The storm had passed, but the damage lingered.

The sniper had vanished before Alessandro’s men swept the grounds. No trace. No calling card. Just two perfect bullet holes in the glass—one for warning, one for intent.

Emilia sat on the edge of Alessandro’s bed, a towel draped around her shoulders, hair damp from rain and sweat. Her hands still trembled, though she’d never admit it.

Across the room, Alessandro poured a drink with the same precision he used to issue threats.

“They got close,” she said finally.

“They got lucky,” he corrected, handing her the glass. “That won’t happen again.”

“But it did,” she shot back, meeting his gaze. “Right after you kissed me.”

Silence.

The air between them thickened.

“That was a mistake,” he said, voice low.

She stood. “Liar.”

Alessandro’s jaw tensed. He crossed the room in two slow steps, stopping inches from her. “You think I don’t want you?” he said. “Every time you walk into a room, I forget my name.”

Emilia’s breath hitched.

“Then say it,” she whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against him. Their lips met again—hotter this time, desperate. No games. Just fire. He kissed her like a man who hadn’t wanted anything in years and hated himself for wanting it now.

When they broke apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“This can’t happen,” he said. “Not with everything coming.”

“Too late,” she replied.

Later, wrapped in silk sheets and shadows, Emilia traced the scars on his chest.

“Whoever’s after you,” she said, “they’re not random. They’re organized.”

Alessandro nodded. “It’s the De Luca family. Old enemies. We crushed their pipeline five years ago. They want it back—and they want blood.”

“And me?”

“They think you’re leverage.”

A pause.

“And are you?” he asked, eyes locked on hers.

Emilia smiled sadly. “Only if you make me real.”

He didn’t answer.

But the weight in his silence said everything.

Outside, in the darkness beyond the villa walls, a car waited.

Inside, a man flipped through photos—snapshots of Emilia. Walking. Laughing. Kissing Alessandro.

He set the folder down, lit a cigarette, and smiled through the smoke.

“She’ll be the crack in his empire,” he said.

“And when she breaks,” a voice answered from the backseat, “we move in."