. “I’ll do better.”

The words were steady. Convincing.

Marco wondered who she was convincing most.

Later that night, Bella lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

She did not think of Luca.

She refused to.

She focused instead on Alessandro’s presence earlier. The weight of his hand. Solid. Real. Inescapable.

This is the future, she told herself.

Across the city, Luca stood at a window long past midnight, the city lights bleeding into the dark.

He told himself the same thing.

And neither of them believed it.

In the quiet of the Valenti estate, Alessandro stepped into Don Giovanni’s study. The door closed behind him, sealing the room in silence.

“She’s distracted,” Alessandro said carefully. “Subtle. But it’s there.”

Don Giovanni’s gaze sharpened. “You’re sure.”

“I don’t know why,” Alessandro admitted. “I don’t know what it is. Only that it exists.”

Don Giovanni nodded once. “Continue to observe.”

“Yes, Don Giovanni.”

Across the city, Alessia stood alone in Don Vittorio’s study.

“He’s changed,” she said quietly. “He’s present, but distant. Like he’s holding something back.”

Don Vittorio’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then watch him.”

“I will.”

Later still, Marco stood before Don Giovanni, tension coiled tight in his chest.

“Have you noticed anything unusual about Bella?” Giovanni asked.

Marco hesitated.

“Do not lie,” Giovanni said calmly. “Secrets destroy families. They get people killed.”

Marco swallowed. “She’s attached,” he said finally. “And it’s Luca.”

The decision came fast after that.

“She marries Alessandro,” Don Giovanni said. “No delays.”

Marco nodded.

Outside, the war continued.

Inside, the fault lines had already begun to split.