The evening had just begun to settle, the fading sunlight slipping through the tall glass windows of Enzo's office as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with calm precision. There was a sharpness in his demeanor tonight—an edge of anticipation. 

Everything was finally aligning. The man who could lead them to the truth... to the stalker... was now in their custody. Answers were no longer distant possibilities; they were within reach. Enzo could already feel the thrill of it—the quiet satisfaction of being one step ahead.

He reached for his keys, ready to leave, when his phone rang. The name flashing on the screen made a slow smile spread across his lips.

Donato.

Of course. Enzo picked up immediately, leaning back slightly, his tone shifting from calculated to playfully warm in an instant. "Miss me, darling?"

On the other end, Donato chuckled, the familiar ease in his voice carrying through. "Not me—but Nonna does. She's asking you to come home right now. Everyone's here. We're having a proper Indian evening—snacks made by my wife and mother-in-law. Mom and Nonna included."

For a second, Enzo blinked. Then his entire expression lit up.

"Oh my God... Indian food?" he said, almost dramatically, running a hand through his hair as if suddenly faced with a life-changing decision. "Just wait for me, baby. I'll be there in ten minutes. And don't you dare touch a single thing until I arrive," he added, pointing at nothing in particular as if Donato could see him.

Donato's laughter echoed through the line. "Then you better come fast, or I'll finish everything myself." The call ended with that familiar ease between them.

Enzo lowered the phone slowly, a quiet grin still resting on his face. For a moment, he stood there, weighing his options—the truth waiting for him, the man who could unravel everything... or the warmth of home, of laughter, of family.

He exhaled softly. "The truth can wait," he muttered under his breath, slipping his phone into his pocket. "First, we celebrate the win." Because for the first time in a while, it felt like a win.

Grabbing his car keys, Enzo walked out without another thought, his steps lighter now, his mind temporarily free of the darkness he usually carried. Tonight wasn't about interrogations or shadows. Tonight was about food, chaos, and the people who mattered. And he wasn't going to be late.

_____

The evening settled gently over the Romano mansion, painting the sky in hues of amber and deepening blue as soft lights flickered on across the garden. The air carried a warmth that wasn't just from the weather—it was alive with laughter, voices overlapping, the clinking of cups, and the unmistakable aroma of freshly prepared Indian snacks drifting from inside. 

It was the kind of evening that felt full—of family, of comfort, of something rare that the Romanos didn't always allow themselves to slow down and enjoy. Every member of the family was present, just as the elder Mrs. Romano had insisted. Chairs were arranged across the garden, a long table decorated simply but beautifully, filled with plates waiting to be served. 

Meera and Aravi sat together, engaged in light conversation, while Kiara moved between them and the table, making sure everything was in place, her presence soft yet central to it all. Inside, Kavya was still occupied with the final touches, refusing to let anyone interfere despite multiple attempts.

And outside—Albert was failing miserably at pretending he wasn't waiting for a reason to go back in. He stood with the others, nodding at conversations, half-listening, but his attention kept drifting toward the door. Every few minutes, he would glance at it, then look away as if nothing had happened, only to repeat the same thing moments later.

Donato noticed. Of course he did. Leaning casually beside him, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, Donato nudged Albert's shoulder just enough to break his carefully maintained composure. "So," Donato drawled, his tone laced with quiet amusement, "when are you going to propose to her?"

Albert stiffened slightly, then shot him a look. "Why are you so certain that I love her?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent—but it didn't quite land.

Donato's smirk deepened, his gaze knowingly sharp. "Because, bro... I can see it. It's written all over your face. The way you keep looking toward that door like she might disappear if you don't keep watch." He paused, leaning in just slightly. "You really love her. Just say it."

Albert exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, though a small, reluctant smile betrayed him. "And what about you?" he countered smoothly, turning the focus back where it belonged. "When are you going to propose to your wife?"

That— That caught Donato off guard. He froze for just a fraction of a second, the ease in his expression faltering. "Is it that obvious?" he asked quietly, almost to himself.

Albert didn't hesitate. "Yes, bro. It is. You're completely gone." His smirk mirrored Donato's now. "Just say it."

For a moment, Donato said nothing. His eyes instinctively searched for Kiara, finding her across the garden as she laughed softly at something krish said. And in that instant, something settled within him—something certain, something undeniable.

He nodded, more to himself than anyone else. "Yeah..." he murmured. "I will. Soon."

