Hayden was no longer sleeping.
Not because of the looming war. Not because of Leo's betrayal. But because he knew something worse was coming—and it had Ana's name written all over it.
He stood at the balcony of the Florence villa, the wind catching the collar of his shirt, his phone clutched in one hand. Below, the gardens swayed like something haunted. Above, the sky threatened rain again.
"Ana can't know," he said into the phone.
Dom, his oldest enforcer, paused on the other end. "She's not stupid, Hayden. She's gonna figure it out."
"Let me handle her," he snapped. "Just do your job. I want eyes on every flight coming into Florence. If my father steps foot on Tuscan soil, I want to know before his boot hits the ground."
"And Leo?"
"He's mine."
Hayden hung up and stared into the night.
---
Ana wasn't in bed when he returned.
She was in the basement.
She'd found the old weapons vault—because of course she had. She stood barefoot on the concrete floor, wearing one of his shirts again, her arms crossed as she stared at the racks of firearms and knives like they were art pieces.
"I was looking for wine," she said without turning. "Instead, I found the apocalypse."
Hayden leaned against the doorway.
"I didn't hide it."
"You didn't tell me either."
He walked toward her, slow and cautious.
"You said you wanted to help."
She turned to him, eyes burning. "I didn't mean this."
"This *is* me," he said simply. "The part you've never seen. The part I kept buried because you were the only clean thing I had left."
"And now?"
"Now you're mine. There's no clean in that."
Ana stepped closer. "Then show me how to fight."
He blinked. "What?"
"I want to be ready."
"You're not killing anyone, Ana."
"I'm not asking for permission, Hayden. I'm asking for survival."
He grabbed her face suddenly, not rough—but desperate.
"You think I could live with myself if something happened to you?"
"You think I could live with *myself* if I didn't try to stop it?"
Their breath mingled.
"You're not a killer," he whispered.
"Neither were you," she replied. "Once."
For a long moment, Hayden just stared at her. Then he finally let go, his shoulders tense with surrender.
"Fine," he said. "You want to be part of this? First lesson starts now."
---
By morning, Ana's hands were raw from training.
She couldn't remember the last time she held a gun. Maybe never. But now, with Hayden behind her, guiding her grip and stance, it all felt alarmingly natural.
"Finger off the trigger until you're ready," he murmured against her ear. "Aim for the chest. You hesitate—you die."
She nodded, ignoring the pulse fluttering in her throat.
"Again."
She fired. The shot cracked across the quiet woods behind the villa.
She didn't miss.
Hayden was silent for a moment.
"You're not bad."
"I learn fast."
"You're terrified."
"Of losing you."
That shut him up.
He took the gun from her hand and dropped it back in the case.
Then he stepped close, wrapped a hand in her hair, and kissed her like it was the last thing holding him together.
"I can't protect you from what's coming," he whispered against her lips.
"Then don't," she said. "Stand beside me instead."
---
Later that day, Hayden received word.
One of Enzo's most protected arms depots in Naples had gone up in flames. Anonymous. Clean. No trace.
Except for one thing.
A single black feather, left on the ashes.
Hayden smiled when he heard.
"Dom did it?"
"Yeah," said the voice on the phone. "And he left a message: 'Your wolf has lost his teeth.'"
Hayden stared at the flickering fire in the hearth.
"One by one," he said. "We'll burn it all."
But far from Florence, Enzo Moretti stood in the ruins of his Naples estate, eyes on the feather.
He said nothing. He just handed the photo of Ana to the man beside him.
"Take her," he said. "Tonight".