Ayla stood before the towering gates of the Moretti compound, her heart pounding with an unfamiliar mixture of dread and exhilaration. The Ashen's mission had been clear: infiltrate, gain trust, and destroy them from the inside. She had told herself this would be the moment she had been waiting for—the moment to strike at the heart of the family that had sold her, betrayed her, and left her to die.
But now, standing at the threshold of their stronghold, she couldn't help but question if she was ready to dive into the abyss of lies and manipulation that awaited her on the other side.
This is just the beginning, she reminded herself.
She adjusted the black hooded cloak she had donned to blend into the shadows, the fabric heavy against her skin. It wasn't the first time she'd hidden behind a mask—metaphorically or literally—but something about this felt different. The Morettis weren't just any enemies. They were family. And family had a way of carving wounds deeper than any knife ever could.
Her gaze flickered to the guards flanking the gates, their stoic faces betraying no emotion. They were the first line of defense against the outside world—and the first test Ayla had to pass.
With a steadying breath, she approached. The guards didn't move, didn't acknowledge her presence at first. They had been trained to ignore anyone who didn't matter. But Ayla wasn't here to be ignored.
She stepped forward, her boots clicking sharply against the cold stone floor. "I'm here for the master," she said, her voice low, confident, and unmistakably cold.
One of the guards raised an eyebrow, a subtle show of interest, before glancing at his companion. Without a word, the second guard reached for a communicator at his waist. Ayla's pulse quickened as he spoke into it, requesting permission for her entry.
She held her breath, her fingers curling around the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. She wasn't sure how far she could trust her "allies" at the Ashen, and the thought of having to defend herself at any given moment was a constant companion now.
Seconds passed. Finally, the guard turned back to her. "You're clear. Follow me."
Ayla nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and fell into step behind him. Her every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she knew it was too late for that. There was no going back now.
The compound was vast, like a fortress disguised as a home. Its grand halls and marble floors stood in stark contrast to the desolation of the outside world, but the coldness in the air told her everything she needed to know. Power, in all its forms, was a suffocating weight, and the Morettis carried it like an iron fist.
Her guide led her through winding corridors and past rooms brimming with opulence. Everything here spoke of wealth—of excess—of a family used to controlling everything and everyone. Finally, they reached a set of double doors, heavy and imposing, the seal of the Moretti family emblazoned in gold on the front.
The guard knocked once, twice, and then pushed the doors open, allowing her entry.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering flames of a fireplace. The air was thick with the smell of leather and aged whiskey. And sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by a sea of dark wood and polished glass, was a man she hadn't seen in years—but who was etched in her memory like a scar.
Luca Moretti.
The man who had once been her betrothed. The man who had sold her out to survive the apocalypse.
He didn't look like the ruthless mafia boss she had feared. Not in that moment. He looked like something darker. Something untouchable. His eyes, dark and calculating, swept over her as though she were a mere inconvenience. He didn't rise. Didn't speak. He simply studied her, his gaze sharp, like a wolf sizing up its prey.
Ayla didn't flinch. She had long since learned that showing weakness was an invitation for destruction.
"You're late," he said, his voice a smooth, deep drawl that stirred something within her chest, something she refused to acknowledge.
"I wasn't aware I was on a schedule," she replied, her tone matching his cool indifference.
Luca's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. He motioned to the chair opposite him. "Sit. We have much to discuss."
Ayla hesitated, but only for a moment. She lowered herself into the seat with grace, her eyes never leaving his. The tension in the air was palpable—thick, almost suffocating. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, but she held her ground. She wasn't here to play games. She was here to win.
"You're not what I expected," Luca remarked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "Most people in your position would be trembling. Yet here you are, sitting across from me like we're old friends."
"I'm not most people," Ayla said flatly.
The silence that followed felt like a battleground in itself. She could sense him probing her, testing her resolve, searching for cracks in her armor. He knew she was hiding something—everyone did—but he couldn't know how much she had changed since the last time they'd met.
"Why are you here?" Luca finally asked, his voice quieter now, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her.
"I'm here because I have something to offer," Ayla said, her eyes glinting with cold determination. "And I think you'll find it very valuable."
Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what exactly do you think you can offer me, Ayla?"
She leaned forward, her voice low and deadly. "I know how to destroy everything you've built. I know your secrets. Your weaknesses. I know who to trust—and more importantly, who not to trust."
Luca's gaze darkened, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Ayla thought she saw something flash in his eyes—something dangerous—but it was gone before she could fully process it.
"You've got guts," Luca said, the smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'll give you that. But don't mistake my kindness for stupidity, Ayla. You won't get far by making threats."
Ayla smiled darkly, a flicker of satisfaction in her chest. "I'm not threatening you, Luca. I'm offering you a deal. A partnership. You need someone who can navigate this world of chaos. Someone who can help you stay one step ahead. And I need something in return."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face. "And what is it that you want?"
She met his gaze, unwavering. "Everything you've taken from me. My dignity. My freedom. My family. I want it all back. And when this is over, when you're at my mercy, you'll give it to me."
Luca's eyes flickered with something unreadable. For the first time since she had entered the room, Ayla felt the full weight of his gaze settle on her. It was cold, unyielding, but there was something else there too—something that made her blood run cold.
"You're a dangerous woman, Ayla," he said softly, the words heavy with meaning.
"I've learned from the best," she replied, a challenge in her voice.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick with tension, each of them waiting for the other to make the next move.
Finally, Luca spoke. "We'll see how dangerous you really are."