T W O

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Three years back.
Milan, Italy.

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"I will be fine, Nonno," Valentina assured her grandfather. He had business to attend to in the city, but he was reluctant to leave Valentina alone. "I will look after your gallery, do not worry." She joked. The old man shook his head at her, "It isn't the shop I am worried about."

Her heart soared at his love for her, "I can take care of myself, Nonno." She smiled at him. He looked at her once, and with a small pat on her head, left the gallery after bidding his granddaughter farewell.

Valentina busied herself with work after he was gone - she rearranged the paintings on the wall and finished her current one. She hummed lightly while working with the brushes. Valentina drew gentle strokes, feeling satisfied with the way it was turning out.

She rubbed her hands and placed the brush on the table; stood up from the stool and pulled away a little to admire the rose she had painted on the canvas.

Valentina loved flowers, especially roses.

She thought of them as a masterpiece - the Rose was considered the symbol of love, and the beautiful blooms had a breathtaking scent. They mesmerized her with their appearance and beauty.

The bell on the entrance door chimed. Valentina quickly turned around to greet the customer but instantly froze when she realized who it was. Her breathing quickened as she stared at the man standing in the doorway of the gallery.

Valentina had come across him in the news, but in person, he seemed even more intimidating. From his finely pressed suit to the exorbitant watch on his wrist, which flashed even from a distance, he exuded power. His height towered over her, and she had to raise her head to look at him.

Defined jaw, sculpted cheekbones, and grey eyes.

There was only one man in the country who fit the description.

Don Valerius Romano Bernardi.

"Buongiorno." She greeted him, not wanting to seem rude. Valentina had no clue about why he was here but, she could not question him. She valued her life. The Don may have been kind to her grandfather but, the stories of his cruelty weren't just myths. He commanded one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world and, she was confident that he did not make his way to the top by being kind.

(Morning)

The Don assessed Valentina with his calculating gaze. His Consigliere had raved about her to him, and this tempted Valerius to pay her a visit. He was aware of who her grandfather was - Dimitri often spoke about his gallery. The Don himself was fond of art; he had adorned his house with various, even timeless, pieces over the years.

"Buongiorno." He answered, noticing as she fidgeted. Valentina ran her tongue over her lips, and then spoke again, "How can I help you, Don?" She questioned and avoided staring into his eyes, thinking that he might take it as a sign of disrespect.

"My Consigliere praised your paintings. He was quite impressed." He said and observed as she smiled, her head tilting a little upwards.

"Would you like me to show you?" Valentina asked - she figured that he didn't just come here to tell her about his Consigliere's admiration. She moved to the side when he nodded at her; Valerius followed after Valentina as she approached a wall.

"I did all of these." She told him while pointing towards the four frames which hung on the wall - the fourth one being the rose that she had just painted. Valentina took this opportunity to watch him while he stared at her work. She noticed a scar on the side of his face - it was not prominent, and was only noticeable by the close.

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