The villa felt different that evening. The golden light of the sun spilling over the cliffs should have been comforting, but the air smelled sharper, colder, as if the sea itself was warning me. I had spent the day tending to Marco—making sure his steps were steady, adjusting his pillows, carrying his tea—and yet, a tight knot of unease had been building in my chest all afternoon.
It wasn't just the wind.
"Something's off," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, as I traced the rail of the terrace.
Marco had been pacing inside the villa, holding the tray I'd set down moments before, moving with careful deliberation. His steps were steadier than yesterday, but his face was still taut and guarded, like he was preparing for a fight he didn't want to have yet had no choice but to face.
"Feeling the same thing?" he asked quietly, his gaze flicking toward the cliffside.
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The shadow was already there—subtle at first, barely a shape along the jagged rocks that sloped beneath the villa. Someone had been watching. I could feel it in my skin, like cold fingers brushing over my nerves.
Leonardo appeared at the terrace door, casually, but his eyes scanned the cliffs before they lingered on mine. "You feel it too," he said, calm as ever, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. He had seen it.
"I do," I admitted. "I've been feeling it all day."
He moved closer, his presence reassuring but… too intense. My chest tightened in ways I didn't want to analyze. "We need to check the perimeter," he said simply.
Marco shook his head, gripping the railing to steady himself. "I can handle this. You stay here," he said, nodding toward me, "with Leonardo."
"I'm not staying," I said, my voice firmer than I intended. "You're still weak. Let me—"
"No," Marco interrupted sharply, but not unkindly. "I need to do this myself." His eyes darkened with the determination I had loved and feared in equal measure. "Stay here."
I clenched my jaw but obeyed, my pulse racing. I watched him move toward the cliff path below the villa, slow and deliberate, every step measured, pain hidden behind controlled breathing. Leonardo followed at a careful distance, silent as a shadow.
The minutes stretched. The wind whipped around me, tugging at my hair, with the gulls crying far above. Every rustle in the garden, every creak of the floorboards, made my stomach tighten. I couldn't stop thinking about Monaco, about the past weeks, about Marco's slow recovery—and now the figure waiting beneath the cliffs, hidden but deliberate.
Then I saw it.
Movement.
The intruder had returned, creeping along the path closest to the villa, hidden by shadows but deliberate in every step. My heart stuttered. This was no casual wanderer; the way they moved was precise and calculated.
"Marco," I whispered, my voice trembling. Leonardo's hand was on my shoulder before I even realized it.
He didn't speak. He simply scanned the cliffs with sharp, careful precision. His presence was steadying, though I couldn't shake the tight ache in my chest. Protective, yes—but ambiguous in a way that made me ache elsewhere.
Marco's voice cut through the tension. "I see them," he said, low, measured, and cold. He gripped the railing tighter, knuckles white. "Don't move."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. My hands were clammy, and the fear in my chest clawed at me.
The intruder had reached the outer edge of the cliff that led to the villa's service entrance—a small, often overlooked door near the kitchen. Whoever it was had clearly studied the property. They were not here for sightseeing.
"Should we call the police?" I asked, the words barely audible.
"No," Marco said immediately. His gaze never left the figure. "Not yet. If they know you've panicked, they'll act faster. We wait. We watch."
I nodded, forcing calm I didn't feel. Leonardo's gaze flicked to me, sharp, assessing, almost… challenging. The tension between the three of us was electric, layered with fear, relief, and something unspoken I refused to name.
The intruder's hand brushed against the door handle, testing it. My stomach dropped.
Marco reacted instantly. He moved faster than I expected for a man still recovering from near-death. He grabbed a nearby railing and lowered himself down the side of the terrace, each step careful, but his presence commanding and deliberate. Leonardo followed closely, silent and efficient, his eyes never leaving the figure.
I wanted to go to him, wanted to help, but fear rooted me to the terrace. My pulse pounded, loud enough I was sure the intruder could hear it.
A shout rang out from Marco, sharp and precise: "Stop!"
The intruder froze, hand on the door handle. There was a tense pause, long enough that my breath hitched in my throat. Then, as if deciding against immediate confrontation, the figure retreated, slipping back into the shadows along the cliff path.
"Damn it," Marco muttered under his breath, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He climbed back up slowly, clearly straining every muscle.
Leonardo's eyes followed the path the intruder had taken. "They're waiting," he said softly. "This isn't the last you'll see of them."
I shivered, gripping the railing for support. "Why here? Why now?"
"Because we were careless," Marco said, finally turning to me, voice low but firm. "Because I let my guard down—and they know it."
I stepped closer to him, my hand brushing his arm. "I'm sorry," I whispered, though it felt inadequate. "I should have seen it too."
"You did your part," he said, his hand finding mine. His grip was steady, grounding me against the storm inside me. "This is on me."
Leonardo shifted closer, silent, watching. The tension in the air between us three was palpable. Protective instincts, fear, subtle rivalry—it was all there. I couldn't help the heat that ran through me when his gaze met mine for a moment longer than necessary.
Night fell quickly, and the villa was bathed in silver moonlight. The intruder's retreat didn't bring relief—only more questions, more tension. Whoever it was, they had studied the villa, waited for the right moment, and now they were gone—but the threat lingered like smoke in the air.
Marco sat beside me on the terrace steps, one arm around my shoulders, holding me close. Leonardo stayed a few feet away, stance casual but alert, eyes scanning the shadows beneath the cliffs.
I rested my head against Marco's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe for a moment, yet not.
"They'll come back," Leonardo said quietly, almost to himself.
"I know," Marco replied, dark and resolute. "And we'll be ready."
My fingers clutched his coat, tight enough to leave marks. "I don't want to lose you again," I whispered.
"You won't," he said, voice low and confident. "I won't let that happen."
But as the moonlight danced across the terrace, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes from the cliffs, of someone unseen, waiting. The villa, so bright and open, felt suddenly fragile and vulnerable.
The intruder hadn't been seen, hadn't touched us—but the threat was real. And the knowledge settled in my chest like a stone: whatever had nearly taken Marco once, whatever had tried to hurt him, wasn't finished.
I closed my eyes and drew a shaky breath, trying to summon courage.
Beneath the villa, beyond the edge of the terrace, the shadow waited.
And I knew, with an ache that had nothing to do with the sea wind, that this was only the beginning.
The storm had arrived.