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"Wait," I whisper, pulling Jasmine to a stop. We lean against the cool stone wall of a centuries-old building, its weathered surface rough beneath my fingertips. The stillness of the night surrounds us, broken only by our labored breaths and the distant echoes of Rome's nightlife.
My heightened senses pick up the faintest sounds – a whisper of movement, a rustle of fabric – but I can't determine whether they're friend or foe. Despite the danger lurking around every corner, there's something undeniably beautiful about the way the moonlight paints the ancient walls; it's as if the city's very soul is laid bare before us.
"Are you okay?" Jasmine asks, her voice barely audible.
"Keep your voice down." I reply in a low tone. "I'm trying to listen."
"Sorry." She nods, biting her lip in an effort to stay quiet. Her eyes dart around, searching for any signs of danger, and I hate myself for making her scared.
As we catch our breath, my mind races with possible scenarios. Who can we trust? Who was behind that shooting? Who is the ghost? And most importantly, how can I keep Jasmine safe from the myriad threats we face?
I know that one wrong move could spell disaster for both of us, and I refuse to let that happen. I pull out my phone and text Marco for an update on my father and him. I also demand to know where Frank is and assess if Frank was the one following us in the tunnels of the servants' quarter. Once done, I put my phone aside.
"Let's keep moving," I whisper, taking her hand and leading her deeper into the labyrinthine streets.
"Jasmine," I murmur, squeezing her hand as we huddle in a shadowy alcove to rest twenty minutes later. Jasmine is in heels, and she begged for a break to ease the pain. "What do you think about the Ghost? Can we trust him?"
"Who?" she whispers back, her eyes scanning for any signs of danger.
I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. "The one who's been helping us. The mysterious figure who seems to know our every move."
She shivers, and I can't tell if it's from fear or the closeness of our bodies. "Dario, I don't know. We've had help when we needed it most, but... what if he's playing both sides? What if he was the one who shot at us?"
Her uncertainty seeps into my bones, chilling me to the core.
"Jasmine," I say, my voice barely audible. "We have to trust someone. But we also have to keep our eyes open. If The Ghost is truly on our side, he'll prove it. If not... well, we'll deal with that when the time comes."
"Right," she whispers, her breath warm against my neck. She swallows hard, her pulse fluttering beneath the skin of her throat. I want to reach out, trace that beautiful next with my lips. "We don't know the truth yet. We can't afford to take anything at face value."
I nod, trying to focus on her words, but I just heard something. I'm hyper-aware of every sound, every whisper of movement that surrounds us, my instincts guiding us unerringly towards the sanctuary we so desperately seek.
"Wait!" I suddenly command, pulling Jasmine to the corner. She stumbles slightly but catches herself, her chest heaving from the effort.
"What is it?" she asks, her voice trembling.
"Something's not right…" I trail off, my senses straining to identify the source of my unease.
And then, out of nowhere, a dagger thuds into the wooden door beside us, mere inches from Jasmine's face. She gasps in shock, her eyes wide with terror as she stares at the weapon embedded in the wood.
"Who did that?" she demands, her voice shaking. "What do they want?"
"Stay behind me," I order, my heart pounding as I step protectively in front of her. The world around us feels like it's closing in, the shadows growing darker and more menacing with each passing moment.
My heart hammers in my chest as I cautiously approach the dagger when I notice something attached to it, still quivering from the force of its impact. Jasmine's breath comes in short gasps behind me, and I can feel her fear as if it were my own.
"Let me see what we're dealing with," I say, my voice low and measured to keep her calm. I reach for the dagger, but before I pull it out, I gently rip out a piece of parchment wrapped tightly around the hilt.
My fingers tremble slightly as I unwrap the note, the family crest emblazoned on the wax seal catching my eye.
"Is that…?" Jasmine begins to ask, but I silence her with a glance before she can finish her question. The familiarity of the crest sends a chill down my spine, and I know that whatever message this note contains, it is meant specifically for me.
"Jasmine," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "this seal... it's from my family."
My eyes narrow as I break the seal and unfold the parchment. The words written there send another shiver through me, and I read them aloud for Jasmine to hear:
Attento alle ombre che danzano con l'inganno, perché la lealtà vacilla, e sussurri tramano la tua sconfitta.
Beware the shadows that dance with deceit, for loyalty falters, and whispers plot your defeat.
