---
HER POV
The morning after the mansion
I woke up on my bedroom floor.
The black dress was still on. Rumpled. Tangled. Smelling like his cologne.
"I can't. Not yet."
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.
No more crying. No more chasing.
I stood up. Peeled off the dress. Stepped into the shower and turned the water as hot as I could stand it.
When I got out, I looked at my phone.
No messages.
Of course not. He was "protecting" me by staying silent.
Fine.
I deleted our text thread. Not blocked him—just cleared the slate. Out of sight.
Then I got dressed, walked downstairs, and sat across from my father at breakfast like nothing had happened.
---
Aldo Moretti – head of arms trafficking for the Italian mafia. Lorenzo De Luca's most trusted business partner. And completely oblivious to the fact that his daughter had spent last night pinned against his partner's study wall.
"You look tired, piccola." Papa folded his newspaper. "Did you sleep?"
"Not well." I reached for a pastry I didn't want. "Jet lag."
He nodded, but his eyes lingered. "You've been quiet since the party. If something's bothering you—"
"Everything's fine, Papa."
A lie. But a necessary one.
He let it go. For now.
"Lorenzo is coming by the office tomorrow," he said, buttering his toast. "Arms shipment from the Balkans. We need to discuss routes."
My hand froze mid-reach.
Lorenzo. In my father's office.
"I thought you handled those meetings alone," I said carefully.
"I do. But you're home for once. And you're studying international relations. Might be good for you to sit in. Learn the business."
Sit in a meeting with Lorenzo. While my father watches.
"I'll think about it," I said.
Papa smiled. "That's my girl."
---
Day 2 – The Silence Continues
I didn't call. Didn't text. Didn't drive past his mansion.
Instead, I threw myself into distraction. Long runs. Lunch with old friends. Reading in the garden.
Every time my phone buzzed, my heart stopped.
It was never him.
Good, I told myself. This is what you wanted.
But at night, alone in my room, I'd lift my shirt and trace the tattoo. His name. Still there. Still permanent.
You're too young.
I wanted to hate him for saying it.
I couldn't.
---
Day 3
My phone rang at 7 a.m. I groaned, reached for it, squinted at the screen.
Katya Sokolova.
I answered. "It's—"
"Seven in the morning, I know. I'm landing at Milan Malpensa in four hours. You're picking me up."
I sat up. "You're coming to Italy?"
"You've been ignoring me for days. You send one-word texts. You're clearly falling apart. So yes, I'm coming." A pause. "Also, I need to tell you something. But I'll do it in person."
"Tell me now."
"Nope. See you at noon. Send the car. Bye."
She hung up.
I stared at my phone.
Katya Sokolova. My best friend from Moscow. The only person who knew about the tattoo, the file, the three years of longing. She was loyal, fierce, and absolutely incapable of keeping a secret unless it was serious.
What isn't she telling me?
---
Milan Malpensa Airport – 12:15 p.m.
The driver dropped me at arrivals. I stood among the crowds, holding a coffee I wasn't drinking, scanning faces.
Then I saw her.
Blonde. Leather jacket. Oversized sunglasses. Wheeling a carry-on like she owned the terminal.
"Katya!"
She spotted me. Broke into a grin. Dropped her suitcase and ran.
We collided in a hug that nearly knocked me over.
"You look like hell," she said into my hair.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true." She pulled back, cupped my face. "We're fixing this. Starting now."
I laughed—the first real laugh in days. "How?"
"First, you're going to tell me everything. Then—"
A voice behind us. Deep. Russian. Dangerous.
"Katya. You didn't tell me you were leaving."
I turned.
And my blood went cold.
Nico Volkov.
Don of the Russian bratva. Lorenzo's best friend. The man who had been watching me for three years.
He stood ten feet away, dressed in black, his face unreadable. Two guards flanked him. The crowd seemed to part around him without realizing why.
"Nico." Katya's voice was calm. Too calm. "I told you I was visiting a friend."
"You said Italy. You didn't say her."
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
And then I looked at Katya.
"Katya," I said slowly. "Why is the Don of Russia following you to an airport?"
She sighed. Rubbed the back of her neck. "So... funny story."
Nico stepped closer. His eyes didn't leave mine.
"Vivienne Moretti." He said my name like he was tasting it. "We finally meet in person."
"I wish I could say the same."
Katya grabbed my arm. "Okay, so. Remember how I said I needed to tell you something?"