Albert watched him, the teasing fading into something more understanding, and for a second, neither of them spoke. It wasn't just banter anymore—it was realization. Around them, the family carried on, unaware of the quiet confessions happening in the middle of it all.

Krish was arguing loudly about food portions with one of the elders, Sofia trying to correct him while laughing, Elio running around the chairs until someone finally caught him, and Aravi calling out for everyone to sit properly before the food arrived. The entire garden buzzed with life—chaotic, loud, warm.

And just then— The door opened. The aroma deepened. And Kavya stepped out. Albert didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even pretend anymore. Because at that moment, with the soft lights falling on her and the sound of laughter surrounding them— He knew. Time was running out. And this time... he wouldn't stay silent.

The garden had settled into a beautiful rhythm by the time everything was finally ready. Soft lights glowed overhead, casting a golden warmth over the long table as Kiara, Elena, Kavya, and Sofia moved back and forth, carefully arranging plates and dishes one by one. The aroma of freshly prepared Indian food filled the air—rich spices, warm bread, and something sweet lingering underneath it all—creating a kind of anticipation that made even the most composed members of the Romano family restless.

One by one, everyone took their seats.

At one end of the table, Krish had already immersed himself in a surprisingly serious discussion with the elder Mr. Romano, both of them leaning slightly forward as they compared Italian and Indian cuisines with almost academic intensity—talking about spices versus herbs, slow cooking versus layering of flavors, tradition versus technique—as if they were negotiating something far more critical than food. Their conversation carried a seriousness that clashed amusingly with the lively chaos around them.

On the other side, however—There was far less discipline.

Donato, seated beside little Elio, leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the table like a man plotting something dangerous. The moment he thought no one was watching, his hand slowly reached toward one of the dishes. Right beside him, Elio mimicked the movement perfectly, his small hand stretching forward with equal determination, both of them sharing the same mischievous intent.

And then—Smack. Two quick, precise hits landed on their hands at the exact same time. Kiara. She stood there, arms crossed, her expression firm, her gaze sharp enough to silence both of them instantly. "Wait until everyone is settled," she said, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument.

Donato pulled his hand back dramatically, muttering under his breath, "Cruel..."

"Clurel," Elio echoed proudly—only to completely mispronounce it, his tiny voice making the word sound far less threatening.

Kiara's eyes narrowed slightly as she shot both of them a warning glare. That was enough. For now. 

Just then, the soft hum of an engine broke through the noise. A sleek black Rolls-Royce glided through the main gates, its presence commanding attention without needing to announce itself.

Elena was the first to notice. She turned her head instinctively, a small knowing smile forming. "He's here." Everyone else followed her gaze, their attention shifting toward the entrance as the car came to a smooth stop.

Enzo stepped out.

Donato rose almost immediately to greet him, a familiar ease settling over his expression. Nonna didn't wait—she walked straight to Enzo and pulled him into a tight hug, her earlier complaints forgotten as she fussed over him like he hadn't just been away for a few hours. The others welcomed him warmly, voices overlapping, the energy lifting just a little more with his arrival.

Soon, everyone was seated again. And finally—The food.

Plates were passed around, revealing a spread so vibrant it almost felt like art. Golden samosas, crisp bhajiya and perfectly molded jalebi, rich curries glistening under the lights; soft naan stacked neatly; fragrant rice steaming gently; and sweets placed carefully at the center, waiting to be claimed. The colors alone were enough to draw admiration, but the aroma... that was something else entirely.

For a moment, even the Romano family—known for their composure—fell quiet. Because this wasn't just food. It was warmth. It was culture. It was Kiara bringing a piece of her world into theirs—and somehow, it fit perfectly. And as laughter slowly returned, as plates began to fill and conversations resumed The night truly began.

The garden soon filled with the soft clatter of cutlery and the low hum of satisfied voices as everyone finally began eating. What started as quiet appreciation quickly turned into a chorus of compliments—each dish tasted, admired, and immediately praised. 

Meera explained the ingredients of each item with gentle patience, while Aravi listened with genuine interest, occasionally adding her own observations about flavors and textures. Even the elder Mr. Romano, who had earlier been deep in philosophical comparisons of cuisines, now nodded thoughtfully as he tasted, admitting with surprising honesty that Indian food carried a depth he hadn't expected.

But as always—Peace at a Romano table never lasted long.

