The bells above the hotel door gave their usual sleepy jingle, as someone entered the hotel. Just as Aurelia stepped into the soft morning air of Florence. She looked out the window, the sky was overcast, casting the cobblestone street in hues of cream and blue-gray, like the colors hadn't fully woken up yet. Neither had she.
She tugged her coat tighter around her body and descended the hotel steps slowly, her limbs sore and heavy. The phoenix had kept her long past midnight-she hadn't gotten in until about one the night before. Her clothes still smelled faintly of turpentine and varnish. The memory of gold and crimson wings still flickered behind her tired eyes.
"Buongiorno, Aurelia!" came a voice from behind the front desk, startling her slightly.
Giulia. Ever present, with her steel-gray hair in a tight bun and her sharp eyes behind pink-rimmed glasses. Her crossword puzzle was spread before her like a battlefield.
"Morning, Giulia," Aurelia said through a yawn, lifting her hand in a small wave.
Giulia gave her a quick once-over and clicked her tongue. "Madonna mia, you look... ehh... morta, sì? Like-a ghost."
Aurelia gave a groggy chuckle. "That's about right."
"You come back last night... eh, una di notte, no? I hear the door."
"Yeah, I was at work, working on a painting. Lost track of time."
Giulia shook her head. "Always with-a the painting. Troppo tardi! You need sleep. Or espresso. Or-a man."
Aurelia laughed under her breath, waving her off as she opened the door. "Grazie, Giulia. I'll work on that."
"Va bene! Don't-a get kidnapped, eh?"
She stepped out into the street before she could come up with a reply.
Florence in the morning was always slower than she expected, almost reverent, as if the city had the good sense not to rush beauty. The light fell soft on the pastel buildings and shutters, the street slick with leftover drizzle. She began her walk toward the studio, the soles of her boots clicking on the uneven stone.
But something felt... off.
Aurelia blinked, trying to brush off the fog in her head. Her muscles ached, her eyes were gritty, and her shoulder still throbbed from holding her arm up for hours the night before. Her body was trying to recover. Maybe her mind was too.
Yet she couldn't shake the sensation crawling across her back.
It wasn't sound at first. It was instinct. Her steps slowed. She glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Just the sleepy street. A woman walking her terrier. A young man smoking outside a café, scrolling on his phone. The usual quiet elegance of the city waking up. And yet...
She kept walking, just a little faster this time. But the chill on her neck didn't leave.
Then, footsteps. Faint, but there.
She stopped suddenly, pretending to check the strap on her bag.
The steps stopped too.
Her heart skipped. She glanced across the glass of a shop window, trying to use the reflection like a mirror.
There. A shadow. Someone far back, maybe twenty, thirty paces. Too blurry to make out. Standing still.
Her stomach tightened.
"Oh...not today," she muttered under her breath, picking up her pace.
The familiar glass door of the building finally came into view, close, but not close enough. She pushed herself forward, the echo of steps just behind her now, faint but matching her rhythm.
She didn't dare turn around.
Aurelia reached the door and yanked it open harder than necessary, stumbling inside.
"Aurelia!"
She flinched.
"Hey, hey-it's just me!" Bianca called, half-laughing, from the stairwell. "Sorry! You good?"
Aurelia sucked in a breath and turned.
Bianca was holding two paper cups and a pastry bag, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She looked as fresh as always, a little smug with her espresso arsenal.
Aurelia tried to smile. "Yeah. Sorry. I just... thought someone was following me."
Bianca's grin faded. "Wait, seriously?"
"I... I don't know. Maybe it was nothing. Just some guy on the street. I'm probably just paranoid. I barely slept."
Bianca handed her a cup. "Double espresso with a shot of death. You'll thank me in five minutes."
Aurelia accepted it with both hands. It was hot, almost painfully so. The heat grounded her. So did Bianca's presence.
"Creepy vibes aside," Bianca said, nudging her toward the stairs, "you look like you were mauled last night by your own painting."
"I got back to the hotel at one last night," Aurelia muttered. "Couldn't stop. I kept thinking the wing curve was off and-"
Bianca sighed with exaggerated affection. "You really are the phoenix now. Reborn, burned, and caffeine-dependent. All jokes aside, I saw it last night when you wanted me to get Mr. Moretti, it looked phenomenal."
The street outside was empty again. Peaceful. Almost like it had never held anything else.
Still, she gripped her cup a little tighter.
Just as Aurelia lifted the espresso to her lips, the pounding of hurried footsteps echoed down the stairwell.
Matteo skidded into view, his usually collected face flushed and panicked.
"There you are!" he said between gasps. "Aurelia-you have to come. Now. Upstairs. Conference room."
Aurelia blinked. "Wait, what?"
"No time. Upstairs. Lucas said immediately."
That last word made her stomach twist. She glanced at Bianca, who just raised her brows and handed over the pastry bag like passing a torch in a race.
