Chapter: Arrival in Italy – A New Light
At 7 a.m., Alex arrived at the airport. He walked calmly with his luggage, the morning wind brushing gently across his face. The sun was already rising, casting golden light over the crowd. Cars honked, travelers bustled, and most of them looked like tourists. But one small sign stood out among the chaos—it read "ALEX HUNTER."
A man with a thick mustache and a wide smile held the sign.
Mr. Rocco: "Hello! Are you Mister Alex?"
Alex: "Oh, yeah. You must be the driver?"
Mr. Rocco: "Yes, yes! My name is Rocco. Come, we don't have much time. If we wait, the streets will be packed with traffic."
Alex: "Okay then."
As Alex walked forward, dragging his luggage behind him, Mr. Rocco stepped in.
Mr. Rocco: "Can I help you with that bag?"
Alex: "Yeah… thanks."
Mr. Rocco lifted the bag like it was made of feathers and popped it into the car hood. Alex climbed into the back seat while Rocco hopped into the driver's side and started the engine with a proud smile.
Mr. Rocco: "So, Alex, why are you visiting Italy? May I call you Alex?"
Alex: "Yeah, sure. I came to visit my grandfather. And… I'm also competing in the World Global Boxing Championship. It's in Rome."
Mr. Rocco: (eyes wide) "Oho! You're a fighter, huh? Just like Rocky Balboa! Maybe I call you 'il campione' now, eh?"
Alex: (chuckling) "I guess that works."
Mr. Rocco: "And where does your grandfather live?"
Alex: "He lives way outside the city, in the farm zones. Somewhere in the lowlands. I heard it's peaceful, windy... and beautiful."
Mr. Rocco: "Ah yes, you're right. That place is perfect for people who want to escape the noise of the world. People with heavy pasts… soldiers, maybe. Why does your grandfather live there, if I may ask?"
Alex: "He's got a long, dark history. He was a soldier. He fought in the last phase of World War I… and all throughout World War II. It's a miracle he survived. Now… he's just a quiet old man with a big house and no neighbors."
Mr. Rocco: (whistling) "You've got warrior blood, Alex. A boxer grandson of a war legend… Che bella famiglia."
Alex: "Thanks."
Suddenly, the car slowed down.
Mr. Rocco: "Here we are—Lago di Scanno, Abruzzo!"
Alex's eyes widened. "Wow… this place is… quiet."
He looked out the window and saw a sunrise dancing across the surface of the lake. Mountains towered in the distance. The air smelled of pine, earth, and clean water—untouched by pollution. Nature surrounded everything.
They arrived at the house. It sat proudly in front of the lake, like a fortress of solitude. The reflection in the water made it look like a scene from a dream.
Mr. Rocco: "We have arrived, my friend."
Alex: "This house… it's huge."
Mr. Rocco: (laughing) "Yeah, I've heard rumors. People say this house holds mysteries. But one thing's for sure—everyone who's met the man inside respects him. He's got that… aura. Anyway, arrivederci. Goditi la bellezza della natura."
Alex: "What's that mean?"
Mr. Rocco: "It means… goodbye. Enjoy the beauty of nature."
Rocco smiled, tipped his cap, and drove off.
Alex stepped closer to the door, took a deep breath of the mountain air, and knocked.
Alex: "CIAO!"
The door opened. A tall man stood there, muscles still visible despite his age, silver hair tied back in a short ponytail, his sharp eyes narrowing with recognition. This was Agros Zayn Hunter.
Zayn: "Hey! Ciao! How are you? Long time no see!"
Alex: "Wait, when did you ever see me?"
Zayn: "Whatever. Come in already."
Alex stepped inside and looked around.
Alex: "Your house is… huge."
Zayn: "Of course. Why would I build it small?"
Alex: "You live here alone though."
Zayn: "Alone? You think this old man doesn't have women lining up, huh?"
Alex: "I think if you push yourself too hard, you'll break a hip."
Zayn: "Hmph! I'm the toughest old man in this world."
Alex: "Whatever you say, General."
Zayn: "You got jokes now? Alright, I like that."
He walked off and returned with two cups of strong coffee.
Zayn: "So… tell me the real reason you came here. I doubt it's just to 'train'. Are you feeling lonely in England, huh?"
Alex: "No way! I have a better life now."
Zayn handed him a coffee and sat down.
Zayn: "So, what have you been up to lately?"
Alex: "I'm waiting for a certification from Oxford. I'll be with you for one month before I move to Rome for the championship."
Zayn's tone turned serious.
Zayn: "How was your… revenge operation?"
Alex: "How do you know about that?"
Zayn: "Boy, I've got spies everywhere. You think I wouldn't know what my grandson's up to?"
Alex: "Fair. It went excellent."
Zayn: "You're just like your father."
Alex: "I know. Can you… tell me more about him?"
Zayn looked out the window, the mountains casting shadows over the lake.
Zayn: "He was brave. As a boy, he followed me everywhere—to meetings, trainings. While other kids were playing, he was memorizing war tactics. He wanted to be a soldier like me. He became a spy instead. That… disappointed me at first. But I let him choose. What I didn't expect… was that they'd use him like a weapon. They turned my son into a killer—not for the nation, but for their own dirty missions.
After the wars, he vanished from the battlefield… and reappeared in the mafia world. He was unstoppable. A ghost. People called him the John Wick of the underworld.
And then he met your mother, built a family… found peace. But peace didn't last. The moment you were born, he was marked for death. People hunted him for money, for power. Many died trying. Then… he disappeared.
Gone. Not dead… just erased from the world."
Zayn's tears dropped silently onto the wooden floor.
Alex placed a hand on the table and pulled something out of his jacket—a small black cassette tape.
Alex: "I have something to give you."
Zayn: "What is that?"
Alex: "A message. From him. Play it. Minute 30."
Zayn took the tape, slid it into the radio, and skipped forward. Static crackled, then a voice—aged but clear.
Adrian (on tape):
"Hi Dad… I hope you're hearing this. I miss you. Maybe you think I'm dead. I'm not. I've just vanished. I'm sorry I didn't follow your advice. If I had, maybe all this wouldn't have happened.
Please… take care of Alex. Train him like you trained me. Maybe he's not me—but he's still your grandson. Treat him well. Not like you treated me—but in a way that will make him better. Fix what I broke. I'll return when the time is right."
Zayn trembled. His hands shook. His eyes welled with more tears.
Zayn: "Okay… son."
Alex: "You okay, Gran?"
That night, Alex and Zayn sat outside under the vast Italian sky. The stars shimmered above, a soft breeze brushing through the trees. The lake reflected the aurora overhead—it was a scene of total peace, as if time had frozen.
Zayn: "Alex… you're our last hope. You must fix the Hunter family name."
Alex: "Fix what?"
Zayn: "Our bloodline. The warrior blood. In every generation, we've been hunted. Feared. We're like wolves—other predators want to be the alpha. The 'Hunter' name… it's not just a name. It's a legacy. A threat. A truth the world once feared."
Alex: "When did this begin? The 1400s? Or earlier?"
Zayn: "You'll find the truth. Bit by bit. It began long before history was written—when humanity was still learning how to evolve. This blood… it carries secrets."
Alex went silent. But inside, something burned—curiosity, pride… and a hunger to know more.