The soft hum of the private jet faded behind them as Tristan Moretti and Saphina stepped onto the tarmac. Paris's cool night breeze brushed past their faces, but it did little to cool the tension in Tristan's eyes.
Waiting by the car, a man in a dark suit handed him a keycard and a black suit bag. Without saying a word, Tristan took it and headed straight for the hotel car waiting nearby. Saphina followed closely, confusion building inside her.
As they arrived at the luxury hotel, Tristan led the way, flashing the keycard and taking the elevator to their floor. The silence was heavy, but Saphina had grown used to his quiet.
Once they reached the top floor, he handed her a second keycard.
"You'll be in the room next to mine. Don't lose it," he said flatly.
She blinked. "Uh… okay. Thanks."
The doors opened, and he disappeared into his suite without another word. Saphina stepped into her room, surprised to find everything already prepared .clothes neatly laid out, her luggage arranged, and even skincare products she didn't remember packing.
"How does he do that…?" she thought, still baffled by how Tristan seemed to have every detail covered.
Just as she started freshening up, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it cautiously, only to find two staff members wheeling in a tray full of delicious food.
"Compliments of Mr. Moretti," one said before bowing and leaving.
Her stomach growled. She sat down and dug in, enjoying the comfort meal after a long day.
Once she'd eaten, she showered, changed into a professional outfit, and just as she was drying her hair, her phone buzzed with a message:
"Meeting in 20 minutes. Be ready." — Tristan.
"Geez, does he ever smile?" she muttered, grabbing her things.
When she stepped out, she found Tristan already waiting by the elevator, looking sharp in a tailored black suit. She swallowed her nerves and joined him.
They descended in silence, but something about his posture told her he wasn't fully present. His mind was elsewhere.
_____
The meeting went well . smoother than she expected. Tristan was intimidating in the boardroom, commanding respect with a single look. Saphina watched in quiet admiration, learning more about how powerful he truly was.
When it ended, she sighed in relief.
"So... can I finally sleep now?" she joked, stretching a little as they stepped out of the conference building.
But before he could reply, his phone rang.
He answered immediately, walking a few steps away. His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as the voice on the other end spoke rapidly. Saphina couldn't hear the conversation, but she noticed how tense he became.
When he hung up, he turned to her abruptly.
"We're leaving tonight."
"Wait—what?" she asked, frowning. "I thought we were flying out tomorrow?"
"Change of plans," he said sharply, already typing into his phone. "Go back to the suite. Pack everything. You have fifteen minutes."
"Mr Moretti, is everything okay—?"
But he didn't respond. He was already back on a call, walking toward a sleek black car that had just pulled up.
Saphina was left standing there, stunned. She had so many questions, but none were going to be answered.
Just then, Caleb appeared at her side.
"Miss Hadley," he said politely, "you'll need to return to the suite and get ready. The jet is being fueled. We leave in an hour."
Saphina sighed. "So much for sleep…"
—----
Back at the hotel, she packed quickly. Her thoughts raced. *Why the rush? Did something happen?*
The plane ride back was quieter than ever. Tristan didn't say a word. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He just stared out the window with a clenched jaw.
Saphina watched him from across the cabin. She'd never seen him like this — cold, yes, but now he seemed… troubled. Angry. Focused.
*Something was definitely wrong.*
And little did she know, the fire waiting back in Italy was just the beginning
___
The private jet touched down under the shadow of night, its sleek body cutting through the cold breeze like a blade. As the doors hissed open, Tristan Moretti stepped out first, his sharp eyes scanning the quiet airstrip. Saphina followed behind, still processing everything — the urgency, the silence in Tristan's expression, and the tension hanging in the air.
He took a few steps forward before pausing. Without turning fully, he said calmly, "Saphina."
She stopped beside him, a little startled,did he just called me by my first.
"Yes?"she answered surprisely
"You have the day off," he said, voice cold but not unkind. "Rest."
She blinked. "Oh… Thank you sir."
But before she could say anything more, Tristan was already walking away, Caleb falling into step beside him like a silent shadow. The mood shifted immediately — this wasn't business anymore. This was something darker.
**
When Tristan arrived at the Moretti estate, the sight before him made his jaw clench. Half of the mansion was scarred from the blast — walls blown apart, smoke curling through the air, and guards moving like ghosts through the wreckage. His father, *Lorenzo Moretti*, stood near the steps in a black coat, speaking with a few trusted men. *Adrian* was pacing not far off.
"Where's Liana?" Tristan asked immediately, voice low.
Lorenzo nodded toward the top floor. "She's in the secure penthouse. Shaken, but safe."
Without another word, Tristan descended into the *underground armory* — a place only known to the family and their inner circle. The room was lined with weapons, tactical gear, and bulletproof suits. As Caleb handed him his gear, Tristan changed silently, slipping into combat black, strapping on his bulletproof vest, twin daggers, smoke pellets, and a silenced handgun.
Caleb was already dressed and loading magazines when *Adrian walked in shirtless*, holding a rifle.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked, narrowing his eyes.
Adrian gave him a mock-hurt look. "Getting ready for prom, obviously," he said, slapping the gun. "What does it look like? I'm coming along."
"No," Tristan replied instantly. "You stay behind and watch over Liana."
Adrian scoffed, grabbing a combat vest. "What am I, her babysitter now? You've got to be kidding me. I'm not twelve anymore."
"You're right," Tristan said without missing a beat. "Twelve-year-olds whine less."
The men around them chuckled.
Adrian glared at everyone. "Why do you hate me so much?!"
"If hating you keeps you alive," Tristan said coldly, "then I'll gladly do it forever."
That shut Adrian up — for a moment.
Caleb smirked as he checked his knife. "Don't worry, Adrian. If anyone breaks in, just throw one of your sarcastic lines. Might confuse them long enough to escape."
"Ha. Ha. Hilarious," Adrian mumbled, rolling his eyes.
Tristan gave one last check on his gear, then faced his men. "We move in ten. No mercy. Tonight, we hunt."
The men all responded in unison: *"Sì, Capo."*
Adrian huffed from the back. "Just so you know, if anything happens to me while I'm babysitting, I'm haunting all of you."
Tristan ignored him, eyes already focused ahead. The lion had returned to his den — and whoever dared burn part of it would pay in blood.
---