A FRIENDLY REMINDER

Martina's POV

The afternoon sun cast its golden rays over the Argento estate, painting long shadows across the manicured lawns. The air was deceptively still, disturbed only by rustling leaves and the occasional chirping of a bird. I knelt in the garden, my hands buried to the wrists in the soil as I tended to the budding flowers. It was a strange sight—the wife of Silvio Argento—but I insisted on finding comfort in something simple, something that was mine.

The peace of the afternoon shattered abruptly. A gunshot reverberated, sharp and deafening; then there was another. My head snapped up, my fingers clenching around the pruning shears as shouts exploded around me.

Two guards raced toward me, their feet pounding in a jog.

"Mrs. Argento, come with us!" one of them yelled, reaching for my arm.

"What's going on?" I insisted, my head jerking from one to the other.

"No time—discuss later!" the guard insisted, tugging me towards the house as gunfire reverberated across the estate.

From where I could see, the courtyard had become a war zone. Armed men moved with precision, their rifles flashing as they targeted Silvio's guards. Statues and hedges offered little cover as bullets tore through the air. I glimpsed Silvio emerging from the main hall, his gun raised. He fired at one of the intruders, the man dropping instantly.

I could hear Leo's voice cutting through the chaos, though I couldn't make out all his words over the gunfire.

The attackers were relentless, and I watched in horror as they inched their way closer to the estate. Through the windows, I could see Silvio moving with lethal precision, each shot finding its mark despite the growing tension.

Then I saw him stagger—a bullet had found its mark in his shoulder. My breath caught in my throat, but he didn't falter, his grip tightening on his weapon.

The guards pulled me deeper into the house as the doors to the main hall groaned under the force of a battering ram. I stood near the stairs, my face white as I watched the chaos unfold before me.

"Silvio!" I called, a hint of fear in my voice.

He glanced back at me with a mask of indifference. "Stay there," he commanded, turning immediately back to the fight.

The doors splintered, and chaos erupted anew. The attackers poured in, their assault brutal and unrelenting. The battle became a close-quarters melee, the air thick with smoke and the metallic scent of blood.

I watched Silvio fight like a man possessed, his injured shoulder doing little to hinder his lethal efficiency. He moved through the fray, his gunfire precise, each shot a calculated kill.

After what felt like an eternity, the last of them finally went down. There was complete silence in the room except for labored breathing from those still alive.

I could hear Leo talking to Silvio in hushed tones about the casualties, about taking care of the bodies before the police arrived.

I stepped forward hesitantly, my gaze fixed on Silvio's injured shoulder. "You're hurt," I said softly.

He smirked, despite the pain. "It's nothing," he replied, his tone dismissive.

My lips pressed into a thin line, but I didn't argue. Instead, I turned away, determined to find some bandages.

I made my way to our room, and Silvio followed me. His face was contorted in a mask of pain, eyes darting everywhere frantically. His shirt was blood-soaked, and his movements were sharp, searching for anything that could help him. He limped slightly as he crossed the floor.

"Where the hell is the first aid kit?" he growled, opening cabinets and drawers with jerky, rising-temper movements.

I stood by the bed, watching him with waves of concern churning in my chest. I bit my lip, then spoke up, trying to keep the shake from my voice. "You need a doctor, Silvio."

He paused, his back to me, and when he turned, there was that familiar smirk. His voice came out smooth but edged with pain. "I can handle a little shot. Don't worry about it."

"Little shot?" I echoed, one eyebrow lifting as I crossed the room. My gaze dropped down to his bloodied shirt, the blood darkening in blotches. "Silvio, this is more than just a little shot."

Silvio turned around, his dark eyes locking with mine. There was a tension there between us, unsaid but palpable. "It's nothing," he said—a quiet challenge in his voice.

I hesitated. I didn't want to argue, but I couldn't let him keep acting like this wasn't serious. I moved past him, looking for the first aid kit, but my thoughts were scattered, the unease creeping up my spine.

I took a steadying breath and reached for the kit, doing my best to disregard the heat rushing to my cheeks. There was something unnerving about his proximity now; it might have been the sight of him in pain or just the force of his presence.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" I muttered, kneeling in front of him.

"I've been told." His voice was low, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the obvious discomfort.

I opened the first aid kit, my hands trembling slightly as I focused on the task at hand. "Sit still," I instructed, but my words held more uncertainty than I meant.

Silvio didn't argue. He sat back in the chair, watching me closely. The silence between us was thick, the only sound the rustle of bandages and the soft drag of his breath as I slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

My fingers brushed his skin—the touch wasn't intentional, yet electric. I froze, as a sudden, fleeting shiver ran down my spine. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, intense and unblinking.

A breath caught in my throat, as I willfully focused. I went ahead, unbuttoning the shirt, trying to steady my shaky hands. When I finally pulled the shirt off, my eyes drifted up to his face.

Then, it happened.

As the shirt fell away, my gaze shifted down, and I let out a gasp—loud and sharp—at what lay before me.