The tires of Hayden's black Maserati screeched against the gravel as he pulled up to the abandoned Milan estate.
No guards. No warning.
Just rage.
He stepped out of the car, black leather gloves on, jacket unbuttoned, gun holstered under his arm. His face was unreadable—but his eyes?
Murderous.
The estate loomed in front of him like a corpse left standing. Charred walls. Cracked stone. A silent monument to betrayal.
He didn't knock.
He kicked the door open.
And found Luca Bianchi seated on the old couch, legs crossed, sipping espresso like a king waiting for a challenge.
"I was wondering when you'd come," Luca said calmly.
Hayden didn't answer.
He walked forward slowly, unbuckling the strap on his holster. The silence between them was thick—centuries old, it seemed.
"You've been meeting Ana," Hayden said flatly.
"She came to me."
"You sent her files. Lies. Manipulations."
"No," Luca said. "I sent her the truth you were too afraid to tell."
Hayden's jaw tightened.
"You used her. You tried to turn her against me."
"I freed her," Luca said, rising now. "She needed to know who she was. And she needed to see who you really are—still chasing ghosts, still hiding behind a dead man's legacy."
Hayden lunged.
One punch. Then another.
Luca staggered back, blood at his lip. But he didn't fight back.
"You feel better now?" he sneered.
Hayden grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall. "If you ever go near her again—"
"You'll kill me?" Luca whispered. "That's your answer to everything. But you won't. Because you're scared."
"Of what?"
"That she'll love me for what I gave her. Truth."
Hayden's eyes darkened.
"She doesn't love truth," he said. "She loves me. And that's something you'll never touch."
He dropped Luca to the ground and walked out.
---
Meanwhile, Ana sat in the gallery downtown.
Her gallery.
She hadn't painted in weeks, but today, she stood before a fresh canvas.
Blank.
Just like her future.
She dipped her brush into blue, dragging the color across the surface in long, violent strokes. Fireflies. Oceans. Smoke.
All the things she missed. All the things she wanted back.
Her phone vibrated.
Hayden.
She stared at the screen.
Did she still know how to answer when it wasn't about pain?
---
Back at the penthouse, Hayden stood in front of the large window, staring out at Rome.
The city no longer felt like his.
It felt like hers.
Ana stepped in quietly, watching him from behind.
"You went to see him," she said.
He turned. Said nothing.
Her jaw clenched. "You didn't trust me."
"You didn't tell me."
"I needed to know the truth before I gave you more of me."
He stepped forward, stopping just short of her.
"And now?"
"I'm still deciding," she said honestly.
He took her hand. "Let me help you."
She looked at him—hard, unreadable.
"You can't fix this with sex."
"I'm not trying to," he whispered. "I'm trying to fix it with love."
A long silence passed.
And then—she broke.
Not in weakness.
In release.
She let herself lean into his chest, fists against his ribs.
"Promise me," she said, voice shaking. "If there are more secrets, you tell me. No more lies. No more enemies between us."
"I swear," he said. "You'll know everything."
"And Luca?"
"He's done."
She nodded.
And then, slowly, she pulled him down to kiss her—not out of anger, not out of power.
But need.
---
Their clothes hit the floor faster this time.
Her blouse torn.
His shirt ripped open.
She climbed onto him as he sat in the leather chair, straddling his lap, mouth on his neck. He groaned as her nails raked down his chest, claiming him again.
"You don't own me," she whispered between kisses.
"I know."
"But I own you."
"Yes," he growled. "All of me."
She slid onto him in one motion, and they both gasped. It was sharp. Hot. A little wild.
She rode him like she was trying to erase the past, and he let her.
His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Her moans echoed in the quiet study. Their bodies slammed together like war drums.
Flesh.
Sweat.
Reckoning.
When she came, she bit his shoulder.
When he followed, he whispered her name like a prayer he didn't believe in—but needed anyway.
They collapsed together.
He buried his face in her hair.
And for the first time in weeks, she didn't pull away.
---
Later that night, Ana stood on the balcony in a silk robe, watching the stars.
Hayden came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
She leaned into him. "That the real war hasn't even started."
"You're right," he murmured. "We've only cut off one head. There are others."
"Valerio's blood," she said. "My blood."
"We'll face it together."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
Hayden pressed his lips to her ear.
"I'm not going anywhere. Even if I have to fight your demons and mine."
She smiled. "Then let's start planning our next move."