A warm Sicilian evening descended on Palermo, but in the alleys of the Marino district, the atmosphere was different—thick, sticky, and filled with anxiety. Giuliana stood on the second-floor balcony, watching the long shadows of the streetlights break up on the cobblestones. Below, by the archway, two people were exchanging sharp, muffled words. From a distance came the sound of footsteps—fast, uneven steps. A man's figure burst around the corner: his raincoat flapped, his glasses glinted in the lamplight. He ran as if the earth were burning behind him. Three armed men followed him into the alley. Giuliana didn't recognize them at first, but the words that reached her through the noise — “Vitale's men” and “mine” — made her lips tighten into a thin line. Vitale. And on Marino's territory. This was not just a violation of unspoken rules — it was a challenge, an insult that her father would not leave unanswered. And that meant she had every right to act. Giuliana stepped off the balcony, her steps quick but without haste. She went out into the alley and stood directly under the streetlight, so that her silhouette was visible but her features were hidden by her veil. Her fingers found the cold steel in her purse. Her pursuers froze when they met her gaze. Understanding flashed in their eyes—they had crossed the line, and not just in a geographical sense. “You've gone too far,” she said quietly. The words fell on the stones like a shot. She slowly approached the man they were chasing and stood next to him, keeping her eyes on Vitale's men. “He's coming with me,” Giuliana said, and there was no doubt or request in her voice. The men exchanged glances. They knew that if Marino found out that someone else's blood had been spilled on his street without permission, it would mean war. They backed away and disappeared into the darkness, leaving only two people in the narrow alley: her and the fugitive whom fate had brought to her territory at the most dangerous moment. Giuliana tilted her head slightly, studying his tired, wary face. A shadow of a smile flashed beneath her veil, but her eyes remained cold. He had become her problem—and perhaps her chance.