“That sounds like a threat.”
He had no fucking idea.“It’s a fact.”
He exhaled sharply—more warning than breath.“You forget yourself.I’m a fucking Moretti after all.Do remember that.”
“No, I remember exactly who you are and who I am.And don’t forget who your daughter is going to be.”
“Careful, Di Fiore.You don’t want to find out how quickly alliances burn.”
The line clicked dead.
I walked to the window.Some lines you cross only once.Others, you build an empire on.
By the time I left the compound, the sky had turned the color of tarnished silver.Storm light.Marco’s voice followed me out the door.“You shouldn’t go by yourself.”
“I won’t be seen.”
“That’s not the point.”
I didn’t answer.He didn’t push.Some decisions were already too far gone for argument.
The car wound through the narrow roads until the Moretti estate rose out of the fog like a mirage—marble, gates, gardens trimmed to perfection.A fortress pretending to be a home.I parked beyond the line of trees, far enough that the guards would mistake the engine for thunder.From here, the house appeared to be calm.No men patrolling.No lights on in the west wing.
And then I saw her.
She moved through the gardens alone, bare shoulders ghost-pale against the dark green hedges.The same composure she’d worn at the dinner, but stripped of ceremony now—quiet, deliberate, dangerous in a different way.She paused by the fountain, as if listening for something.
I should have left.Should have driven back, remembered who I was and what I’d already risked.Instead, I got out.The gravel crunched under my shoes, the sound louder than I wanted.Her head lifted immediately, gaze cutting toward the trees.When I stepped into the open, the air changed—tightened, like the world holding its breath.
“Enrico.”
Her eyes locked on mine.“Mia.”
She stood perfectly still, fingers tangled in the fabric of her skirt.“You shouldn’t be here.”A small, bitter smile ghosted her mouth.“You sent the rose.”
“You kept it.”
She glanced down, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might deny it.Then she reached into her pocket and drew it out.“It’s a warning, isn’t it?”
“It’s what it needed to be.”
“And what’s that?”
My eyes found hers.“A reminder.”
She laughed once—soft, incredulous.The space between us was too narrow for lies.The wind caught her hair, carrying the faint trace of smoke and rain.I wanted to touch her.I didn’t move.
“Whatever game you’re playing,” she said, “you’ve already pulled me into it.”
“This isn’t a game.”Well, that was a lie.This cat and mouse game had been going on for over five years and eventually it would end.When that happened was her call.
“Then what is it?”
I hesitated, the words I should have said dissolving into silence.The truth would have ruined everything.So I gave her the only one that mattered.
“It’s inevitable.”
Something flickered across her face—fear, fury, maybe understanding.Then she stepped back.“My father warned me about men who mistake control for devotion.”