On the right side of the table, Krish leaned forward, his eyes locking onto a plate placed just out of easy reach. There, sitting like a prize, was the last samosa. Without hesitation, he stretched his hand toward it, determined, confident—At the exact same moment, another hand reached for it.

Sofia.

She had been mid-conversation with Aravi, distracted, speaking animatedly about the spices and flavors—but instinct had guided her hand toward the same target. Her fingers brushed against something warm—Not the samosa. Krish's hand. Both of them froze.

Sofia's gaze dropped first, realization hitting instantly. She jerked her hand back as if she had touched fire, her eyes widening slightly. At the same time, Krish did the same, both of them quickly redirecting their hands toward the samosa—only to end up colliding again in their urgency.

"I was the first to reach it," Krish declared immediately, his tone firm, almost offended.

Sofia straightened, lifting her chin. "Excuse me? I was the first one holding it, so it's mine."

"No, it's mine."

"No, it's mine."

Their voices rose in perfect synchronization, neither willing to back down over something so utterly trivial—and yet, to them, completely important. Across the table, Aravi and Meera exchanged a look. A long, tired, knowing look.

With a quiet sigh, both women reached for another plate, each picking up a fresh samosa. Aravi leaned forward and placed one in Sofia's plate, while Meera gently handed the other to Krish. "Here, take this one, baby. It's the same," Meera said softly, trying to end the unnecessary battle.

Krish pouted immediately, his expression turning almost childlike as he held the samosa but refused to accept defeat. "But Mumma... I was the first one to hold that one," he complained, his voice dipping into a dramatic whine.

"It's okay, Krish," Meera replied patiently. "You're older, aren't you? She's like your younger sister. Let her have it." That—That was the mistake. For a split second, there was silence. And then...

"He's not my brother!"

"She's not my sister!"

Both of them shouted at the exact same time, their voices overlapping so perfectly it was almost rehearsed. The entire table went still. Every head turned toward them. For a moment, no one said anything—just watched the two of them, both flushed, both defensive, both completely unaware of how synchronized they had been.

And then—Laughter broke out. Loud, unrestrained, genuine laughter echoed across the garden, filling the space with warmth. Even the elder members couldn't hold back, shaking their heads as amusement took over. Nonna wiped the corner of her eye dramatically and commented between laughs, "These two are the same chaos in different forms."

Krish and Sofia, still glaring at each other, only made it worse. Because neither of them realized—They looked exactly alike in that moment.

The garden remained alive with laughter and warmth,  Conversations overlapped, plates were passed around, and the glow of soft lights made everything feel almost dreamlike. At one side of the table, Donato and Enzo sat together, completely absorbed in their own world—talking, laughing, occasionally teasing each other like nothing else mattered. 

There was an ease between them, a kind of unspoken understanding that only came from years of shared history. Kiara watched them for a moment, a soft smile forming on her lips, her eyes filled with quiet admiration.

"I love their friendship,"they two are made for eachother, she said gently, her voice carrying a warmth that matched her expression.

"Not two... three," Elena corrected from beside her, her tone casual but deliberate.

Kiara turned slightly, her brows knitting in confusion. "What?"

"They're not just two. They're a group of three," Elena clarified, glancing briefly toward Donato and Enzo before looking back at Kiara.

Kiara's curiosity deepened. "Who's the third?"

"Their Rosi," Elena said simply.

"Rosi?" The name felt unfamiliar on Kiara's tongue, yet it carried weight the moment it was spoken.

Elena nodded, her expression softening slightly, as if the name itself held memories. "The three of them have been together since school. Best friends... inseparable."

Kiara's gaze drifted back to Donato for a second before returning to Elena. "Then where is she? I've never seen her with them." A brief silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, but heavier.

"She's not here," Elena replied quietly. "She's in Paris... for the past five years."

Kiara blinked, surprised. "She moved there? Did she get married?"

Elena shook her head slowly. "No... it's not like that." She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. its a long story , but i will make it short for you,"  "Her parents died in an accident. It destroyed her. Completely. She couldn't handle it... she fell into a deep depression. Donato brother and Enzo tried everything—they stayed with her, tried to make her smile, to bring her back—but nothing worked. Even her grandmother couldn't reach her."

Kiara's expression softened, her earlier curiosity replaced with quiet concern.

"One day," Elena continued, her voice lower now, "she just left. Without telling them. Without meeting them. She knew they wouldn't let her go if she did. When they went to her grandmother's house... she was already gone. She left a note—asking them not to come after her, to take care of her grandmother instead. She said she needed time... to heal, to forget everything that happened here."

