By 4:00 AM, the penthouse was a graveyard of designer clothes and empty bottles. Damien had passed out in the lounge, surrounded by a tangle of partygoers, while a professional cleaning crew moved like ghosts through the wreckage.
Kieran stood alone, staring out at the city. He couldn't shake the image of "Frost"—her piercing blue eyes, the faint dusting of freckles, and that white-blonde hair. What bothered him most wasn't her beauty; it was the fact that she wasn't afraid of him. They were enemies—born and bred to end each other—but there was a gravity to her that no other girl possessed.
He knew her bold, icy personality was a fortress built to hide her cracks. He also knew something darker: he hadn't just pulled her out of the pool because she was taking too long. He had seen the look in her eyes before she dove. She hadn't been swimming; she had been looking for a way out.
Why do I even care? he wondered, jaw tightening. She's the nemesis. We're bound to destroy each other.
He finished his cereal and went upstairs. In the corner of the guest room, he found a pair of shorts and a top. Hers. He picked them up, the faint scent of her perfume hitting him before he folded them away.
Heading back downstairs, he caught the eye of the head maid. "Do not enter my room today," he ordered flatly. "Under any circumstances."
[Washington D.C]
"Hey, can I come in?" Natalie leaned against her daughter's bedroom door.
"Yeah, sure," Zaria answered, sitting up and closing her laptop.
"I know I haven't been around lately," Natalie said, walking in and sitting at the foot of the bed. "I know I don't make time like I used to, but I want you to know I'm here for you. Always."
Zaria smiled softly. "I know, Mom. You're a Secret Service Agent. Saving the world is a full-time job. I get it."
Natalie chuckled, but her expression quickly turned serious. "While we're on the subject... I found a new school for you. In New York. You start on Monday."
Zaria's smile faded. "Is this move work-related?"
"Yes and no," Natalie sighed. "I just want my baby girl to have a normal life. I want you somewhere where you aren't a target or a bargaining chip. Is that too much to ask?"
"No," Zaria said, her voice filled with a mix of concern and resolve. "The Mafia case has you buried alive, Mom. You need a breather, and I'm the only one who can force you to take one."
"I promise," Natalie squeezed her hand, "once these two families are behind bars, we'll take a real vacation. And I'll buy you that new gaming rig you've been eyeing."
"Seriously? Oh my god!" Zaria jumped up. "I'm packing right now!"
Natalie laughed and headed for the door. "Dinner in ten minutes. Be down there."
As the door closed, Zaria's excitement shifted into a focused calm. She knew her mother was obsessed with the case, and she knew the Ivanovs and Romanos were dangerous. If her mother couldn't break them alone, Zaria would help her—anonymously, from the shadows of her new life in New York.
[The Turf]
Kieran walked into the dim light of an exclusive club and took a seat at the far end of the bar.
"You're late. The boss started the meeting ten minutes ago," the bartender muttered, wiping a glass.
"I know, and I don't care," Kieran replied. "Give me a shot."
"He won't be happy, Kieran. That's the third time this month."
"Did I ask for a mother, or a drink?"
The bartender sighed and poured the shot. "Just thinking out loud. I'm not looking for trouble."
"Keep it that way." Kieran downed the liquid in one sharp burn and headed for the back office.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors. Four men sat around a long table, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension. At the head of the table sat Dante, the man who ruled this territory with an iron fist.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Kieran said, taking a seat with practiced nonchalance.
"You're late," Dante growled, his eyes like flint. "You're growing wings, Romano. You think you're above the clock?"
"I am a Romano," Kieran countered, leaning back. "We have Italy eating out of our palms. Why is everyone acting like my alarm clock today?"
"This isn't Italy, boy," Dante stepped into his space, his voice a low vibration. "This is my turf. My blood, my sweat, and my hard work. Remember where you are."
Kieran remained silent. He wasn't afraid of Dante, but he respected the man's brutality. He knew Dante had crawled through hell to get here.
"I killed the snitch," Kieran said, cutting through the posturing.
The room went deathly silent. Every man at the table turned to look at him.
"Who was it?" one of the lieutenants asked.
"Viktor."
Gasps filled the room. The men exchanged shocked glances. Viktor wasn't just a Capo; he was Dante's adopted son, his second-in-command, the man trusted to lead the crews. The line between blood and water had just been erased. Dante looked as if he had been struck; his face went pale, then turned a dark, bruised purple with rage.
"Meeting adjourned," Dante rasped.
No one argued. They filed out quickly, leaving only Kieran and Dante in the room.
"He wasn't just working with the cops," Kieran added, his voice cold.
"What?"
"He had a deal with the Ivanovs. I suspect he was playing undercover for them, too."
"That son of a bitch!" Dante roared, slamming his fist into the table so hard the wood groaned. "I took him in! I fed him! And he betrays me? I wish I had killed him with my own hands."
"I think you'd be satisfied with the death I gave him," Kieran said, standing up. "It was slow, untraceable, and... quite pleasing. Until next time, Dante."
Kieran walked out, leaving the older man alone with his ghosts and his fury.