The courtyard of the Moretti summer estate buzzed with warmth and laughter. Children ran across the wide lawn with balloons, Valerio's younger cousins giggling as they chased each other around Leona. She sat beneath a tree, cross-legged, hair braided loosely over her shoulder, an amused smile playing on her lips as Elena tugged at her hand, asking for help with a crown of wildflowers.
It was peaceful—a rare, delicate calm in a life that seldom allowed such luxury.
Valerio sat with Carlo, Mason, and Dante on the patio, nursing a glass of wine and watching her. She was glowing, blending in with the family as if she'd belonged forever. He couldn't help the soft smile tugging at his lips every time she leaned forward to tuck a flower behind Elena's ear or ruffled Dante's hair in passing.
Then it happened.
In the blink of an eye, the laughter turned into gasps. Tires screeched beyond the stone walls. Doors slammed. The air shifted. Something was wrong.
The front gates burst open.
Men in all black stormed the property with heavy boots and heavier weapons. The crest stitched onto their jackets left no doubt—the De Luca family.
Chaos erupted.
Children screamed. Women were pulled inside. Men took position, but they had been caught off guard. Valerio's hand instinctively reached for his holster, but the target wasn't him—yet. One man broke rank, moving like a viper toward the children.
Toward Elena.
He reached out to grab her—and that was it. That was Leona's final string.
Everything around her slowed. Her fingers curled into fists. Her eyes, once soft, darkened like an oncoming storm. The sweet woman who had been braiding flowers vanished in a flash of fire.
She stood. And the earth might as well have trembled.
Leona moved like lightning.
She snatched a fallen fire poker from near the stone grill, gripping it with frightening familiarity. Before anyone could react, she was already sprinting across the lawn. The man didn't even see her coming.
The first blow landed clean across his jaw with a crack so loud it silenced even the screaming.
He dropped.
Leona didn't pause. Her body twisted, ducked, flipped the poker in her hands and blocked a knife aimed at Dante. Her eyes were glowing, wild, unrecognizable. She jabbed the blunt end of the rod into the attacker's gut, then swung low and swept his legs. Down he went.
"Holy shit," Dante breathed, frozen.
Another De Luca rushed from the side. Leona didn't hesitate. She grabbed a garden spade, hurled it like a knife. The handle struck the man in the neck, and he collapsed, coughing.
"She's alone," one of the De Lucas called out. "Get her!"
Bad move.
Leona turned toward the five men now surrounding her, her breath even, her stance solid. She dropped the poker and cracked her neck, eyes narrowed with the kind of calm that came from someone who'd danced with death before.
They lunged. She ducked. Kicked. Elbowed. One man's gun went off aimlessly as she grabbed his wrist, twisted, and dislocated it in one move.
Two down.
Valerio had never seen her like this. His jaw hung slightly open, frozen at the edge of the patio steps.
"That's not possible," Mason muttered.
"No… she's not just anyone," Carlo whispered. "Look at her."
"Is she trained?" Dante asked, not blinking.
"That's not just training," Valerio finally said. "That's muscle memory. This is who she is."
Leona slammed her palm into the nose of the next man. Blood sprayed. Another tried to flank her, but she rolled forward, picked up a fallen knife, and stabbed it into the ground—just before tripping him face-first into it.
She spun again. Twirled. Her ponytail whipped through the air like a war banner.
By the time the tenth man fell, Leona stood in the center of a ring of unconscious or moaning bodies, breathing hard, blood splattered across her arms.
Dead silence.
Every Moretti. Every Russo. Even the children peeking from the windows. They all stared.
Then Nonna gasped.
"Mamma mia…"
Valerio stepped forward slowly, not knowing if he should be afraid or in awe. Maybe both. Leona turned around, the fire slowly dimming in her gaze as she looked at him. She dropped the last weapon and stood straight, chest heaving, knuckles bruised.
And then, like nothing happened, she brushed her hands on her pants and walked toward him.
Valerio blinked. "What… what was that?"
She only shrugged.
"You okay?" she asked, checking his jaw for bruises.
He nodded dumbly.
Behind him, Mason still hadn't moved. Chiara stood further away, her mouth pressed into a thin line, but her eyes betrayed something else. Fear. Maybe jealousy.