Kiara listened silently, her heart tightening at the thought of someone leaving behind everything like that.

"She promised she would come back when she's ready," Elena added. "But she cut off all contact. Changed her number. The only person she speaks to is her grandmother. Not even Donato brother... not even Enzo. They know where she is, that she's safe—but they've never forced their way back into her life. They're waiting... respecting her decision."

Kiara exhaled slowly, absorbing every word. "So her grandmother is here... alone?" she asked softly.

Elena nodded. "Not really alone. As per Rosi's wish, Donato brother and Enzo take care of her. They visit, make sure she's okay. They didn't lose her... they're just waiting for her to come back."

Kiara fell quiet after that, her gaze drifting once more toward Donato and Enzo—still laughing, still teasing, still looking like nothing in the world could shake them. But now— She understood. There was a space beside them. An invisible one. And they were still saving it.

The evening slowly melted into a softer rhythm after the snacks were finished, the lively energy settling into something warm and unhurried. Plates were cleared away, laughter lingered in the air, and the garden transformed into a space of comfort. Some stretched out on the large woven mats spread across the grass, others leaned back against the cushioned sofas, letting the cool breeze brush against their skin. The women gathered together in one corner, still chatting, their voices light and easy, while the elders sat nearby, watching everything with quiet contentment.

But calm never lasted long where Krish was involved. "Football match!" he suddenly ANOUNCE—his voice loud, filled with excitement as he sprang to his feet, already brimming with energy. "Krish vs donato!"

Donato raised a brow, amused. Enzo smirked. Albert sighed, already sensing chaos. Teams were formed quickly. Krish stood tall, pointing confidently. "Me, Albert, and Enzo. bro's"

Enzo stepped forward dramatically, placing a hand over his chest before turning toward Donato with a teasing grin. "Sorry, baby," he said shamelessly. "I know Krish is a champion. I can't embarrass myself by losing on your team."

A collective gasp of mock betrayal echoed. Donato narrowed his eyes, offended in the most dramatic way possible. "Oh really?" he said slowly, rolling up his sleeves. "If you have a champion... then so do I." Without wasting a second, he turned and called out, "Sofi, baby! Come here."

The reaction was instant. Enzo and Albert both stiffened, their expressions dropping. Because they knew. Sofia wasn't just any player. She was dangerous. Captain of her college football team. Fast. Sharp. Ruthless on the field. And worst of all—she enjoyed winning.

Krish, however— laughed. "Easy," he said confidently, brushing it off with a dismissive wave. "No way Sofi can make me lose."

Enzo and Albert exchanged a look. Both gulped. Both tried—subtly—to warn him. But Krish, wrapped in his own overconfidence, didn't notice. Sofia stepped onto the field area, tying her hair tighter, her eyes locking onto the ball—and then onto Krish.

That gaze alone made Enzo and albert reconsider their life choices. The match began.

They kept it simple—small-sided football on the lawn, no formal positions but an understanding of roles. Two teams, quick passes, short space, fast movement. Elio ran around like an excited spark, chasing the ball wherever it went, while Albert tried to maintain some structure. Enzo played midfield, balancing both defense and attack, while Krish pushed forward aggressively, taking charge as striker.

On the other side, Donato stayed calm but sharp, reading movements, controlling the pace, while Sofia... Sofia dominated. The game started evenly. Passes were exchanged quickly, the ball moving back and forth. Krish managed an early goal with a clean strike after intercepting a loose pass—he threw his hands up in celebration, grinning widely.

"Too easy!"

Donato rolled his eyes. Minutes later, Sofia responded. She intercepted a pass from Albert with perfect timing, dribbled past Elio with ease, and struck the ball low into the corner—goal.

1–1.

The energy shifted. Cheers erupted from both sides—the guards had now split into unofficial supporters, some shouting for Krish, others backing Sofia. The elders leaned forward slightly. Now it was interesting.

The match continued—fast, competitive, playful yet intense. Enzo managed a clever assist to Krish, bringing their score ahead again. But Sofia answered once more with precision, leveling it again.

They were tied. And then— The final minutes. Score tied, next goal wins. Tension rose. Even the women had stopped talking, now watching like a proper audience. Krish had the ball. He moved forward confidently, dribbling past Donato with speed, ready to take the final shot—

And that's when it happened. Sofia stepped in. Perfect timing. A clean tackle—she hooked the ball away from his feet without fouling, smooth, controlled, effortless. Krish froze for half a second. That was all she needed.

