The Return Of The Young Marshal's

The Young Marshal's Shadow

CHAPTER 5: The Young Marshal's Shadow

Morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the servant's quarters, doing little to brighten the cramped space. Aldo sat glued to the small television screen, his eyes fixed on the breaking news coverage that had dominated every channel since yesterday.

"—unprecedented military reception at Sorrento International Airport—"

"—the legendary Young Marshal of the Valdoro Military Zone—"

"—Commander of 200,000 troops, hero of Etruria—"

The news footage showed crowds gathered at the airport, soldiers standing at attention, but the Young Marshal's face remained carefully obscured—blurred by strategic camera angles, shadows, and clever editing.

"Incredible," Aldo breathed. "The Young Marshal is actually here. In Marina Azzurra."

"Turn that off!" Ginevra snapped from the tiny kitchenette where she was making coffee with trembling hands. "I'm sick of hearing about this Marshal person!"

"But Ginevra, this is history! The man is a living legend—"

"A legend?" Ginevra slammed the coffee pot down. "What good are legends to us, Aldo? What good is some mysterious military hero when your own daughter was nearly sold to a monster yesterday?"

Aldo flinched but didn't look away from the screen. "The Young Marshal represents everything great about Etruria. Courage, strength, honor—"

"Everything you're not, you mean?"

The words hung in the air like poison. Aldo's shoulders sagged.

"That's not fair, Ginevra."

"Fair? You want to talk about fair?" Ginevra's voice rose. "Your brothers pushed you aside like garbage. They demoted us to the servant's quarters. They tried to sell our daughter. And what did you do? NOTHING! You stood there like a statue while they destroyed our lives!"

"I couldn't—"

"Couldn't what? Couldn't defend your own family? Even Lorenzo—a complete stranger—showed more backbone in one hour than you've shown in twenty years!"

Aldo's face crumpled. "What was I supposed to do? Fight Filippo? Fight all my brothers? I'd lose everything—"

"We've already lost everything!" Ginevra wiped angry tears from her eyes. "Look at us! Living in servant's quarters like insects! Our daughter was hours away from being married to an abuser! What more could we possibly lose?"

In her small bedroom, Cecilia listened to her parents argue through the paper-thin walls. She'd heard variations of this fight a thousand times, but today it cut deeper. Yesterday had changed everything.

She picked up her phone and scrolled through the same news coverage her father was watching. The Young Marshal. She'd grown up on stories of this man—the youngest marshal in Etruria's history, a tactical genius who'd turned the tide of the Valdoro conflict, a hero who'd saved millions of lives.

As a girl, she'd dreamed about him. What girl hadn't? The mysterious warrior whose face was classified as a quintuple-S national secret, whose very existence was both public knowledge and complete mystery.

But those were childish fantasies. Reality was harsh. Reality was being sold like cattle. Reality was living in servant's quarters while your cousins lived in mansions. Reality was disappointing.

"—the Young Marshal is believed to be staying somewhere in Marina Azzurra—" the news anchor continued. "—but his exact location remains classified—"

"ENOUGH!" Ginevra stormed into the living room and shut off the television. "Stop obsessing over some military man you'll never meet and start thinking about our actual problems!"

"What problems?" Aldo's voice was small, defeated.

"The Ferretti family, Aldo! They're going to expel us! Filippo called this morning. We have one week to vacate the estate entirely. No allowance. No family shares. Nothing."

Aldo went pale. "But... I'm his eldest son. I'm entitled to—"

"Entitled to what? You have no career, no income, no prospects. For twenty years you've lived off the family allowance, and now it's gone." Ginevra's voice broke. "We'll have nothing. We'll be homeless. The shame alone will destroy us in this community."

"Maybe I could get a job—"

"Doing what? You're fifty-six years old with no work experience. Who's going to hire you?"

Cecilia couldn't listen anymore. She grabbed her phone and walked onto the small balcony that overlooked the estate's service entrance—a far cry from the gardens and fountains her cousins enjoyed.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Laura Marchetti, her best friend since childhood.

"CECILIA! I'm back from Paris! Birthday dinner tonight at the International Hotel! You MUST come! And bring that mysterious husband everyone's talking about! "

Cecilia groaned. The last thing she needed was to face Laura's wealthy friends and their inevitable questions.

Before she could reply, her phone rang.

"Don't even think about saying no," Laura's cheerful voice bubbled through the speaker. "I've been gone for six months! I need to see you!"

