Ana didn't sleep that night.
She lay awake beside Hayden, wrapped in sheets that still smelled like smoke and rain, staring at the man whose touch had shattered her and rebuilt her in a single night. His arm was slung possessively across her waist, his breathing deep, steady. At peace.
But she wasn't.
Because peace didn't exist when you loved a man like Hayden Moretti.
She slid out of bed carefully, feet cold on the marble floor as she reached for one of his black dress shirts. The silk swallowed her frame, but it still smelled like him—danger and spice and something darker.
Downstairs, the villa creaked in the silence of early morning. Dust lingered in shafts of light cutting through the tall windows. Ana moved to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and tried to still the storm inside her.
Hayden had said his father knew.
*Il Lupo.* The Wolf.
The man whose empire was built on blood and silence.
Ana had met him once, at a party when she was just a girl. He'd kissed her hand and smiled like a snake. Even then, she'd felt it—the power radiating off him, the control he held over every room he entered. If he knew what Hayden was doing—choosing love over legacy—it wouldn't just end in betrayal.
It would end in war.
She didn't hear Hayden come down the stairs until his arms slid around her from behind. He buried his face in her neck, voice rough with sleep.
"You left the bed," he murmured.
"I needed air."
"You're shaking."
"I'm scared."
Hayden turned her around gently and leaned against the counter, cupping her face in both hands. "Then let's stop pretending," he said. "Let's run."
Ana blinked. "What?"
"Rome. The business. My father. All of it. We disappear. New names. New lives. Just you and me."
It was everything she'd once dreamed of—and nothing she trusted.
"You'd give all that up?" she asked, barely a whisper.
"For you?" He smirked, but there was no humor in his eyes. "I'd burn the world."
Her heart twisted.
"I want to believe you."
"Then do."
"But I know your father. He won't let us go."
Hayden stepped away, pacing now, his jaw clenched tight. "I'll make him."
"You said he doesn't leave loose ends."
"I won't be one."
Ana reached for him. "You're his heir. His blood. He'll never let you walk away."
"I'm not asking permission," he snapped.
The silence was sharp, until Hayden exhaled, rubbed a hand through his hair, and looked back at her—softer now.
"I can't lose you, Ana. Not after everything."
"You won't," she said quietly. "But we can't run. Not yet."
He looked at her like she'd just challenged a god.
"I'm not afraid of your father, Hayden," she said. "But if we run now, he wins. You lose everything your mother died for."
Something shifted in his eyes.
Respect. And something deeper.
"You want revenge?" she said. "Let's take it. Together."
For the first time in his life, Hayden didn't feel like he was alone in the dark.
---
Back in Rome, things were already shifting.
Enzo Moretti sat in his study, a cigar burning low between his fingers, as his most trusted man slid a photo across the desk.
Ana.
Wearing Hayden's shirt. In the Florence villa.
The Wolf's smile was slow, cruel.
"I warned him," Enzo murmured. "And he defied me."
He stubbed the cigar out.
"Bring her to me," he said coldly. "Alive. Unharmed. But bring her."
The guard hesitated. "And Hayden?"
Enzo's eyes turned glacial.
"My son made his choice. Now he'll face the consequences."