Chapter 3 – A House Full of Knives
The Leone estate never slept. Not truly. At 3 a.m., the marble halls whispered with the echo of past sins. Security lights blinked like red eyes in the shadows. And the ghosts—the real ones, the ones who wore suits and secrets—lingered in corners, silent but always watching.
Aaravi stood barefoot on the cold floor of the East Wing hallway, wrapped in a silk robe, unable to sleep. Her mind still reeled from Matteo’s words: They sent me one of his fingers.
Dev.
Her best friend. Her only family. The boy who loved poetry and chai on rainy evenings. Tortured. Mutilated. Because of her. Because of him.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to force the image out, trying to breathe. Behind her, the door to Matteo's study creaked open.
"You should be asleep," came his voice, low and coarse from too many cigarettes and not enough rest.
"So should you," she replied, turning to face him.
Matteo was in dark trousers and an open black shirt, his hair slightly mussed. In the pale corridor light, he looked like sin itself—tired, angry, barely leashed.
"The house is too quiet," she said.
He didn’t respond. Just motioned for her to follow.
They ended up in the armory.
Yes, an armory. Hidden behind a biometric-locked wall. Guns. Knives. Blueprints. Names. Faces. A world built on vengeance and precision.
"You need to know the truth," Matteo said, handing her a file. "This is who took Dev. The Verma Cartel."
She flipped it open. Blood rushed from her face.
Photographs. Torture chambers. Money trails. A red circle around a woman’s face: Ayesha Verma.
"She used to be your father’s mistress," Matteo said flatly.
Aaravi staggered.
"No... my father—he…"
"He was deep in this world, Aaravi. Deeper than you know. You’re not collateral. You’re bait."
Her knees buckled, but Matteo caught her.
"Why are you telling me this now?" she whispered.
"Because you need to decide, Aaravi. If you're going to survive this, you can't be a spectator."
She looked at him, eyes hard.
"Then teach me."
Matteo blinked.
"Teach me how to fight. How to shoot. How to be someone they fear."
A slow smile broke across his face. It wasn't kind.
It was proud.
"Then welcome," he said, pressing a pistol into her palm, "to the house full of knives."
---
Chapter 4 – The Anatomy of Shadows
The next morning didn’t begin with sunlight. It began with the crack of gunfire.
Aaravi flinched as the bullet split through the wooden plank, the echo sharp in the training hall Matteo had ordered to be cleared out for her. He stood behind her, impassive, his arms crossed as she tried to hold her stance steady.
Her fingers ached. Her arms trembled. Sweat clung to her skin despite the morning chill. But she didn’t drop the gun.
“Again,” Matteo said.
She reset. Aimed. Fired.
The bullet missed the target by inches.
“I said again.”
Her jaw clenched. Her nails bit into her palm.
“You’re not teaching me. You’re breaking me,” she snapped.
“No, Aaravi,” he said, stepping forward, his voice suddenly quieter but far more dangerous. “I’m unmaking you. And then I’ll build you into something they’ll never see coming.”
He reached over, adjusted her grip—his fingers brushing hers, electric. She stilled.
“Your stance is weak because your fear is stronger than your hate,” he murmured near her ear.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You’re terrified.”
He stepped away. Let her breathe. Let her lie to herself.
“Take the shot.”
This time, she aimed not for the plank, but for the red circle Matteo had drawn on it with marker—the same way they’d marked Ayesha Verma’s photograph.
She fired.
Bullseye.
She didn’t smile.
Matteo did.
---
By the end of the week, her fingers were blistered, and her arms bore bruises like battle scars. But she could disassemble a Glock in under twenty seconds. She could take down a man twice her size in under five.
And more than that—she started to see things. Codes. Patterns. Habits in Matteo’s men. Footsteps in the marble halls. Secrets whispered behind closed doors.
Matteo noticed it all.
One night, after a sparring session where Aaravi nearly took out Nico—Matteo’s most ruthless lieutenant—he cornered her in the hallway.
“You’re changing,” he said.
“Is that a threat or a compliment?”
He studied her. “It’s a warning.”
“For what?”
“For what happens next. When we go after them. When you see what revenge really costs.”
Aaravi didn’t flinch.
“Then let me pay it.”
