The rain fell quietly at first, like it was trying to respect the dead. The graveyard was empty, silent, and cold. My father's grave stood alone under the gray sky, and I stood in front of it, feeling that same emptiness inside my chest.
I dropped to one knee and placed my hand on the wet marble. Giovanni Moretti. That name used to command fear. Now it sat carved in stone, motionless. Gone.
"I promise you, Papa," I said slowly. "I will not rest until I find the person who killed you. I don't care who they are or where they hide. I will burn everything to get to them."
The rain grew heavier, soaking my suit, but I didn't care. My jaw tightened as I stared at his name again. Part of me was afraid he would disappear if I looked away. Like everything I loved eventually did.
"Boss." Luca's voice came from behind me. He stepped closer and held an umbrella over my head. "You shouldn't be alone."
"I'm fine," I muttered.
"You're standing in the rain, talking to a dead man," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. He exhaled and stood with me, silent. That was why Luca had stayed by my side all these years. He didn't talk too much, he didn't ask useless questions. He showed loyalty in silence.
"You know this wasn't random," Luca said.
"I know," I said. "Someone wanted him dead. Someone close."
Luca didn't deny it. He knew I was right. Every enemy my father had ever made wouldn't dare come this close. This had been an inside job. Someone who had access. Someone who walked among us.
"We'll find them," he said.
"No," I said. "I'll find them. And when I do, I won't be merciful."
Thunder rumbled above us. I stood slowly. Grief was heavy in my bones, but rage kept me breathing. Rage gave me purpose.
Then I heard footsteps behind us—soft, familiar steps. I didn't need to turn to know it was her.
Isabella.
She walked closer, holding another umbrella. Rain darkened her red dress, and her hair clung to her face. She looked fragile, almost out of place in a graveyard full of death.
"Adrian," she whispered.
I didn't move, but my chest tightened when I heard her voice. She came beside me and looked down at my father's grave.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Sorry. People say that word so easily. Sorry doesn't bring back the dead. Sorry doesn't erase betrayal. But when she said it, I didn't feel anger. I felt… calm.
"You'll get sick out here," she said, reaching for my hand.
I finally looked at her. Her fingers were cold, but her eyes were warm. She cared—or she made me believe she did. I still trusted her. Maybe too much.
"I needed to be here," I said. "I needed to speak to him."
She nodded. "I understand."
But she didn't. She couldn't possibly understand what it meant to stand in a graveyard and swear revenge to the person who raised you. She didn't know the weight of blood and legacy. Still… she stayed. And that was enough.
"I'm here," she said softly. "You're not alone."
I closed my eyes briefly. Her presence was dangerous—she could weaken me, soften me. Yet without her, everything felt darker.
Luca cleared his throat and stepped back. Isabella moved closer. She slid her hand into mine again, squeezing gently.
"You said you wouldn't fail him," she said. "And you won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you," she said. "You never give up."
I stared at her face. The rain made her look unreal, like something too soft for this violent world. Maybe that was why I needed her. She was the last piece of humanity I had.
I pulled her into me and wrapped my arms around her. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel. Her head rested against my chest, and I breathed her in. And just like that—I didn't feel like a mafia boss. I felt like a man holding on to the only good thing left in his life.
"I won't let anyone hurt you," I told her. "Not now. Not ever."
She looked up slowly. Her eyes shined with something deep—fear, love, or a lie. I couldn't tell. But I wanted to believe it was love.
"You don't have to protect me from everything," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."
My thumb brushed over her cheek. "Promise me."
"I promise."
I kissed her forehead and held her tighter. I didn't know then how dangerous promises were. How they could destroy everything.
But lightning flashed and broke the moment. I didn't want to let go, but I forced myself to step back. I couldn't afford to be weak now—not in front of my men. Not in front of the world.
But with her—I could breathe, even if just for a moment.
She looked up at me again, searching my face like she was trying to memorize it. "You should come inside," she said softly. "Please."
I gave a small nod and walked with her back toward the mansion grounds, Luca following behind. Isabella stayed close beside me, fingers still intertwined with mine.
But I didn't know then—while I was letting her into my heart, she was already holding a knife behind her back.
Because love doesn't always save you. Sometimes, love is just the trap.