Elena ran back out, throwing herself at Leona.
"You're my superhero!"
Leona smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "No, sweetheart. I just don't like it when bad men try to hurt my family."
And with that, she walked inside.
Everyone else was still standing there. Speechless.
Valerio finally ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the spot where she'd stood.
"Holy hell… who is she?" Dante whispered.
Valerio exhaled deeply.
"Someone you don't want as your enemy."
And just like that, the image of the sweet, sunshine Leona Vale was replaced by something else.
Something terrifying.
Something divine.
One of the men groaned on the ground, clutching his side where Leona's blade had torn through flesh with brutal precision. Blood soaked through his shirt, staining the soil beneath him. His breath was ragged, spit laced with crimson, but his phone vibrated in his pocket with persistent urgency.
Leona crouched down beside him, her boot pressing lightly but firmly against his shoulder to keep him from moving. Her hands didn't tremble. Not even once. The chaos had dulled into silence behind her — except for the shallow breaths of those still in shock.
She slid the phone from his pocket.
The screen read: Salvatore De Luca.
Of course.
Leona's eyes darkened like a storm cloud. She glanced up briefly, noting Valerio still frozen in place, his shirt half untucked, hair tousled, and eyes locked on her like she was a stranger. His younger cousins were clinging to Alessia and Dante, staring wide-eyed at the woman who had just fought like a phantom from hell.
Leona didn't waste another second.
She answered the call and brought it to her ear.
"Speak," she said, voice sharp, cold, unmistakably authoritative.
There was a pause. And then—
"Well, well," came the voice, smooth and slow. "I take it, my man couldn't pick up because he's bleeding out?"
Leona's lip curled slightly. "If that's what you call it."
A chuckle. Low, amused. "I thought it might be Vesper. But no… not him. This voice is different."
A silence, stretching like wire.
"You must be her."
Leona didn't reply.
Salvatore continued, his tone darkening. "I warned Valerio Moretti once. Now I see he hides behind skirts. Though I admit, you're more entertaining than I expected."
Leona leaned in, speaking slowly. "You sent men to his home. You touched his family."
"Tch." Salvatore sounded unbothered. "A lesson in fear. But what you just did… I underestimated you."
"Everyone does," she murmured, eyes flicking toward Valerio.
Salvatore hummed again. "I'm going to enjoy peeling back your layers."
"You'll never get the chance." Her voice dropped. "Because next time, Salvatore, I won't stop at just one."
He went quiet, and she could almost hear the gears in his head turning.
Then— "You're not just a girl playing guard dog, are you?"
Leona smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll find out soon enough. If you live that long."
And with that, she ended the call.
The silence in the yard was suffocating.
She slowly rose to her full height, the bloodied phone still in her hand. Her white blouse was ripped at the shoulder, dirt smeared down her thigh. One of the De Luca men at her feet whimpered as she stepped past.
Everyone was staring.
Valerio most of all.
She walked straight past them, tossing the phone on the ground like it was worthless. Her steps were steady, calm — like she hadn't just taken down a whole group of trained men.
Like violence was as natural to her as breathing.
The silence that followed was deafening.
No one moved. Not Valerio, not Dante, not even Mason — whose eyes had been tracking Leona like she was an entirely new creature. The Moretti and Russo families stood still, the younger cousins gripping onto the adults, eyes wide with fear and something else… awe.
Chiara's mouth was slightly open, disbelief plastered on her face. She'd always thought of Leona as sunshine — delicate, cheerful, harmless. But the woman now standing in front of them, chest heaving slightly, blood on her hands, looked like a warrior straight out of a myth.
Even Mr. Russo and Mr. Moretti, men who had seen their fair share of violence, exchanged a look of stunned respect.
But Leona?
She was utterly unbothered.
She didn't flinch at their stares. Didn't look apologetic or ashamed. She merely brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and adjusted her torn sleeve like nothing had happened. Her gaze remained steady, unreadable — like she wasn't fazed by the fact that she had just taken down a small army by herself.
And when Valerio called her name softly, almost breathless, she merely glanced at him with calm indifference… as if asking, "Now do you see?"