Chapter Text
“Beneath the stormy seas, above the mountain peaks, it’s all the same to me - it makes no difference.”
Sleep Token, Chokehold.
It was a strange feeling of simultaneously wanting to leap out of the plane and never wanting to leave it. You gripped the armrest tightly with one hand, the other wrapped around a gin and tonic, while your eyes took in the picturesque sight outside the tiny window.
Once the plane dipped beneath the clouds, the magnificent scenery showed face and took your breath away. From the tall, jagged peaks of the Dolomites to the long, the winding curves of the Adige river, and all the way down to the sun glinting off of the turquoise waves of the Adriatic Sea - you could not tear your eyes away from the striking beauty that was the Veneto region of Italy.
Despite the views, your nerves were in a frenzy; thus the drink.
The dossier lay forgotten on the table. It was the reason for you even going to Italy in the first place. You had spent the last several weeks studying it - memorizing the notes and facts and faces. Well, mostly one face in particular. The one that stared up at you from the top of the pile, the one that he already given your anxiety fuel for more incessant jittering.
Copia Emeritus.
You refused to give the dossier your attention now. You had looked it over a thousand times and just wanted to stare out the window at the sprawling countryside that would be your new home for the foreseeable future.
The job was not going to be an easy one. Six other agents had already tried, and failed, to infiltrate the notorious Emeritus crime syndicate. Six fellow agents missing in action.
Most likely dead.
Now, the British National Crime Agency was sending out yet another operative with the same directive. However, this time, the attempted infiltration would be different. They wanted you to get in close with the family, or more specifically, the family’s notorious underboss and heir to the empire.
Copia Emeritus.
His name burned in your brain, searing to the forefront of your mind. You could see his face when you closed your eyes. The photos had showcased a handsome man - his chestnut hair slicked back to rest in soft waves at the nape of his neck, his jaw and cheeks strong and dignified, his curved nose seemed too boyish for someone of his stature, and he had a delicately trimmed mustache that twisted ever so slightly with a quirk from his full lips. Handsome, indeed. But it was his eyes that made you freeze, hands trembling as you forced yourself to take a breath before another long sip from your drink.
Even through pictures, he had the most intense gaze you has ever seen. One dark and one light. His right eye was a deep, forest green - not unlike the vastness of trees you watched through the window. But the other eye…well, it was stark white. Like an endless icy abyss. It was cold and calculating and caused unpleasant shivers to run down your spine.
The warnings of your handler flashed in the forefront of your mind. You are one of our finest, Detective, you’ve trained for this and you are ready. But remember the mission. Remember why we’re doing this. And remember, do not fall in love…because I know he will. You’re just his type.
Her wink and knowing smirk still gave you chills.
“Hello, this is your captain speaking. As we make our descent into Treviso Airport, please make sure all your belongings are stowed away safely and your seatbelts are fastened. We will touchdown in twenty minutes. Thank you and welcome to Italy.”
As the plane soared over the mountains, you couldn’t help but gasp at the lovely sight below. There, nestled along the banks of the river, sat the town of Bassano del Grappa. You could see the bright contrast of colorful pastel buildings even from this height. It was picturesque. Cozy and quaint with a remarkable romantic ambiance that would make any Italian proud.
Another long breath, one last sip of your drink, and the wheels of the private jet touched down as smooth a rolling wave.
It was time.
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“Buongiorno, signora! Welcome, welcome!”
An elderly man waved enthusiastically at you from near the baggage conveyor. He was a short and stocky built man, with a weathered but kind face. His wide, toothless grin filled his face and caused his dark eyes to squint in joy.
“Buongiorno, you must be Claudio.” You smiled back politely, offering a hand to shake.
He scoffed good-naturedly and shooed away your hand, instead grasping your shoulders and pressed three kisses to each of your cheeks. The action took you by surprise, but his warmth was infectious.
“Benvenuto, bella, we are much more friendly in Italy, si?” He chuckled before snatching your bags and motioning towards the exit. “Come, come!”
The car ride from the airport to Bassano was filled with Claudio’s excited chatter, informing you on what to know about your new home. He was the owner of the building where you leased a flat, as well as the bakery below. Born and raised in the quaint town, Claudio had much to say about the area as he drove, pointing out various scenic spots for exploring and other establishments along the way for dining recommendations.
