Chapter 22: "Does Anyone Have A Saw?"
A sharp knock struck Caio Sartori’s bedroom door at exactly six-thirty in the morning.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time, harder than before.
Moments later, from inside came a dangerously irritated voice.
"If this isn’t life-threatening, Leo, I’m firing you."
The door swung open hard enough to hit the wall.
Caio stood there half-dressed in black slacks and an unbuttoned shirt, dark hair mussed from sleep, his expression hovering somewhere between exhaustion and murder.
Leo, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm.
"There’s a problem, Boss."
Caio dragged a hand slowly down his face.
"What kind of problem makes you brave enough to wake me before breakfast?"
Without answering immediately, Leo lifted a small plastic evidence container.
Inside rested six tiny black devices.
Caio stared at them for a moment, then at Leo.
"...What the hell is that?"
"Listening devices," Leo replied evenly. "Imported transmitters. Expensive ones."
That woke Caio up instantly. The last traces of sleep vanished from his eyes.
"Where did these come from?"
"At four this morning," Leo said carefully, "Lady Ariana walked into surveillance carrying them in a grocery bag."
Caio blinked once.
"She what?"
Leo wisely continued before the explosion came.
"She claimed she was conducting patrols around the estate grounds and discovered several suspicious placements."
Silence.
Caio stared at him.
Somehow, the shock landed softer than it should have. Perhaps because he already knew Aren wasn’t normal.
’Yesterday she was exposing surveillance blind spots.’
’Today she’s dismantling espionage equipment before sunrise.’
’At this rate she’ll overthrow a government by Thursday.’
"Where is she now?" he asked at last.
Leo seemed mildly impressed. Compared to yesterday, his boss was handling the absurdity remarkably well.
But the next piece of news shattered that composure entirely:
"She’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast for you."
Caio’s eyes snapped fully open.
"She’s doing what?!"
"She requested assistance from Mrs. Pecora at five-thirty." Leo hesitated. "You should... probably come see for yourself."
For several long seconds, Caio simply stood there trying to process reality.
At last, he shoved a hand violently through his hair.
"Clear my schedule."
Leo stiffened.
"Boss, you have the Vitale meeting at noon."
"Cancel it."
"The Vitale family already postponed twice."
"Then they can postpone a third time."
Leo studied him carefully.
"...Are you planning to leave the estate today?"
"Yes."
"Should I prepare a security detail?"
Caio turned and walked back into the bedroom.
"Minimal distance coverage only."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I’m already bringing my best bodyguard."
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
The kitchen was already alive with activity by the time Caio arrived.
Morning staff moved between counters in crisp uniforms, their voices subdued beneath the golden sunlight pouring through the towering windows.
Caio took a single step inside.
For one dangerous second, his brain stopped functioning entirely.
At the center island stood Aren.
Or rather, Aren covered in flour.
She wore an oversized sweater with the sleeves pushed to her elbows and stared at a lump of dough with the concentration of someone attempting to disarm an explosive device.
Beside her stood Mrs. Pecora, immaculate as always.
"...No, my lady," Mrs. Pecora corrected. "You fold the dough inward first. Gently."
"I see."
Aren nodded once, then drove her palms down. She folded the mass over—
—with the kind of force meant to slam a grown man to the ground.
The dough made a sad, wet, squishing sound against the marble.
Mrs. Pecora inhaled slowly through her nose.
’It’s alright.’
’Bread-making is a peaceful process.’
’A very violent peaceful process, apparently.’
Mrs. Pecora’s gaze accidentally shifted toward the doorway. Only then did she notice Caio standing there, completely motionless.
His black hair hung loose around his face, and his blue eyes were wide with a rare and deeply unflattering look of confusion.
Mrs. Pecora straightened immediately.
"Sir."
Aren looked up next.
The moment she spotted him, the vacant distance in her face vanished, her wide eyes instantly clearing with pure warmth.
"Good morning, Don Caio!"
Caio approached slowly, still visibly recovering from what he was seeing. He stopped right before Aren, both arms folded squarely across his chest.
"When I told you yesterday to join me for breakfast at seven," he said, each word serious, "this is not what I meant."
Aren grabbed the dough with both hands and lifted it toward him.
"I just wanted to try baking. I’ve never done it before."
She gestured toward Mrs. Pecora.
"And I heard Mrs. Pecora is an expert."
Mrs. Pecora remained perfectly composed on the outside.
Inside, however:
’She called me an expert.’