She took possession, turned sharply, and sprinted forward. No hesitation. No second thought. Goal. But she didn't stop. The ball rebounded quickly into play, and before anyone could properly reset, she pressed again—intercepting a careless pass, cutting through the defense—

And scoring again. Two goals. Back to back. Game over. Silence. Then—an explosion of cheers. Donato shouted loudly, pride bursting from him as he ran forward and lifted Sofia straight into the air like she was a trophy. "That's my champion!" he declared, laughing.

Sofia grinned, breathless but victorious. On the other side— Krish stood frozen. Absolutely stunned. His earlier confidence shattered in the most brutal, silent way possible. Enzo slowly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I tried to warn you," he muttered. Albert just shook his head. And around them—The entire garden erupted into laughter once again.

____

Night had settled quietly over the mansion, the earlier laughter now softened into scattered conversations and tired smiles. The house carried that warm, lived-in silence that follows a long, eventful day—some family members had already retreated to their rooms, while others lingered in the living room, speaking in low voices, unwilling to let the night end just yet. But amidst that calm, Enzo felt anything but at peace.

His gaze moved restlessly through the space, searching. For her. Elana

He had been doing that for days now—watching from a distance, never too close, never too obvious. Since the day Elena had declared, almost defiantly, that she was going on a date with her boyfriend, something had shifted. She had built a wall—cold, firm, unyielding—and no matter how many times he tried to reach her, she refused to even look at him. He had let it go at first, thinking she needed space. But now... now it was becoming unbearable.

Because he was watching her slip away. Too fast. Too far. He had seen everything—the constant outings, the late returns, the way her world now seemed to revolve around someone else. The parties. The laughter that no longer belonged to him. And it was driving him insane.

Then he saw her. In the lounge. Alone. Sitting on the couch, her attention fixed on her phone, completely unaware of the storm approaching her.

Enzo exhaled slowly, steadying himself before walking toward her. Each step felt heavier than it should have, like he was walking straight into something inevitable. He stopped in front of her but didn't speak immediately.

Elena looked up. And froze. Because the look in his eyes It wasn't soft. It wasn't patient. It was something darker. Something controlled, but barely. "W-what happened?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a slow breath and gently placed his hands on her shoulders—not harsh, not forceful, but firm enough to make her stay. "Eli... don't do this. Please."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

His grip softened slightly, but his voice remained strained. "Don't go too fast with him. You're just nineteen... you don't have to do all this now. y-you don't have to date now, you're still young baby too young, Wait. Just... wait."

For a second, she stared at him. Then her expression hardened. "I am old enough to date, Enzo," she said, her voice turning cold—deliberately ignoring the way he had called her baby.

"I—I know, but you don't have to—"

"Why?" she snapped suddenly, her voice rising, breaking through his words like glass. "By what right are you stopping me, Enzo?" Her chest rose and fell heavily, her eyes filling despite her effort to stay strong. "You neither accept me... nor let me move on. What do you even want?"

The question hit him harder than anything else. He froze. Because she wasn't wrong. What was he doing? If he couldn't give her what she wanted... then why was he standing in her way? Why couldn't he just let her be happy?

The answer came immediately. Because he didn't trust the world with her. Because he knew her. His Eli—strong on the outside, trained, fearless... but inside? Soft. Fragile. Someone who felt too deeply, who broke too easily. If someone hurt her—He wouldn't survive it.

"Because..." his voice lowered, almost breaking under its own weight, "I can't let anyone hurt you. Eli... he's not for you."

A hollow laugh escaped her lips, sharp and bitter. "Oh really?" she said, shaking her head. "You can't let anyone hurt me... but YOU can hurt me?" The words sliced through him. "How ironic is that, Enzo?"

His hands slowly fell away from her shoulders.

"I'm trying to forget you," she continued, her voice trembling now despite her anger. "I'm trying to move on. Please... let me." A tear slipped down her cheek. "If you can be with someone else... then why can't I?"

He had no answer. None that wouldn't break everything.

"And about getting hurt..." she wiped her tear roughly, lifting her chin with forced strength, "you don't have to worry. I'll take care of myself." And before he could stop her— She was gone. Running. Leaving behind silence.