Adrian POV
When we got back to the mansion, the rain had stopped, but the storm inside me hadn't. The guards at the entrance bowed their heads as I walked in with Isabella. They looked nervous tonight. Maybe they could feel it—the shift in power. My rule had already begun, and I would not tolerate weakness.
Inside, the warmth of the mansion felt wrong. My father's blood was still fresh in my memory, and yet everything here was quiet, untouched, almost peaceful. It made me angry.
Isabella's hand brushed mine again. "You should rest," she said.
"Rest is a luxury," I replied.
"You've barely slept."
"Sleep is for men who are safe," I said. "I'm not."
Her eyes softened. "You are with me."
Her words should have felt comforting, but instead—they hit me with a strange ache. I didn't want to depend on anyone outside my loyalty circle. Love made you blind. Trust made you weak. And I couldn't afford either. But when she looked at me like that, I forgot my own rules.
We walked deeper into the hall. Luca stopped behind us.
"I'll check security again," he said.
"Do it," I replied. "Double guards at every entrance. No one walks in or out without my word."
Luca nodded and left. Isabella and I were alone now in the corridor.
She slid her arms around my waist from behind and rested her head against my back. "I hate seeing you like this," she whispered.
I held her hands. "Like what?"
"Like the world is crushing you."
"It's not," I said. "I'm crushing it."
She let out a small laugh. "Always in control."
"That's the only way to survive."
She came around to face me, hands still holding mine. Her eyes were gentle. Too gentle for a world like mine. "You don't always have to be strong," she said. "Not with me."
Maybe she believed that. Maybe she wanted me to believe it too. But trust wasn't easy for me. I had learned long ago that even the people closest to you could turn against you.
But looking at her now… I wanted to believe she was mine. Truly mine.
"Come," she said, pulling me gently. "Just for a few minutes. Sit with me."
I allowed her to lead me to the private lounge near my office. She sat close beside me on the couch, our knees touching. Her eyes searched my face again like she was trying to read my thoughts.
"What if you never find who killed your father?" she asked quietly.
I didn't hesitate. "I will."
"And if the truth destroys something… someone… close to you?"
I met her gaze. "Then they were never close to me."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, I thought I saw fear in her eyes. Not fear of me—but fear of truth. Something she was hiding.
"I just don't want you to change," she said.
I leaned back. "I already changed."
She moved closer. "Then let me change with you."
I studied her face. Her voice was soft but her words were calculated. There was always a hint of mystery behind her eyes. Something she wasn't saying. Something she didn't want me to know.
"You don't have to prove anything to me," I said.
"Maybe I want to."
Her hand touched my chest, slow and careful. She raised her head and kissed me, soft at first. But then she deepened it like she wanted to erase everything else. Pain. War. Blood. For a few minutes, it worked. I kissed her back, pulling her onto my lap, feeling her breath against my skin.
Her lips tasted like rain. Her touch was a lie wrapped in silk—but I didn't know that yet. I only knew I wanted more.
When she pulled away, she didn't speak. She just rested her forehead against mine and stayed still, breathing with me. Sharing silence.
Then Luca appeared at the door.
"Boss," he said. "We have a problem."
Of course we did. Peace never lasted in my life.
"What is it?"
"One of our trucks—someone hijacked it."
My jaw tightened. "Which one?"
"The one carrying the payment from Sicily."
My eyes darkened. That truck carried over six million dollars in cash. Someone wasn't afraid of testing me. Someone thought I was weak.
"Get the car," I said, standing.
"I already did," Luca said.
I turned to Isabella. "Stay here."
She stood too. "No. I'm coming with you."
"You're not," I said. "Tonight isn't safe."
"And you are?" she challenged.
I stepped close and cupped her face. "Nothing can touch me," I said. "But I won't risk you."
"If I stay, I'll worry," she said. "If you get hurt—"
"I won't," I cut in. "Trust me."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded slowly. "Fine," she whispered. "Come back to me."
I kissed her forehead and walked out with Luca.
As soon as the door closed behind me, my expression changed. The softness was gone. The man who walked with Isabella died at that door.
Now—only the boss remained.
I would find whoever hijacked that truck.
And I would make an example out of them.