The first shot didn't come with sound.
It came with instinct.
Alessandro felt it before he heard it—the sharp shift in air, the way his security team moved half a second too fast. His hand shot out, gripping Elena's arm and pulling her back just as glass exploded behind them.
The sound followed.
Chaos erupted.
"Elena—down!" someone shouted.
She didn't scream.
She didn't freeze.
She dropped—clean, controlled—rolling exactly where Alessandro had pulled her, heart pounding but mind razor-sharp. The gala's after-party had spilled onto the private terrace, lights glowing, laughter still echoing inside as if nothing had changed.
Outside, everything had.
"Sniper," Alessandro barked into his comm. "Rooftop—northwest."
Security swarmed instantly.
Elena's breath came steady as she pressed her back against the stone railing, eyes scanning. She saw it then—a figure retreating, too fast, too clean.
Not random.
Not sloppy.
"They wanted visibility," she said tightly. "Not death."
Alessandro glanced at her sharply. "You're certain?"
"Yes," she said. "That shot was a message."
Another crack rang out—closer this time.
Alessandro moved without thinking, shielding her with his body as they were rushed indoors. His grip on her was firm, almost bruising, but she didn't pull away.
For the first time, she felt it.
Not fear.
Loss of control.
And it terrified her.
The estate went into lockdown.
Lights dimmed. Guards doubled. Phones confiscated.
Elena sat in the secured sitting room, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The silence was suffocating. Alessandro paced like a caged predator, fury rolling off him in waves.
"They crossed a line," he said.
"They've been crossing lines since Victor arrived," Elena replied. "This was escalation."
"It was reckless," he snapped. "You could've been killed."
She stood slowly. "But I wasn't."
"That's not the point."
"It is," she shot back. "They miscalculated. And we need to understand why."
He stopped pacing, eyes dark. "Because they think pressure will break you."
She stepped closer. "Then they don't know me."
Alessandro looked at her like he wanted to argue—but couldn't.
A knock interrupted them.
Lucia entered quietly, face grave. "We've confirmed it wasn't Hale's usual people."
Elena's chest tightened. "So there's another player."
"Yes," Lucia said. "Someone local. Someone patient."
Alessandro cursed under his breath.
Lucia's gaze shifted to Elena. "You're becoming inconvenient."
Elena smiled faintly. "That's usually when things get interesting."
Lucia held her gaze for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she nodded. "You'll survive this house."
When Lucia left, the room felt smaller.
Alessandro turned to Elena. "You should leave the city."
"No."
"This isn't a request."
"And this isn't your decision alone anymore."
His jaw tightened. "You're pushing too far."
"No," she said quietly. "I'm standing where you dragged me. You don't get to panic now."
Silence slammed into the space between them.
Then Alessandro exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I can't lose you."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Elena froze.
"I didn't mean—" he began.
"Yes, you did," she said softly.
Their eyes locked, something raw and unguarded passing between them.
"You married me for protection," she continued. "But you didn't plan on caring."
His voice was low. "Neither did you."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she reached out—hesitant, deliberate—and rested her hand over his.
"We're stronger if you stop trying to shield me from the fire," she said. "Let me stand in it with you."
His fingers curled around hers slowly.
Dangerously.
"All right," he said. "But understand this—once you're fully in, there's no retreat."
She met his gaze without hesitation. "I already crossed that line."
Another pause.
Then he pulled her into his arms—not rough, not possessive.
Protective.
For a brief moment, the world went quiet.
Outside the walls, enemies planned.
Inside, something far more dangerous solidified.
Trust.
That night, Elena lay awake in the dark, replaying everything.
The shot.
The fear.
The way Alessandro had said he couldn't lose her.
She realized then that love—real love—wasn't soft.
It was terrifying.
And it was already happening.