The sun was barely awake when silence settled over the Cavelli estate. For the first time in hours, the sharp crack of gunfire, the thud of boots on marble, and the hiss of whispered commands had faded into uneasy stillness. What remained was the echo of chaos: shattered glass across the halls, scorch marks staining once-pristine walls, and the acrid scent of smoke still hanging stubbornly in the air.
It wasn't victory—it was survival.
Lottie stood in the aftermath, the soles of her shoes crunching lightly against shards of glass as she moved through the hall. Her body still hummed with residual adrenaline, an energy too sharp to settle. She had survived. More than that—she had acted. She had stood in the storm and hadn't shattered. Yet survival came with its own cost. Every muscle in her body ached, her hands still trembled when she flexed them, and the image of the unmasked traitor replayed in her mind, relentless. Betrayal carried a taste, bitter and metallic, and it clung to her tongue no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down.
The marble floor glimmered with pale morning light seeping in through fractured windows. She turned away from the devastation, ready to retreat into solitude, when Gabe's voice cut through the quiet.
"Lottie."
Her chest tightened. He didn't have to shout. Her name rolled low, deep, carrying weight. She turned, pulse betraying her despite her best attempt at composure.
He stood at the end of the corridor, backlit by fractured dawn. Gabe's shirt was half undone, the collar darkened with blood that wasn't his alone. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his skin streaked with faint cuts, his hair disheveled in a way she had never seen before. He looked less like the untouchable Cavelli heir and more like a man carved from battle—raw, human, dangerous still.
"You should rest," he said, voice firm but quiet, carrying the authority of command but tempered with something softer.
"I can't," she admitted, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. She looked down at her hands, curling them into fists. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it. The traitor's face. The fire. The blood. All of it."
He moved closer, slow, deliberate. "You did more than anyone expected. You saved lives last night. You saved me."
Her chest tightened at his words. "Don't make me into something I'm not. I wasn't fearless. I was terrified, Gabe. I just… reacted."
"That's what survival is." His tone softened, the edge giving way. "Reacting. And you didn't falter."
Lottie's lips parted, words caught in her throat. There was something in the way he looked at her—a stillness, an intensity—that stripped away every layer she tried to keep between them. His gaze wasn't just acknowledgment. It was… reverence.
She shifted under it, forcing herself to speak. "It doesn't stop, does it? The danger, the threats, the betrayals. Even after last night… Vitale's still out there. He won't stop until—"
"Until he's dealt with," Gabe finished, his tone hardening, the Cavelli steel snapping back into place.
Her gaze locked onto his. "And if he wins?"
The question lingered, fragile, dangerous. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, and for a fleeting second, she saw it—fear. Not of Vitale, not of the war, but of something far more personal.
"Then I lose everything." His voice was low, rough, as if dragged from somewhere deep inside. His eyes didn't waver. "You."
The word landed heavy, stripping the air between them bare.
Lottie's pulse stuttered. She wasn't supposed to feel this—this pull that burned hotter with every moment in his presence. She wasn't supposed to want the man who had dragged her into his dangerous, bloody world. And yet, she couldn't deny it. Not anymore.
Her voice trembled, but she forced it out. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?" He stepped closer, the air tightening, heat radiating from his body. "It's the truth."
Her breath hitched. "Because it makes me forget the danger. It makes me want things I can't afford to want."
His eyes flicked down to her lips before lifting back to hers. His next words were a whisper of fire. "Maybe danger is the only thing that makes us honest."
The world shrank around them. The estate, the guards, the fractures in the walls—all of it blurred, faded. It was just them, bound in a silence so charged it buzzed in the air.
Lottie's chest rose and fell unevenly, her heart slamming against her ribs. She should have pulled back. She should have walked away. But when Gabe reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, she didn't move. His fingers lingered, the roughness of his skin grazing her softness, sparking something electric that raced down her spine.
"Gabe…" Her voice cracked under the weight of his name.
"I'm not going to apologize," he murmured.
And then his lips were on hers.
The kiss wasn't restrained. It wasn't cautious. It was fire meeting fire. Raw, consuming, an unspoken war giving way to something far more dangerous—desire. His mouth claimed hers, fierce and unrelenting, and Lottie's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, surrendering to the heat that had been simmering between them for too long.
She could feel him everywhere—the press of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held her close, the hunger in the way he kissed her like he needed her more than air.
The world fell away.
For the first time, Lottie wasn't afraid of her fire. She burned in it. She thrived in it. She wanted more.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. Silence returned, but it was no longer the silence of aftermath. It was charged, alive, trembling with everything unsaid.
"I shouldn't," she whispered, though the protest was weak.
Gabe's thumb traced the line of her jaw, his eyes dark and blazing. "I know. But I can't stop."
Her heart twisted painfully, torn between fear and longing. "And if it destroys us?"
"Then we burn," he whispered, and there was no hesitation in him.
The moment lingered, fragile and fierce, neither of them daring to move.
And then—reality intruded.
A knock at the door, sharp and urgent, broke the spell. Marco's voice, clipped and grim, cut through. "Gabe. We intercepted a transmission. Vitale's moving faster than we thought."
The heat shattered. Gabe's jaw tightened, though his hand still lingered at Lottie's waist as if reluctant to let go. He pressed one last look into her, something unspoken, a promise, before stepping back.
"Later," he murmured, his voice rough.
Lottie, still trembling, nodded. But in her chest, a truth pulsed with new strength: there were no guarantees in their world. Later might never come.
Gabe opened the door. Marco stood there, his face shadowed, a folder in hand. "It's not just Vitale. Someone else is moving pieces on the board."
The weight of it landed instantly. Another player. Another threat.
Lottie's stomach dropped, but she didn't flinch. Not anymore. She had tasted fire, tasted desire, tasted hope—and she wouldn't surrender it.
Even if the world tried to tear it away.