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"Is there something wrong?" I inquire, trying to mask my growing excitement.
"Nothing I can't handle," she replies confidently, unwilling to surrender so soon. "It's just a little more intricate than I expected."
A little? I scoff to myself. This is the most complex lock in the world. It uses a rotating disk mechanism with over three thousand key combinations.
As she continues her work, I can't help but admire her tenacity. At this point, every other person I’ve met so far had given up. But for Romola, each click and shift of the lock only seems to fuel her resolve. It's no wonder she's become a chief attraction at the circus—her focus and skill are truly remarkable.
"Almost there," Romola whispers. Everyone in the room seems tense with anticipation. Even my bodyguards appear to hold their breath, awaiting the outcome of this challenger, who has surpassed all expectations so far.
I am very careful not to let my growing excitement show. The potential of what Romola and her father could add to our operation is exponential. I am as restless as a racehorse, ready to sprint from its box.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear the softest of clicks. The sound is mesmerizing. Romola looks up at me, her gray eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Done," she announces, glowing with pride, and my chest does something unfamiliar.
I take a moment to gather myself. After all this time, I might have finally found the right person. We've just taken the first step towards securing my future, and I can't help but feel that everything is falling into place.
"Brava," I praise, clapping my hands together in approval. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint."
“Well,” Romola quips, “that was a lot of fun, but we really should get back to the bakery – after all, the bread isn’t going to bake itself.” Her flippant answer makes me want to pull her over my lap and give her a proper spanking.
But I hold back, seeing her reaction for what it really is, she’s unsure whether or not to trust me. I need to reel her in.
“It’s yours.” I answer casually, “The box, and of course, its contents, if you want it.” With the lock finally unlocked, Romola slowly lifts the lid of the box, revealing its contents. A wad of cash, neatly bundled together with a rubber band, sits inside, accompanied by an almost seductive glint of gold coins. My excitement swells further as I watch her reaction.
"Che diavolo (What the hell)?" - for goodness sake - she whispers, “This is too much.” She looks from the box to me, clearly puzzled.
"Rafaele," she says cautiously, her eyes never leaving mine. "What exactly do you want from us?"
"Your skills," I reply honestly. "The two of you have the potential to be invaluable assets to our family. Together, we can achieve great things."
Great things might be an understatement. With their help, I envision us as the ruling family of Rome, feared and respected by all who cross our paths. Even the mere thought sends electricity pulsing down to my fingers.
"Think of it as a partnership," I continue, hoping to sway her decision. "We provide you with protection and resources, and in return, you lend us your expertise."
Her gaze flickers between her father and me. And I see it so clearly, the way they communicate without words, so in tune with each other. It’s exactly what I need.
A wicked grin stretches across my face as I turn my attention to Agostino, motioning for my men to bring forth the chains. "Now it's your turn, old man," I say. “What I need to be done requires two people who trust each other explicitly. And what loyalty is stronger than that of a father and a daughter? The fewer people know of my little secret, the better for my anticipated outcome. If I take just any two people, they could get greedy, envious and every ugly sentiment humans possess. They could betray me and my mission.” At this, I give them each a severe look, a warning: do not cross me.
“Your mission…” Agostino whispers, his voice trailing off as he notices the heavy chains my men set up on makeshift pillars.
“Your test, Agostino, is to release yourself from the chains we place you in. Without a key, without a tool. Can you do it?”
Agostino stares at the chains, his weathered hands gripping them tentatively. For a moment, I could see doubt flicker across his face, and then his jaw set in determination. Romola moves closer to her father - her fierce gaze, a silent promise of unwavering support.
He nods slowly while standing in place with legs slightly apart, extending his open hands. He watches my men at work. The metallic clinking of the chains, as they're wrapped securely around Agostino's wrists and ankles, is starkly out of place in this cozy tent.
The old man’s hands move slowly at first as he tests the strength of the links and the tension in the chains. I watch with bated breath, curious to see if he possesses the same level of skill and perseverance as his daughter.
"Your task," I explain, never taking my eyes off him, "is to free yourself from these chains. Demonstrate the skills that made you Rome's circus legend."
The old man meets my gaze, determination burning in his gray eyes – eyes so similar to his daughter's. He doesn't say a word, merely nods once in understanding before focusing all his attention on the shackles that bind him.
"Begin," I command, setting my stopwatch and crossing my arms.
His fingers dance over the chains with practiced ease, feeling for the lock's hidden mechanisms while his mind races through every possible solution. It's fascinating, really, how a man of his age can possess such nimble dexterity.
As we intently observe the older man at work, I find myself impressed by his unwavering focus and resourcefulness. He wastes no time trying methods that fail; instead, he immediately switches to another tactic, never once faltering.