"Katya."
"Remember how I've been vague about my love life?"
"Katya."
Nico put his hand on Katya's shoulder. Proprietary. Claiming.
"She's my fiancée," he said. "We've been engaged for six months."
The world tilted.
"Your what?"
Katya winced. "Surprise?"
I stared at her. Then at Nico. Then back at her.
"You're engaged to the Don of Russia? The same Don who's been reporting my every move to Lorenzo for three years? That Don?"
"Technically, yes."
"And you didn't think to mention this?"
"I was going to tell you! In person! Which is why I'm here!" Katya grabbed my hands. "Viv, I love you. You're my best friend. But Nico is... he's everything to me. And I knew if I told you over the phone, you'd freak out."
"I'm freaking out now."
Nico watched the exchange with something like amusement. "She has a temper. I see why Lorenzo is afraid of her."
I rounded on him. "You've been watching me. For three years. Reporting to Lorenzo."
"I was protecting you."
"Same excuse. Different man." I stepped closer to him—close enough that his guards tensed. "I'm not a child, Don Volkov. I don't need protection. I need truth."
Nico's expression shifted. Respect. Maybe.
"Then here's the truth," he said quietly. "Lorenzo has been in love with you since you were eighteen. He's too stubborn and too damaged to admit it. I've been watching you because if anything happened to you, he'd burn the world down. And I can't have my best friend starting a war over a girl who doesn't know how to stay safe."
"I can take care of myself."
"Clearly." His eyes flicked to my waist—where he knew the tattoo was. "Otherwise you wouldn't have his name on your body."
Katya stepped between us. "Okay! Enough posturing. Nico, go back to Moscow. I'll call you tomorrow."
"I don't like you being here without me."
"I'm with Vivienne. I'm safe." She kissed his cheek. "Go."
He looked at me one more time.
"One month," he said. "Lorenzo has one month to tell her father. After that, I'm telling him myself."
Then he turned and walked away, his guards falling in behind him.
I watched him go.
Then I grabbed Katya's arm.
"You have so much to explain."
---
In the car – heading back to my father's estate
Katya told me everything.
How she'd met Nico at a club in Moscow two years ago. How he'd pursued her. How she'd had no idea he was the Don until the third date, when a man tried to rob them and Nico broke his arm without getting out of his chair.
"He's terrifying," Katya said, "but he's also... gentle. With me. Only me."
"And you're engaged."
"Six months ago. In a private ceremony. No rings yet—too dangerous. But we signed papers."
I stared out the window. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were in love with Lorenzo. And Nico is Lorenzo's best friend. I didn't want you to think I was using you to get close to him or something."
"Katya, I would never think that."
"I know. But I was scared." She took my hand. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
I squeezed her fingers. "You're an idiot."
"The biggest."
"But you're my idiot." I sighed. "So now what? Nico knows everything about me. Lorenzo knows everything. And I'm supposed to sit in a meeting with him tomorrow like nothing happened?"
Katya's eyes widened. "Meeting?"
"My father's office. Lorenzo is coming to discuss arms shipments. Papa invited me to sit in."
"Oh, this is perfect." Katya grinned. "You're going to make him squirm."
"That's the plan."
"Good." She settled back in her seat. "Then after the meeting, we get drinks. And you tell me every single detail."
I laughed.
For the first time in days, it felt like I might survive this.
---
Day 5 – Her Father's Office – 10:00 a.m.
The Moretti armaments headquarters looked like any other corporate building. Glass. Steel. Discretion.
I wore a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers. Professional. Untouchable. Nothing like the girl in the red dress.
Papa met me in the lobby. "You came."
"You asked."
He kissed my forehead. "Lorenzo will be here any minute. Just observe. Take notes if you want. But let me do the talking."
Of course.
We took the elevator to the top floor. His office was all dark wood and leather chairs. A map of Europe on the wall, marked with shipping routes. A model of a missile on the bookshelf—tasteless, but my father had never been subtle.
I sat in the chair against the wall. Not at the table. Observing.
The door opened.
Lorenzo walked in.
---
HIS POV
I hadn't seen her in five days.
Five days of silence. No texts. No calls. No sudden appearances at my gates.
I told myself it was what I wanted.
I was lying.
And now she was sitting in Aldo Moretti's office, wearing cream silk and looking at me like I was a stranger.
"Lorenzo." Aldo stood, shook my hand. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course." I didn't look at her. Couldn't. "The Balkan shipment?"
