Friday night pulsed with the heartbeat of New York City.
The streets glittered with rain soaked reflections headlights, neon signs, laughter spilling from open bars and the cold wind carried the scent of roasted peanuts and perfume.
Adora had spent most of the day at the market, her hands smelling of oranges and soap. By the time the sun fell, her body ached, but her mind refused to rest.
It had been a week since that night at the DeLuca mansion.
A week since he'd said she didn't belong to the dust anymore.
She hated that she remembered his words.
Hated even more that she wanted to believe them.
Naomi, her loud and loving best friend, wasn't having it.
"You're staying in again?" Naomi asked, standing at Adora's doorway with a hand on her hip. "Girl, it's Friday. People are out there falling in love or making bad choices. You're here folding laundry."
Adora sighed. "It's been a long day."
"It's been a long life," Naomi countered, tossing a black sweater at her. "We're going out. No arguments. There's a rooftop lounge downtown with half-price cocktails and live music."
"I don't drink."
"Then come for the skyline. Or to stare at rich men you'll never talk to."
Adora rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile forming. "You're impossible."
"Exactly," Naomi said, smirking. "Now get dressed before I change your outfit myself."
Two hours later, Adora stood on a rooftop in the Lower East Side, wrapped in the hum of the city.
The air was alive soft jazz mixing with laughter and the sound of glasses clinking. The view stretched wide, Manhattan's skyline shimmering like a dream.
Adora wore that same black sweater, her curls loose, her lips touched with faint gloss. She didn't feel glamorous, but she felt… seen.
Naomi grinned as they leaned on the balcony rail. "Now, tell me again you're not glad I dragged you here."
Adora smiled faintly. "Maybe a little."
"See? That's the spirit." Naomi lifted her glass, then paused. "Oh. Ohhh. Don't look now, but there's a man watching you like you're the only star in the sky."
Adora frowned, turning slightly and her heart stopped.
Marco DeLuca.
He stood across the rooftop near the far railing, wearing a dark suit that looked almost black under the lights. His tie hung loose, his hair slightly disheveled, and he was talking to two men who looked too sharp to be anything but trouble.
The sight of him hit her like a wave. All that composure she'd built over the week cracked.
Naomi whispered, "Girl, that's the guy from your phone, isn't it? The one who texts like he runs the world?"
Adora didn't answer. She couldn't.
Their eyes met across the rooftop a collision of curiosity, memory, and something unnamed.
He smiled slowly, faintly, like he'd been expecting her.
Her pulse quickened.
Naomi caught her arm. "He's coming over."
"Naomi"
"I'll get more drinks!" Naomi declared quickly and vanished like smoke.
Adora turned just as Marco reached her.
"You look… unexpected," he said, his voice warm but measured.
"Is that your version of a compliment?"
"Maybe," he said. "I didn't imagine you in a place like this."
"I could say the same," she replied. "I thought your kind preferred rooms with guards and gold."
His mouth curved slightly. "Sometimes I need to breathe too."
There was a pause a quiet, charged space between them filled only by the sound of the wind and city below.
"Are you following me?" she asked finally.
"Coincidence," he said smoothly. "Or fate. Whichever you hate less."
"Fate doesn't wear suits and bodyguards."
He laughed softly, and the sound made her chest tighten. "You always see through everything, don't you?"
"Only when I'm looking."
He studied her for a long moment his gaze slow, deliberate, thoughtful. "You don't belong here either."
"I'm starting to think I don't belong anywhere," she said, half smiling.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You belong where people see your worth. That's all."
The sincerity in his tone disarmed her. For a moment, she forgot the whispers about who he was the man rumored to control half the docks, the man whose name made people lower their voices.
For a moment, he was just Marco.
"Dance with me," he said suddenly.
She blinked. "What?"
"Dance. Before you talk yourself out of it."
Before she could protest, he took her hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm but gentle, and she felt the world tilt slightly as he led her toward the center of the rooftop.
A slow song played the kind that made the city seem softer.
Adora moved stiffly at first, aware of his nearness, of how his thumb brushed her wrist, how his breath lingered near her ear.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
"Maybe I'm cold."
"Maybe you're not."
She looked up at him, meaning to glare but what she saw stopped her words.
There was no arrogance in his expression now. Just quiet admiration. And something else o something lonely.
The kind of loneliness that made her chest ache.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked.
"Because you don't know what you do to me."
Her breath caught. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"I shouldn't feel them either," he said softly. "But I do."
For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze the city below, the stars above, and the distance between them closing until she could almost taste his breath.
Then she stepped back. "I should go."
He nodded once, but there was a flicker of pain in his eyes. "I'll walk you."
"You don't need to."
"I know. But I want to."
They descended the stairwell quietly, their footsteps echoing. When they reached the street, he opened his umbrella, holding it above them both.
The rain had started again soft, silver, and slow.
He walked her to the curb, and for a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, he said, "Adora… I wasn't lying that night. You deserve more than survival."
She met his gaze, the rain catching on her lashes. "And what are you offering, Marco?"
He hesitated, his voice barely above the sound of the rain. "A beginning. Nothing more. Nothing less."
She wanted to believe him but the shadows in his eyes told her beginnings in his world didn't always end softly.
Still, she didn't move away when he brushed a raindrop from her cheek.
"Goodnight, Adora."
He turned, the sound of his shoes fading into the hum of the city.
She stood there long after he was gone, the rain soaking into her clothes, her heart a tangled mix of fear, wonder, and something dangerously close to hope.