STEFANO RUSSO'S (NERO'S) POV
It had only been a week away from Zoe, but it felt like an entire year. Every night without her pressed on me like a weight I couldn't shake off. Her laughter, her stubborn spark, that way she'd look at me like I was more than the monster the world believed me to be—all of it haunted me.
She'd become a part of my days, my nights, my damn thoughts. I couldn't sleep without seeing her smile. I couldn't breathe without remembering the way she whispered my name like it belonged only to her.
I dragged a long breath from the cigarette between my fingers and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the night. The hotel balcony stretched before me, the city lights shimmering below, but I saw none of it. Only her.
I had never imagined I could fall for anyone—not like this. Not so fast. Not so completely. In barely a month, she'd become home.
The sliding door behind me opened, and Benny's voice cut through the quiet. "Nero, you need to see this."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. Urgent. Serious. Not Benny's usual kind of serious—the kind that came before bad news.
I turned, the lazy haze of memory burning off as I faced him. The softness in me vanished, and Don Nero—the part of me built on control, suspicion, and blood—took over.
"What's that?" My voice came out flat, low.
Benny stepped forward, holding a thin folder in his hand. His expression was grave. "Somchai finally decoded the name of the man who killed your mother."
The words hit like a knife sliding between my ribs. For years I had chased shadows. A name had always been the missing piece—the ghost that had kept me awake for half my life.
My jaw tightened. "Frenado Ashthorne?"
"Yes," he said, handing me the file.
My brows drew together. "I've searched for this man for years." I flipped the first page, scanning quickly. "His real name's Michael Dean?"
Benny nodded. "Yeah. Michael Dean."
The name lingered on my tongue for a moment. "Interesting," I muttered, eyes narrowing as I turned another page. My pulse had started to rise, the way it always did when revenge was near enough to touch.
But then Benny's voice broke through my concentration. "Don't you see it?"
I glanced up. "See what?"
"The surname."
I frowned. "What about it?"
"The resemblance. Michael Dean… and Zoe Dean."
The words hung there, cold and sharp, before they fully registered.
My face hardened. I lowered the file slowly. "What the hell are you saying, Benny?"
He drew a breath, steadying himself. "I'm saying, Michael Dean is Zoe's father."
For a moment, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. The air thickened around us.
Then my jaw set. "You must be joking," I said, my voice low, dangerous.
Benny didn't blink. "You think I'd joke about this? I'm dead serious, Nero. Michael Dean is Zoe's father. She's his only child."
My fingers clenched around the file until the paper began to crumple. No. That's not possible. My mother's murderer—the bastard who had destroyed everything I had left—was Zoe's father?
The same Zoe who slept in my arms, who whispered that she loved me?
The same Zoe who looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered?
The same Zoe I had fallen madly in love with? Impossible!
My pulse hammered in my temples. "What do you mean she's that murderer's daughter? You're basing this off a surname?" My voice was sharper now, half a growl.
Benny sighed, running a hand over his face. "No, Nero. I checked everything—records, photos, timelines. Zoe Dean is Michael Dean's daughter. It's all here."
He hesitated. "But the man's been missing for months."
My heart pounded, the file trembling slightly in my grip. "Are you saying Zoe's involved? That she's an accomplice?"
Benny shook his head quickly. "No, I don't think she is. I checked her record—she's clean. Too clean, almost."
I stared at him, my patience thinning. "Go on."
He took a breath, glancing out at the city before meeting my eyes again. "I think this was planned. All of it—meeting her, taking her in, falling for her. They set this up."
I froze. Then the words tore out of me before I could stop them. "What the fuck do you mean?"
Benny flinched but didn't back down. "You remember Marcus?"
I frowned. "The bastard who owed me money and disappeared before paying up? Of course I do."
"You told me you were suspicious when he pointed out Zoe at that bar—said she was his girlfriend. Remember?"
"Yeah, and?"
"Can't you see?" Benny snapped. "It was their plan from the start. Marcus was working with them. They knew you'd take her, Nero. They knew exactly how to bait you."
I stared at him, disbelief twisting into fury. "You're saying Zoe was a trap?"
Benny's voice was steady now, deadly sure. "I'm saying they would use her to bring you down—just like they did to your father. You fell for her, Nero. And that's exactly what they wanted."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I could hear the city far below—the hum of cars, a siren in the distance—but inside me, there was only the echo of Benny's words and the roaring pulse of blood in my ears.
My grip tightened around the folder until the edges bit into my palms. My heart warred with my mind—the part of me that loved her against the part that trusted nothing.
Could Benny be saying the truth? Was all this planned? Was this another game of ghosts trying to destroy me through the only light I'd ever found?
A bitter laugh escaped me, low and humorless. "If this is true," I said finally, voice cold, "then the game just changed."