Enzo stood there, unmoving, as the echo of her words lingered around him. The space she had occupied felt emptier than it should have. A single tear slipped down his cheek—quiet, unnoticed, but heavy with everything he had been holding back.

"No..." he whispered to himself, shaking his head slightly. "No, I can't do this anymore." The restraint. The distance. The silence. It was killing both of them. His jaw tightened as something finally settled inside him—not confusion, not hesitation—Decision.

"I'll tell her," he murmured, his voice steadier now despite the ache in his chest. "After I find out the truth about the stalker... I'll tell her everything." No more hiding. No more pushing her away in the name of protection. "I love her." The words felt dangerous. But also—Right. And with that, he turned and walked away, unaware that the next time he faced her... nothing would remain the same.

______

The car came to a slow, deliberate halt in front of a place where silence wasn't peace—it was power. A secluded structure, dimly lit, standing like a witness to secrets buried too deep to ever resurface. This was not just any place. This was where decisions were made that shaped destinies, where loyalty was tested, and betrayal was punished without mercy. this was a place where Donato and Enzo Rulle."  The air itself felt heavier here, colder—like it knew what kind of truths were dragged out within these walls.

Enzo stepped out without hesitation. No pause. No second thought. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes carried something dangerous tonight. Something unrestrained.

He walked straight inside, his footsteps echoing faintly against the concrete corridors until he reached the inner wing—the one reserved for interrogations. The moment he entered, the metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air.

The man was already there. Tied to a chair, barely holding himself upright. His face was unrecognizable—swollen eyes, split lips, bruises darkening his skin. He looked like he had already been through hell... and was about to be dragged back into it.

Enzo didn't spare him a second glance before speaking. "Did he say anything?" His voice was calm—but dangerously so.

"No, sir. Not a word," one of his men replied.

The tied man suddenly shouted, desperation breaking through his pain. "You bastards! Leave me! I didn't do anything—"That was it. Whatever thin thread of control Enzo had been holding onto— Snapped.

In a single second, he lunged forward, his fist crashing into the man's face with such force that the chair toppled backward, hitting the ground with a loud, jarring sound. But Enzo didn't stop. He followed him down, grabbing him by the collar and raining punches—one after another, each heavier than the last.

"TELL ME—" punch.

"YOU BASTARD—" punch.

"WHO IS—" punch.

"THAT—" punch.

"STALKER?!" punch.

Each word came out like a growl, each blow fueled by something deeper than anger—frustration, fear, exhaustion... and something dangerously personal. The man beneath him was barely conscious now, blood spilling from his mouth, his body limp under the assault.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. They had seen Enzo angry before. But this— This was something else. "Sir!" one of them stepped forward cautiously. "Stop—you're going to kill him. Then how will we find out about the stalker?"

That—That snapped him back. Barely. Enzo froze mid-motion, his chest rising and falling heavily. For a moment, he just stared at the broken man beneath him... then delivered one final punch before pushing himself up.

He stood, breathing hard, before slowly pulling out his gun. Without a word, he aimed it straight at the man's head. "Are you going to tell me," he said coldly, his voice now terrifyingly steady, "or should I end this right here?" His finger rested lightly on the trigger. "Because if you're not useful... there's no reason for you to stay alive."

The man coughed weakly, forcing his swollen eyes open, terror flooding his broken expression. "I—I will... I'll tell you..." he stammered desperately. "Please... don't kill me... I have a family..."

Enzo didn't blink. "Good," he said flatly. "Then start."

The man swallowed painfully, his voice shaking. "It's... it's—*****"

He said the name. And everything—Stopped. Enzo's breath hitched. His grip on the gun faltered ever so slightly, his hand beginning to tremble. For a second, he thought he had heard it wrong. "That's impossible..." he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Then louder—"You're lying!" he snapped, rage flaring again—but this time, it wasn't just anger. It was disbelief.

"I'm not!" the man cried weakly. "It's true, sir!"

A tense silence filled the room. Then Enzo's jaw tightened. "Prove it." call your boss, One of his men quickly handed over a phone to the beaten man. With shaking fingers, the man dialed the number.

Each second stretched painfully as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times— Click. The call connected. And then—A voice. Clear. Familiar. The moment it reached Enzo's ears— His entire body stilled. His eyes widened, something raw and unguarded flashing through them for the first time. The gun in his hand lowered slightly. Because that voice— It wasn't just unexpected.It was—Unthinkable.
***
Okay Take care, bye bye 💫