His gaze darkened, and his brows rose slightly. "Where's your head at?"
She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in further.
"I think," she breathed, barely audible, "they might be spectators. The steward. That woman at the entrance. The chef. Maybe others. Not as rich as the billionaire, but rich enough. Elite enough to be in the inner circle. Enjoying the game from behind the curtain."
Alessandro sat back, eyes wide with realization. "You think I'm paranoid?"
"No," he said immediately, voice soft and steady. "Not at all, mia principessa greca. It makes sense. I just... I feel stupid for not thinking of it sooner." A pause. "Do you think we could gain advantages? If we get on their good side?"
Thalia's eyes gleamed with a sudden spark of hope. "What if they could give us clues?" she whispered. "About the millionaire."
Alessandro reached across the table, covering her hand with both of his.
"We can't let this spread," he said, low and serious. "This needs to stay between us. You're not the millionaire, are you?"
"No," she replied quickly, narrowing her eyes. "But I'm irritated that I didn't get the clue either. Did you?"
He shook his head. "No. And if I had, I swear I would've told you. We need to keep our eyes wide open this morning," Alessandro murmured, his voice low and clipped with focus. "Whoever the millionaire is… they'll be acting strange. Jumpy. Guarded. Maybe even cocky, depending on the type. But something'll give them away. And we need to win the game today—no matter what. Whether it's my team or yours that takes it, I don't care. But I don't trust any of the others."
"It's hard to trust many people at this early stage," she said under her breath.
He paused, then added, "The Eagles met last night, real late. One in the morning. Secretly, in our wing. And I swear to you, none of us is the millionaire. We didn't get the clue either."
"I haven't spoken to my team yet," Thalia replied, picking up a slice of melon and twirling it on her fork, "but I don't think it's any of us either. Still... better to assume nothing. I'll be watching everyone. Carefully."
Alessandro nodded, releasing her hands so they could start in on their fruit salads. The morning sun filtered in through the tall trees around them.
"What do you think today's game will be about?" Thalia asked between bites, lifting her eyes to him.
He looked up from his bowl and blinked. "What do you mean?"
She arched a brow. "You seriously don't remember Article II of the contract?"
His expression faltered. "I…" He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "I confess I didn't read the whole thing. I think I skimmed Articles I, III, and V. The rest? Kinda blurred together."
Thalia groaned, dragging her palm over her face. "You skipped the most important ones, Casanova."
He pouted, exaggerated and unrepentant. "So what did it say?"
"Article II," she said, voice dipping low so the others wouldn't overhear, "outlined the structure of the games. It said every challenge would fall into one of five categories. Probably to keep the variety high and the boredom low."
She raised her right hand, ticking the fingers off one by one. "Strength. Intelligence. Strategy. Morality. Endurance."
Alessandro's eyes widened in slow-dawning realization. "That was in the contract?" She nodded. He swore under his breath. "Damn. That explains the chaos in the pre-entry assessments. I thought they were just messing with us."
"So," she leaned in just a fraction, "what do you think they'll throw at us first?"
He leaned back, chewing the question. "Either endurance or strength. Something physical to test our grit out of the gate. Get the adrenaline pumping. What about you, mia principessa greca?"
Thalia ran a hand down her long side braid, thoughtful. "I'd say strength or intelligence. If they want to make a strong first impression, it'll be something brutal. High stakes. Maybe even a combo challenge—something that hits multiple categories at once."
Alessandro hummed, his gaze sharpening. "Start tough, flash out the stronger."
"Exactly. And remember—everyone's desperate for the clue. That desperation? It'll make people reckless."
He nodded once, then turned slightly, voice dipping. "Then how about we make a pact? An alliance. Just you and me, mia principessa greca."
Thalia's eyes met his, direct and clear. "Just us?"
"For now," he said, tapping the table gently. "I don't share everything with the Eagles. Not the real stuff. And you don't share with your team either. We help each other survive this. I mean it, Thalia. You're the one I want with me in this."
He brushed his fingers against hers. It was nothing dramatic, just a soft touch, but his eyes said the rest.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she turned her hand over, pressing it lightly on his wrist, feeling his pulse quickening. "I want you as an ally too, Alessandro."
Something surged in him then, something warm and fast and dangerous. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. His gaze darkened, intense. "You can count on me," he said. And he meant it.
Thalia smiled, the slow kind, dimpled and knowing. He swallowed hard.
"Don't backstab me, Casanova," she murmured.
"I won't," he promised without pause. "I have word. I'm Italian. Loyalty isn't optional—it's tradition."
She nodded, thoughtful. "Then I'll make sure we go all the way together. And if I win first… I'll take you in my team. I'll defend you if it comes to that. Deal?"
His grin was pure sunshine. "Deal."
They finished their breakfast in companionable silence. Thalia remained poised, composed, cool as always. Alessandro? He sat there glowing like a teenager in the throes of a hopeless crush. He couldn't stop smiling as she stood, graceful and casual, like the conversation hadn't changed the entire playing field.
"You think you can keep up with me for three runs around the castle?" she asked over her shoulder, already turning toward the open terrace.
He stood in one fluid motion. "Have you seen my legs?"
Thalia's gaze dipped down, slow and deliberate, noting the long, lean muscle of his thighs and calves—sculpted like he knew it. "This isn't a sprint, Casanova."
"I'm on it, mia principessa greca," he replied, stretching as he followed her. "I'll be right behind you."
Thalia laughed, loud and carefree, starting off toward the path she'd spotted earlier—a long loop that circled the castle's sprawling grounds. "You just want to stare at my ass."
"I call that motivation," he said with zero shame.
She snorted. "Tsk. Alright, Casanova. Gawk all you want. It won't slow me down."
She took off at a jog, her braid swinging with each stride. "Three laps."
"I could do this all day," Alessandro called as he caught up. "On your left."
"Somebody's a Marvel fan," she teased, weaving playfully around the path's curves.
His laugh was full and real. "The fact that you caught the reference makes me want you even more, mia principessa greca."
"For as long as dreaming is free," she said, tossing a smirk over her shoulder before picking up speed.
And as they ran, matching pace and trading flirtation with every breath, the Wolf grinned inwardly. Another piece had fallen perfectly into place. Another player lured willingly into the spider's web.
That made two.
Elijah. Alessandro.
And soon, there would be many more.