"Laura, I really don't think—"

"Is it true you married some random guy at your wedding to Connaro Lombardi? Girl, I need ALL the details! Everyone's talking about it!"

"It's complicated—"

"Then explain it tonight! Eight PM, International Hotel, private dining room. It'll be just like old times!"

"Laura, you know what those gatherings are like. Everyone comparing careers, flaunting their success—"

"So? You just married a man brave enough to crash a Ferretti-Lombardi wedding and punch Connaro in the face! That's legendary!"

Cecilia rubbed her temples. Laura came from old money—the Marchetti wine empire. She'd never understand what it was like to be poor, to be shamed, to be treated like an insect by your own family.

"I really shouldn't—"

"Eight PM, Cecilia. If you don't show up, I'm coming to your house and dragging you there myself." Laura's tone shifted, becoming gentler. "Please? I've missed you. And I want to meet this Lorenzo person who saved you from Connaro. Anyone who punches that creep is a hero in my book."

Cecilia sighed. "Fine. But just for an hour."

"Perfect! Wear something nice! And make sure Lorenzo looks presentable. You know how Bianca and the others are—they'll judge everything."

After Laura hung up, Cecilia stared at her phone. Presentable. Right. Lorenzo had shown up yesterday in clothes that looked like they'd been purchased from a discount store. Not that she was shallow enough to care, but Laura's friends? They'd tear him apart.

She found Lorenzo outside, sitting on the stairs leading to the servant's quarters, watching the sunrise. Even in shabby clothes, there was something commanding about him—the way he held himself, the alertness in his eyes, like a soldier always ready for battle.

"We need to go shopping," Cecilia announced.

Lorenzo turned, one eyebrow raised. "Shopping?"

"My friend is having a birthday dinner tonight at the International Hotel. She insists I bring you."

"And you're concerned about my appearance."

It wasn't a question. Cecilia felt her cheeks heat. "I just... these gatherings, they're all about status and appearances. I don't want—"

"You don't want to be embarrassed by your shabby husband," Lorenzo finished, his tone neutral.

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." Lorenzo stood, dusting off his worn jeans. "It's fine, Cecilia. I understand. Where are we going?"

Twenty minutes later, they were weaving through Marina Azzurra's crowded streets on Cecilia's battered electric scooter—her only possession of real value. Lorenzo sat behind her, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist to maintain balance.

"This is your vehicle?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you have a problem with it?"

"No. It's practical." Lorenzo's breath was warm against her ear. "But you deserve better than this."

Cecilia's hands tightened on the handlebars. "Well, this is what happens when your family treats you like an insect. You make do with what you have."

They pulled up to the Galleria Vittoria, one of Marina Azzurra's upscale shopping centers. Cecilia had avoided this place for years—every store window was a reminder of what she couldn't afford, what her cousins took for granted.

"We'll find something reasonable," she said, leading Lorenzo toward a mid-range men's clothing store. "Nothing too expensive. I have some savings—"

"I have money," Lorenzo said quietly.

"You do?"

"Military salary accumulates when you spend ten years in a war zone with nothing to buy."

Inside the store, Cecilia began pulling suits from the racks—conservative cuts, reasonable prices, nothing flashy. This evening would be difficult enough without Lorenzo standing out.

But as she held up a navy suit, studying Lorenzo's frame, she couldn't help wondering: Who was this man, really? Why had Timoteo Lombardi cowered before him? Why did his eyes hold such sadness when he looked at her?

And why, despite everything, did she feel safer with this stranger than she'd ever felt with her own family?

"Cecilia?" Lorenzo's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She thrust the suit toward him. "Try this on. We need to make sure you don't look like—"

"An insect?"

The word hung between them. Cecilia's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's what your family calls people they consider beneath them, isn't it?" Lorenzo's voice was soft but edged with steel. "Insects. I heard them use the word a dozen times yesterday."

"They're awful," Cecilia whispered. "They've always been awful."

"Then why are you worried about impressing your friend's guests?" Lorenzo tilted her chin up gently. "If they judge you for superficial things, they're no better than the Ferretti family."

Cecilia blinked back sudden tears. "You don't understand. In this world, appearances are everything. If you show weakness, if you show poverty, people devour you. They treat you like... like..."

"Like an insect," Lorenzo finished. "I understand better than you think, Cecilia. But I promise you this—after tonight, no one will ever look down on you again."

As they headed toward the fitting rooms, Cecilia couldn't shake the feeling that this evening would indeed reshape her life.

She just wasn't sure if that was a promise or a threat.