As he pulled into a parking spot, your breath caught at the sight before you. The building was a three-story structure painted in warm terracotta. Its exterior adorned with wrought-iron balconies overflowing with flowers - the bright shades of reds, pink, and purples of the abundance of wisteria, irises, and carnations contrasted beautifully along the terraces.
The ground floor housed Claudio’s bakery; its wide windows displaying golden loaves of bread and delicate pastries that you knew would be the most delicious kind of trouble. The building leaned slightly, as old Italian structures often did, giving it character and charm. Behind it, you could just glimpse the Brenta River glittering in the afternoon sun, and beyond that, the mountains rose like ancient sentinels.
"Beautiful, no?" Claudio beamed with pride. He led you up the narrow stairs to the second floor, chattering the entire way about the building’s history before unlocking the door and gesturing grandly. “Ecco! Your new home!”
He handed you a set of keys. "The bakery opens at six, but don't worry, bella, the smell of fresh bread is a gift, not a disturbance, sì?" He winked. "I leave you to settle. If you need anything, I am downstairs. And tomorrow morning, I bring you cornetti - on the house!"
After Claudio left, you stood in the center of your new apartment, letting the reality sink in. This was it. This was your life now, for however long this operation lasted.
You unpacked methodically, placing your carefully curated wardrobe in the antique armoire - clothes that an unknown art appaiser would wear, nothing too expensive, nothing too casual. Books on art history and authentication techniques lined a small shelf. Your laptop, encrypted and loaded with hidden communication software, went on the small desk near the window.
The dossier, you placed in a locked drawer. You didn't need to look at it again. Every detail was burned into your memory.
By the time you finished, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Your stomach growled, reminding you that airplane snacks were hardly sufficient. Claudio had mentioned a small market just two streets over that stayed open late.
You grabbed your bag and headed out into the warm Italian evening.
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The market was exactly as Claudio had described: a small family-run establishment with produce spilling out onto the sidewalk, cured meats hanging in the window, and the scent of fresh basil and tomatoes perfuming the air. You gathered essentials: bread, cheese, wine, some vegetables for a simple dinner.
The owner, an older woman with her hair in a loose bun, smiled warmly as she rang up your purchases. "Sei nuova qui? Are you new here?"
"Si.” You replied, smiling. "I just arrived today."
"Benvenuta! Welcome to Bassano. You will love it here, piccola. It is a good town, very safe, very peaceful."
You thanked her and stepped back out into the street, bags in hand. The sun had fully set now, and the streetlights cast a warm glow over the cobblestones. A few locals sat at a nearby café, their laughter carrying on the evening air. Everything felt so normal, so peaceful.
So far from the dangerous mission you were actually here to complete.
You turned down a narrow side street, a shortcut back to your apartment according to the mental map you'd memorized. The alley was darker here, the buildings leaning close together, blocking out most of the light. Your footsteps echoed off the stone walls.
Halfway down the alley, you saw it out of the corner of your eye.
A shadow, darker than the others. A flicker of movement at the far end where the alley opened onto another street. For just a moment, you could have sworn you saw something catch the light - a flash of silver glittering amongst the darkness. Was that…a mask?
But when you blinked, it was gone.
Your training kicked in immediately. Your hand moved toward your bag where, buried beneath groceries, you had a small switchblade. Your eyes scanned the alley, looking for threats, escape routes, anything out of place.
Nothing.
Just shadows and silence.
You forced yourself to breathe normally, to walk at a steady pace.
Don't run. Running makes you prey.
You emerged from the alley onto a well-lit street and didn't look back until you reached your building.
Inside your apartment, you locked the door and set down your groceries with shaking hands. You moved to the window, staying in the shadows, and looked down at the street below.
Empty.
Get it together, you chided yourself and shook your head. It was nothing. You're jumpy. Just some first day jitters.
But as you prepared a simple dinner of bread, cheese, and wine, you couldn't shake the feeling. That flicker of silver in the darkness. That sense of being watched.
You ate standing at the window, looking out at the peaceful street, at Claudio's bakery with its warm lights, at the normal life happening all around you. Somewhere in Verona, less than two hours away, the Emeritus family was conducting business. Somewhere, Copia Emeritus was living his life, unaware that an agent had just arrived with orders to infiltrate his world.
And somewhere, perhaps, someone already knew you were here.
You finished your wine and forced yourself to bed, but sleep came slowly. When it finally did, you dreamed of mismatched eyes and metallic masks dissolving into shadows