Chapter 6

I arrived at Garden Four fifteen minutes early, nervously tugging at the hem of my oversized sweater. The garden was tucked away in a far corner of the Vasquez estate, with a meticulously manicured hedge maze on one side and several ancient oak trees on the other.

The morning air held a slight chill, making me grateful for my comfortable outfit—a loose gray sweater and black athletic shorts. I'd chosen clothes I could move freely in, figuring that's what "training" required.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

I spun around to find Enzo glaring at me, his muscular frame clothed in black athletic shorts and a tight black high-neck training shirt that clung to every defined muscle.

"I... these are my workout clothes," I managed, suddenly conscious of how sloppy I must look compared to his precision.

His hazel eyes narrowed as he approached. "You came to a training session dressed like you're going to a slumber party? Has no one taught you basic discipline?"

My cheeks burned.

"Have you ever had combat training before? Or have you ever stepped foot on a training ground?" His voice was cold, clinical.

"This is my first time," I admitted, my voice barely audible.

"Speak up!" he barked, making me flinch. "When I ask you a question, you answer clearly and confidently. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I said, trying to inject strength into my voice. "This is my first time."

Enzo shook his head in disgust. "Of course it is. Your posture is terrible."

Each word felt like a physical blow. I'd come here genuinely willing to learn, and all he'd done was criticize me from the moment he arrived.

"You think this is harsh?" he continued, apparently reading my expression. "This is nothing. The world my father has brought you into will eat you alive if you remain this weak."

Something in me snapped. "I'm trying my best," I said, tears welling in my eyes.

"When you step onto a training ground, you fucking stop acting like a bitch" he fired back.

I took several steps back, tears now streaming down my face. "I don't want to do this," I said, my voice breaking. "I don't want your training sessions."

Enzo's expression didn't change. "Then go tell my father that this was your decision."

The implications hit me immediately. Antonio had specifically instructed Enzo to train me. Refusing would be defying the family patriarch.

"I need someone who understands what it's like for beginners," I countered, wiping at my tears. "Someone who can actually teach rather than just yell."

"You think I'm not professional?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "I've trained every new member of this family."

"You've trained family members. People who grew up in this world." I gestured around us. "So you don’t know the common practise of how a newbie should be trained."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even a hint of respect at my boldness.

"You have two minutes to prepare for your first lesson," he said finally as his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed as he answered.

"How is she? Has the wound healed properly? Any fever?" His voice had lost its edge, replaced by genuine concern that shocked me.

"Have my brothers visited her at the hospital?" He listened intently. "Good. Keep eyes on her room at all times. We can't be too careful."

The tenderness in his voice was so at odds with the drill sergeant who'd been berating me moments ago.

When he hung up, I couldn't contain my curiosity. "Who is she?"

Enzo whirled around, his expression darkening instantly. "Keep her name out of your mouth."

I nodded quickly, my heart racing at the sudden intensity.

"Good." He checked his watch. "Now, your first lesson: stand on one foot for two hours. No touching the ground with your other foot."

I stared at him in disbelief. "That's my training? Standing on one foot?"

"Yes." His expression remained impassive. "It teaches patience and balance. In our world, you need both to survive." He clicked a button on his watch. "Your time starts now."

With a resigned sigh, I lifted my right foot off the ground, balancing awkwardly on my left. Within five minutes, my supporting leg was already shaking. I wobbled dangerously, trying to find my center of gravity.

It was useless. After barely five minutes, I lost my balance completely and tumbled onto the training mat beneath me. I looked up to see Enzo glancing over, rolling his eyes, and making notes in a small black notebook.

"This is my first time trying this," I defended myself, scrambling back to my feet.

"In the Vasquez family, training isn't just about learning to use weapons or defend yourself," Enzo said, not looking up from his notebook. "It's about inner calm, patience, and mental strength." He finally met my eyes. "All qualities you clearly lack."

My heart sank. "So you're not going to train me anymore?"

"It means we need to invest extra time and energy in your basic training," he corrected.

He closed his notebook with a snap. "Tomorrow morning, you'll join me for warm-up exercises after the other family members have finished. And next time, wear proper training attire."

Hours later, I wandered into the kitchen, my body aching from even that brief training session. Dante stood at an elaborate Italian espresso machine, brewing what smelled like a potent shot of caffeine.

I hesitated in the doorway, but hunger drove me forward. As I moved toward the refrigerator, I casually asked, "Do you know when Matteo is coming back?"

Dante's sharp eyes snapped to me. "Why is my brother's name in your mouth?"

"I just... I was worried that he left because of me."

"Right," Dante's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're concerned about a man you barely know."

I grabbed an apple from a fruit bowl, needing something to do with my hands. "What do you want me to do?"

Dante's laugh was cold and empty. "Don't try to insert yourself into our conversations or pretend you're part of this family. You're not."

The bluntness stung, but I maintained eye contact, refusing to look away.

"Your mother might be sleeping in my father's bed," he continued, his voice icy, "but she will never be a true part of the Vasquez family. Neither will you."

"Your father said we'd be part of this household," I countered.

Dante's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You will see."

He took a slow sip of his espresso before adding, "Franco is coming to visit this weekend. Salvatore's friend."

My blood ran cold. "Franco is coming here?" The memory of the ice water running down my back made my skin crawl.

"Yes. I suggest you stay in your room," Dante advised. "It would be better for everyone."

For a moment, I thought he was showing concern for my feelings, but he quickly clarified.

"I just don't want you disrupting the peace in this house," he said coolly.

I nodded silently, murmuring, "I understand," before turning to leave.