“But what if,” I try again, but Alessandro stops me.
“Bianca.” His voice is firm and grounding as his thumbs stroke my cheekbones. “What if the sun doesn’t rise tomorrow? What if gravity stops working? You can’t plan for every possible disaster. You can only prepare for what you know and adapt to what you don’t.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to center myself.
He’s right, but the waiting is killing me.
I’m used to action, to having something to do, some way to prove myself.
This limbo istorture.
An hour later, we’re sitting in Matteo’s study, and I can see the worry lines around his eyes have gotten deeper.
He looks tired and much older.
It kind of startles me.
I’ve always seen Matteo as invincible—something akin to a god.
To see him this stressed out andhumanmakes my stomach seize with anxiety.
“Still nothing from the Families?” Alessandro asks, settling into the chair beside mine. I inhale his scent, using that to calm me down.
Matteo shakes his head, his fingers drumming against his desktop in a nervous rhythm I don’t think he realizes he’s doing. “Complete silence. No communications, no hints about timeline or format. It’s unusual.”
“Unusual how?” I lean forward, studying his face. The afternoon light streaming through the windows catches a cluster of silver threads in his dark hair that I swear weren’t there a month ago.
“Typically, the Families follow a predictable pattern. Announcement, preparation time, execution, evaluation. The gaps between communications are usually consistent.” He pulls up a calendar on his tablet, showing me dates and timelines. “Your first three trials followed a standard rhythm. This delay is deliberate.”
“To do what?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but I can feel my anxiety spiking again.
“To demonstrate that the Families control the process,” Alessandro says, crossing his arms tightly across his broad chest. “They decide when you’re tested, how you’re tested, whether and whether you’re worthy of their approval. The waiting is part of the test.”
“Psychological warfare,” Matteo agrees, and there’s something in his voice that makes me think he’s remembering his own experiences with Family politics. “They want you uncertain, second-guessing yourself, building up the stakes in your own mind.”
It’s working,I think but don’t say.
Because the longer I wait, the more convinced I become that whatever they’re planning is going to be impossible to survive.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
“We prepare for every scenario we can imagine,” Matteo says. “Physical combat, strategic planning, interrogation, negotiation. We make sure you’re ready for whatever they throw at you.”
So basically exactly what Alessandro said at the penthouse. “And if it’s something we can’t prepare for?” I ask, voicing the one thought I can’t get rid of.
“Then you adapt,” Alessandro says. “Like you did during the warehouse operation when everything went sideways. Like you did during the interrogation when Torres tried to break you psychologically. You figure it out in the moment and you survive.”
His confidence in me is both comforting and terrifying.
Because what if this time I can’t adapt fast enough?
What if this time survival isn’t an option?
Three days later, I’m in Alessandro’s office going over defensive tactics when his assistant’s voice crackles through the intercom.
“Mr. Ricci? There’s a courier here with a delivery for Miss DeLuca. He says it’s from the Families.”
Time seems to freeze as Alessandro and I lock eyes across his desk. I can see my own apprehension reflected in his expression.
