The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet, this was the kind that crept under the skin, that whispered danger and unfinished business. Lena stood by the tall windows of the Moretti estate, watching the city glow beneath the night sky, her reflection faint in the glass. Every light out there belonged to someone living a normal life. A life untouched by blood, guns, and silent threats.
Her chest tightened.
She heard the front door open.
Bootsteps echoed across the marble floor, slow, deliberate, heavy with authority. She didn't need to turn around to know it was him. Rafael Moretti carried a presence that filled every space he entered.
The scent hit her first.
Iron.
Smoke.
Blood.
She turned.
Rafael stood near the entrance, jacket half-removed, his white shirt splattered with dark red stains that hadn't fully dried yet. His knuckles were bruised. One sleeve was torn. He looked calm, too calm, for someone who clearly hadn't come from a peaceful meeting.
Her stomach twisted.
"Rafael," she said softly, then louder, "what the hell happened?"
He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it carelessly onto a chair, as if it wasn't soaked in another person's blood. "Business."
Her hands curled into fists. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
She stepped closer despite herself, eyes fixed on the stains. "You're bleeding."
He glanced down at his hands, unimpressed. "Not mine."
That did it.
"You can't just walk into the house like this!" she snapped, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong. "Covered in someone else's blood like it's nothing. This isn't normal, Rafael!"
His gaze lifted slowly to hers, dark, sharp, unreadable.
"Normal is irrelevant," he said coldly. "This is my life. If you're waiting for me to apologize for it, you'll be disappointed."
Her throat burned. "You didn't have to bring it home."
His jaw tightened. "This *is* my home."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She shook her head, frustration and fear tangling inside her chest. "Your family, your brothers, they treat this like sport. I heard Matteo earlier. Laughing about tonight. About someone begging."
Rafael's expression hardened.
"My family understands survival."
"And what about me?" she shot back. "What am I supposed to understand?"
He stepped closer, towering over her, his presence heavy and commanding. "You're supposed to understand that this world doesn't bend for morality. It bends for power."
Her voice cracked. "You're terrifying when you talk like that."
Something flickered in his eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Good," he said quietly. "Fear keeps you alive."
She looked away, fighting the sting behind her eyes. "You don't even care that this scares me."
"I care," he said sharply. "I just won't lie to you to make it easier."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he turned away.
"I need a shower."
He walked toward the bedroom, blood-stained shirt clinging to his skin. Lena watched him go, heart pounding, anger and attraction warring inside her. She hated how her body reacted to him, even now. Even like this.
She told herself to stay put.
She didn't.
A few minutes later, she found herself outside the bathroom door. Steam curled beneath it. The sound of running water filled the space, steady and intimate. Her breath felt too loud in her ears.
*I just want to make sure he's okay,* she told herself.
She pushed the door slightly—
And slipped.
Her foot caught the edge of the rug, and she stumbled forward with a sharp gasp.
The door swung open.
Rafael stood there, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his waist, water still sliding down his skin. His hair was damp, his body bare and unguarded in a way she'd never seen before.
Time froze.
"I—" Lena sucked in a breath, cheeks burning. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
He didn't move away.
Instead, his eyes darkened.
"Careful," he said quietly. "You keep walking into dangerous situations."
She swallowed. "You're one to talk."
A slow smirk tugged at his lips. "And yet, you're still here."
Heat crawled up her spine.
She tried to step back, but the door closed behind her with a soft click.
Her pulse jumped.
Rafael stepped closer, towering over her, his damp skin warm, his presence overwhelming. "You came to check on me."
She hesitated. "I… yes."
"Why?"
"Because I hate that you act like nothing touches you," she whispered. "And because I saw blood and thought—what if one day it *is* yours?"
Something in his expression shifted, subtle, dangerous.
"You shouldn't care," he said.
"But I do."
The words hung between them.
His hand came up, stopping just short of touching her face. "You don't understand what caring for me costs."
"Then show me," she said softly. "Stop pretending you're made of stone."
The air snapped.
In one smooth movement, he caught her wrist, pulling her close, not rough, but firm. "You want the truth?" he murmured. "The truth is that if I let myself feel… I lose control. And men like me cannot afford that."
Her breath hitched. "Maybe control isn't everything."
He laughed quietly, dark and humorless. "Spoken like someone who's never had to bury bodies."
The tension snapped.
Somehow, they ended up on the bed, her back hitting the mattress, him hovering above her, eyes burning. His hand pressed beside her head, caging her in without touching her.
"You should be afraid right now," he said.
"I am," she whispered.
"Then why aren't you telling me to stop?"
Because she didn't want him to.
That truth scared her more than anything.
His gaze softened just enough to be dangerous. "This is the line," he warned. "Once we cross it, nothing stays simple."
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "It hasn't been simple since the day I met you."
He lowered his forehead to hers, breath warm, voice rough. "You are playing with fire."
"Then stop looking at me like I'm already burned."
Silence.
Then he kissed her.
Not gentle. Not soft. It was restrained fury and hunger, years of control cracking under the weight of desire. Lena gasped, fingers clutching his shoulders, heart racing as he kissed her like a man who didn't know how to want safely.
When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen.
"This doesn't change who I am," he said.
"I don't want it to," she whispered. "I just want to survive you."
His jaw tightened.
Outside the room, footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.
His brothers were awake.
Watching.
And somewhere in the city, enemies were already circling.
Rafael pressed his forehead to hers, voice low and lethal.
"Sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, the consequences begin."