Elena awoke to the faint glow of dawn spilling through the heavy curtains. The room smelled faintly of tea and polished wood—the same scent from the night before—but the oppressive weight of the mansion pressed on her already-tense shoulders. She had barely slept. Every noise in the corridor, every creak of the floorboards, sent her heart racing.
When the door opened, she was ready.
It was the same young woman from yesterday, moving silently like a shadow. In her hands was a folder, leather-bound and embossed with Luca's personal insignia.
"Sir instructs that your first lesson begins now," the woman said. "Follow me."
Elena rose, adjusting the silk robe that had been provided. Every step she took down the long corridor felt deliberate, measured. She couldn't afford mistakes here. Not even small ones.
The hallway led to a large room at the far end of the mansion, walls lined with books, weapons, and maps. Several men waited, standing at attention. Luca was already there, leaning casually against a desk, his eyes scanning a map that detailed the city, its streets, and, as Elena would soon learn, the territories he controlled.
"You are late," he said, not looking up.
"I just arrived," Elena said evenly, though her pulse raced.
Luca finally looked at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. "This is no place for mistakes. There are rules. You will learn them quickly or suffer consequences."
He gestured to the maps and files. "Lesson one: knowledge is power. If you do not understand your surroundings, your enemies will exploit your ignorance."
Elena stepped closer, absorbing the details. Maps of streets, notes on rival factions, lists of names—friends, enemies, neutral parties. The room smelled faintly of ink and gun oil, a reminder that this world was not just dangerous, it was lethal.
"This is… a lot," she said, swallowing hard.
"You will remember it," Luca said, stepping toward her. "Not because you want to. Not because it's polite. Because your life depends on it."
Elena's hands itched to touch the maps, to memorize the streets, the alleys, the safe houses. Her father's name appeared in several places. She felt the weight of history pressing down, the debts he had left unpaid—or uncollected.
The lieutenant who had escorted her yesterday spoke up. "Mistakes are not forgiven here. Observation, memory, discipline. The girl must learn quickly."
Luca's eyes never left Elena. "Do not mistake kindness for weakness. I am giving you the tools to survive. Use them, or they will be your coffin."
The lesson continued through the morning, blending strategy, etiquette, and observation exercises. Elena learned which corridors were monitored, which doors had hidden locks, which staff members were loyal and which watched silently like predators. She realized, painfully, that every person here was part of a larger chessboard—and she was now a piece on it.
By midday, her mind ached, her hands trembled slightly, but she refused to sit or complain. Every glance Luca threw her way reminded her of the stakes. She wasn't just a student. She was a survivor-in-training, and every second of hesitation could cost her.
As the sun began to set, Luca dismissed the men and approached her. He stood close, a silent reminder of his control.
"You've done well today," he said, almost casually. "But understand this: every day will be harder than the last. If you think you are learning for your comfort, you are mistaken. You are learning to live."
Elena's chest tightened. "I understand."
Luca's gaze lingered for a long moment, then he stepped back. "Good. Tomorrow, we begin practical exercises. Real situations. You may not like them. You may fear them. But you will survive them—or you won't."
The door closed behind him, leaving Elena alone with her thoughts, the maps, and the quiet hum of the mansion.
She sat at the desk, reviewing every note, every map, every detail she could memorize. Her hands moved quickly, almost automatically. Every piece of information mattered. Every observation could save her life.
And somewhere deep in her chest, a new emotion began to stir. Fear was still there, but beneath it—something harder. Determination.
She would survive this house.
She would survive Luca De Santis.
And she would uncover the truth of her father's death, no matter the cost.