"Sit. We'll go over the routes." Aldo gestured to the table. Then he noticed his daughter. "You remember Vivienne? She's home from Moscow for a few weeks. Thought she might learn something."
I finally looked at her.
She looked back. Cool. Unreadable.
"Miss Moretti." My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"Mr. De Luca." No warmth. No hint of what had happened in my study. Just ice.
She's good.
I sat. Aldo launched into the details—shipping manifests, customs bribes, safe houses in Croatia. I nodded at the right moments. Asked the right questions.
But my attention kept drifting to her.
She took notes. Didn't look up. Her hair fell across her cheek. Her fingers were steady.
She's ignoring me.
And it was driving me insane.
---
HER POV
He kept glancing at me.
I felt it every time—a flicker of heat, a pull in my chest. But I didn't look up from my notebook.
Let him look. Let him wonder.
Papa was deep in conversation about a shipment of automatic rifles. I wrote down words I didn't need. Anything to keep my eyes busy.
Then:
"Vivienne, what do you think?"
I looked up. Papa was watching me. So was Lorenzo.
"About what?"
"The Adriatic route. Lorenzo thinks it's too risky. I think it's fine." Papa leaned back. "You've studied international logistics. What's your take?"
I set down my pen.
"The Adriatic is heavily patrolled in summer. More tourists, more coast guard. If I were moving weapons, I'd go through the inland corridor—Slovenia to Austria to Italy. Slower, but safer."
Silence.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed. Not in anger. In surprise.
Papa laughed. "She gets her brains from her mother." He looked at Lorenzo. "Told you she was sharp."
Lorenzo didn't respond to Papa. He was still looking at me.
"Where did you learn about the inland corridor?" he asked.
"International relations. Moscow." I held his gaze. "We study things like smuggling routes. For academic purposes, of course."
"Of course."
Something passed between us. A current. A challenge.
You underestimated me.
Maybe I did.
Papa, oblivious, clapped his hands. "Excellent. Inland corridor it is. Lorenzo, I'll have my people coordinate with yours."
The meeting ended. Papa stood to shake Lorenzo's hand. I stayed in my chair.
"Vivienne, walk Lorenzo out?" Papa asked.
Traitor.
"Of course." I stood. Smoothed my blouse. Led the way to the elevator without looking back.
---
The elevator
The doors closed. Just the two of us.
Five days of silence compressed into a tiny metal box.
"You're ignoring me," he said.
"You noticed."
"I noticed five days ago."
"Then you understand how it feels."
The elevator stopped at the lobby. The doors opened. He didn't move.
"I asked you to stay in Italy," he said quietly. "You didn't answer."
"I said I'd think about it."
"And?"
I stepped out of the elevator. Turned to face him.
"One month," I said. "Starting now. You have thirty days to figure out what you want. And to tell my father."
His jaw tightened. "Vivienne—"
"Thirty days, Lorenzo." I walked backward toward the exit. "Don't waste them."
I pushed through the glass doors and into the sun.
Behind me, I knew he was watching.
Let him watch.
---
HIS POV – Lobby
She walked away.
Again.
But this time, she'd given me a deadline.
Thirty days.
I pulled out my phone. Texted Nico.
Me: She's giving me one month to tell her father about us.
Nico's reply came fast.
Nico: Then stop being an idiot and tell him.
Me: He's my arms dealer. If this goes wrong, I lose my supply line.
Nico: If you lose her, you lose a lot more than guns. Also—your girl just found out about me and Katya. She's furious.
Me: What did you expect?
Nico: I expected you to handle your own love life. Now I'm involved. Tell her father, Lorenzo. Or I will.
I stared at the screen.
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
---
HER POV – That afternoon, with Katya
Katya was waiting at a café near my father's office. I slid into the chair across from her and dropped my head onto the table.
"How bad?" she asked.
"He looked at me like I was a stranger. I looked at him like he was nothing. We both lied."
Katya patted my head. "Progress."
I lifted my face. "Your fiancé threatened to tell my father about Lorenzo if Lorenzo doesn't do it in thirty days."
"Classic Nico." She shrugged. "He's dramatic."
"You're engaged to a Russian mafia Don and you think I'm the dramatic one?"
Katya smiled. "We're both disasters. That's why we're friends."
I laughed despite myself.
"Okay," I said. "Thirty days. Let's make them count."
-