"...Lady Ariana has been very eager to learn," Mrs. Pecora said smoothly.
Caio eyed the dense, mangled lump in Aren’s hands with blatant doubt.
"It looks assaulted."
Aren stared at him in panic.
"...Is it not supposed to?"
Mrs. Pecora briefly felt her soul leave her body.
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
Twenty minutes later, the bread emerged from the oven...
Looking less like food and more like reinforced construction material.
Mrs. Pecora stared at it in silence.
Aren, however, looked completely satisfied. She picked up a heavy bread knife and set the blade against the crust, attempting to slice it.
She drove her weight down.
The steel groaned.
The bread remained unmoved.
She applied more pressure. The knife slid harmlessly off the impenetrable exterior without leaving so much as a mark.
Aren frowned thoughtfully.
She rested the knife aside entirely and looked around at the kitchen staff.
"Excuse me," she said politely. "Does anyone have a saw?"
Caio physically grabbed her wrist.
"You’re done terrorizing my kitchen."
Before anyone could actually locate a saw, he turned on his heel and dragged her straight out of the room.
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
Compared to the catastrophe they’d left behind, the dining hall felt almost peaceful.
Caio only released Aren’s wrist after pulling out a chair and depositing her into it. The moment he sat down, he turned toward her fully.
"Let me make something very clear."
Aren looked up at him, calm and completely vacant of any guilt.
"Yes?"
"Your job is to protect me during public events where my security cannot remain close," he said, pinning her with a sharp glare. "Not patrol my estate before sunrise and start doing Leo’s work for him."
For a moment, Aren looked almost thoughtful.
Then, she replied with complete sincerity.
"If you die outside public events, then I become unemployed."
Caio went silent.
Aren continued, careful and entirely detached,
"So preventative security measures seemed more efficient."
Another long silence stretched between them.
Caio stared at her.
His brain desperately tried to find a counter-argument to the logic.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t one. The reasoning was technically flawless. It was also completely insane.
Eventually, he muttered,
"You say things that make arguing impossible."
A flush of pink touched Aren’s cheeks.
"I apologize."
"You’re not supposed to apologize for that."
The blush bloomed deeper.
"Oh... sorry."
Caio closed his eyes.
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
Thankfully, breakfast arrived shortly afterward, saving Caio from further cognitive damage.
Servants glided into the room, placing silver trays onto the table one by one.
Coffee.
Fruit.
Eggs.
Pastries.
And lastly...
The bread.
Somehow, the kitchen staff had managed to slice it into pieces that resembled edible food.
Aren picked up a slice, rotating it slowly with quiet curiosity. She turned it over, then back again, studying the crust with quiet calm before taking a bite.
She chewed slowly. Carefully.
’Interesting texture.’
’The density exceeds expectations.’
’I may have accidentally invented a new category of bread.’
She continued chewing with thoughtful focus.
Across from her, Caio watched over the rim of his coffee cup, his brow darkening with every passing second.
Then, against all logic, he reached over and took a piece for himself.
Every servant in the room looked horrified.
Mrs. Pecora nearly intervened physically.
Caio ignored all of them and bit into the bread.
Silence followed.
Then another bite.
The room collectively stopped breathing.
The sound of his jaw working against the crust was the only sound echoing through the dining hall.
Aren looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
"How is it?"
Caio continued chewing like it tasted perfectly normal.
"Absolutely horrible."
He took another bite anyway.
Aren tilted her head.
"Then why are you still eating it?"
"It builds character."
"I think it builds jaw strength."
For one brief moment, the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously close to a smile.
Before anyone else could witness it, he looked toward the servants.
"Everyone out."
The room emptied immediately.
Once the doors closed, Aren looked back toward him, her passive calm shifting into a quiet hum of anticipation.
"What is today’s training schedule?"
Caio set down his coffee.
"You’re going shopping with me."
Aren blinked, unhappy with the order.
"But I brought clothing."
"If you call two sweaters, two pairs of jeans, and two sundresses ’clothing,’ then you are fundamentally failing at being Ariana Lombardi."
Aren frowned.
"...I thought it was sufficient."
"For a hostage negotiation, maybe." He leaned back in his chair. "The events I attend require formal attire. Dresses. Jewelry. Appropriate appearances."
Aren nodded slowly as the logic settled into place.
"...That makes sense."
"Good."
"And concealed holsters?"
Caio closed his eyes.
’Of course that’s her first concern.’
He picked up the coffee again.
"Finish your breakfast first," he muttered. "Then we’ll buy you dresses."
