𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔞 𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔢

Chapter 44~Training Room

The castle was quiet in that eerie, deceptive way it always was after breakfast—thick stone walls muffling footsteps, silence stretched like tension over a taut wire. I wandered through the hallways, barefoot, coffee mug in hand.
The corridors smelled like old wood, polished marble, and faint cologne lingering from someone who passed through earlier. I wasn’t looking for anything, really. I just wanted to move. Sitting still wasn’t my thing. Not when I knew what secrets this place was layered with. Not when I’d spent the past few hours pretending I hadn’t once aimed a gun at the same people who sat across from me at the breakfast table.

I took a turn near the east wing, where the echo of something rhythmic caught my ear. Thud. Breathe. Thud. Another breath. It was paced, controlled. I smirked.

I peeked into the training room, the smell of metal and sweat instantly greeting me like an old friend. And there he was—Gino. Topless. Ripped to the heavens. Veins pronounced on his arms, tattoos flexing with every clean jab into the punching bag that was swinging from the ceiling like it owed him money.

He hadn’t seen me yet.

His jaw was clenched, movements sharp. Focused. Brutal. If the punching bag had bones, it’d be in traction.

I leaned against the doorframe, sipping from my mug.

“You know, most people listen to music while they train,” I said loud enough to be heard over the thumping. “But I guess attempted murder works too.”

He paused.

Turned his head just enough to clock me in his peripheral, and I watched the hard edge in his expression flicker—just for a second. Then he grabbed the towel hanging off a nearby hook, wiped down his face, and turned fully toward me.

I knew what was coming before he moved.

Sure enough, Gino grabbed his notepad from the nearby bench and uncapped a pen, ready to start scribbling. But I rolled my eyes and held a hand up.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I know sign. Been fluent since I was like, what, eight? I was just too lazy to show off.”

He froze mid-scribble, raising one brow at me.

Then his hands started moving. You know sign, and you didn’t say anything all this time?

I gave a mock shrug, stepping into the room like I owned the place. Which, let’s be real—I kind of did. “Would’ve ruined my mysterious persona. Can’t have people thinking I care.”

He narrowed his eyes, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitching. I flopped down onto one of the benches, legs sprawled out, coffee still in hand like I wasn’t surrounded by a thousand pounds of weaponized steel.

What are you doing here? he signed.

“Walking,” I answered. “Stalking. Bothering people who deserve it. Take your pick.”

He signed again. I should start locking the door.

“You say that every time, yet here I am. Again. Unlocked, unbothered, and highly caffeinated.”

Gino shook his head, then began unwrapping the tape from his fists. You look tired.

I stared at him. “Gee, thanks. Nothing like a little ‘you look like shit’ to kick off the compliments.”

He rolled his eyes. Didn’t mean it like that. I meant—you okay?

That part made me pause. Not because it was a surprise—Gino was the quietest of all my brothers, but probably the most observant. He watched everything. People, patterns, body language. The way predators did.