Still clutching the espresso, Aurelia bolted up the stairs behind Matteo. Each step jostled the hot liquid precariously near the edge of the cup, and she had to tilt it slightly to keep from spilling it all over herself. Her heart beat louder than her boots on the marble stairs.
She hadn't even had time to brush the stray curls off her face, and her shirt still smelled like studio dust and old varnish. Her reflection in the wall-length window looked rushed and too real. She reached the top floor, lips slightly parted, trying to steady her breath.
Matteo flung the door to the conference room open for her and stepped aside. "He's waiting."
Aurelia stepped inside-and immediately froze.
The room fell silent. Five pairs of eyes turned to her.
But she only saw one.
Lucas Moretti.
He stood near the head of the long conference table like he belonged there, like he owned the room. His usual effortlessly handsome aura was now sharpened, honed into something sleek and dangerous. He wore a black Italian suit cut perfectly to his lean form, every line tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The silk of his deep red tie shimmered against the black fabric like blood in the moonlight. His raven hair was combed back cleanly, but a single piece still curved slightly across his forehead, just enough to make her pulse jump.
Even his shoes were shining.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a movie, one of those cold, sleek crime thrillers her mother never let her watch. And yet, there he was. Real. Familiar. And completely different.
Her mouth went dry.
Lucas gave her a small smile that flickered across his face, polite but distant. He gestured her forward with two fingers. "Aurelia."
She stepped forward slowly, suddenly too aware of her wrinkled sleeves and stained boots. As she approached the table, she glanced at the other men. Two of them sat stiffly at the opposite end of the table, both wearing suits nearly as sharp as Lucas's-though not quite as elegant. One had pale blonde hair and icy blue eyes, his hands folded neatly on the table. The other was darker, broader, with scars on his knuckles and a jaw like stone. Behind them stood two men in black, stone-faced and silent, arms folded in perfect stillness.
Not Italian.
Russian, if she had to guess.
Her instincts prickled, but she kept her expression calm as she set her espresso on the table-carefully, quietly.
Lucas nodded toward the guests. "Gentlemen, this is the artist I told you about."
Aurelia swallowed and gave her best Italian greeting, careful to speak clearly but casually. "Buongiorno. È un onore incontrarvi." Her accent wobbled slightly, but she kept her head up. Hopefully, they didn't know Italian well enough to notice.
The blonde man gave a shallow nod. The other simply blinked once.
Lucas turned slightly and reached for the cloth covering the easel beside him. His fingers were calm, methodical, like a magician preparing for the final act.
And then, he pulled it away.
The phoenix stood proud and luminous beneath the overhead lights, its wings stretched high and caught mid-rise, like it had just emerged from fire. Gold leaf shimmered across its body in scattered flakes, and hints of red and deep orange bled through the feathers like molten glass. The strokes were bold, but beneath them, fine details curled in delicate motion, ancient symbols, fading ruins, hints of ash and rebirth.
Aurelia saw the men lean forward almost imperceptibly.
Lucas gestured toward the painting without looking away from her. "Your work."
It wasn't a question.
Aurelia gave a slow nod, answered like it was a question. "Yes... that's mine."
Only now did she realize.
These were the clients for her painting.
They were the reason Bianca had pushed the commission so hard. The reason the deadline had been immovable. The ones Lucas had been negotiating with behind the curtain. And now they were here, staring at her painting like it held secrets they needed.
Lucas turned back to the men. "She delivered early. And perfectly."
"Molto impressionante," one of the Russians said in a thick accent, nodding once.
Aurelia winced as she heard their italian words, she still felt out of place in this world of business, she's have to tell Lucas that she wasn't the social, prideful kind of person who wanted to show off her work. Yes, she wanted to be recognized but right then in that moment she felt a strange warmth creep up her neck,not from pride, but pressure. Being praised by dangerous looking men somehow didn't feel like a reward. She looked at Lucas again.
His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. Something unreadable passed behind them. Something restrained. Guarded.
Then he spoke again, softly. "Thank you, Aurelia. You can go now."
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't cold. But it wasn't personal either.
She nodded and backed away slowly, reaching for her espresso.
Chills crawled up her spine as she retreated into her private studio. She closed the door and sat at the desk, she didn't have a new commission so she sat there for a moment. No one had told her what to do when she wasn't painting.
Bianca peeked her head in, "Done with the meeting already?"
Aurelia jumped slightly and turned in her chair, "Yeah, just felt out of place, and it was...intense."
"I bet," she said with a pause. "Mr. Moretti said you can spend your free time experimenting until your next commission, you can make something small for the online auctions. Every day won't be near as hectic as having to do a painting in one day."
Aurelia gave a soft smile and nodded her thanks as Bianca left.
She took another sip, but the espresso no longer warmed her. Something colder had settled in-and it wasn't going away.