Hayden Moretti didn't sleep.
Not because of insomnia or the way Ana curled against him in her sleep—soft and trusting, as if his chest were a sanctuary. No. He didn't sleep because the Wolf inside him was stirring. The one he'd buried for her.
Luca's message had shattered the stillness.
Now he stood in the war room beneath the penthouse—walls lined with digital screens, red lights blinking with incoming data. Ana didn't know about this floor. He had never brought her here. It was a different world—one he had hoped she'd never need to see.
Luca entered, his expression grim. "You're not going to like this."
"I already don't," Hayden replied flatly. "Talk."
Luca placed a folder on the table. Black leather. No markings. Confidential. Inside were grainy surveillance images from a dock in Marseille, a private airstrip in Morocco, and a warehouse in Naples. In all of them, a man's face appeared—blurry but unmistakable.
Enrico Nicholas.
Ana's uncle.
The man who disappeared after her father's fall. The same man who had been exiled by the Syndicate for going rogue—and had once ordered a hit on Hayden's mother.
Hayden's eyes narrowed. "He's supposed to be dead."
"Clearly, he's not. And he's rebuilding what your father dismantled."
Hayden stared at the images, the way Enrico moved with guards, the markings on the crates behind him—drugs, weapons, but something else too.
"He's coming for Ana," Luca said quietly.
Hayden's fist curled on the edge of the table. "Not while I breathe."
Luca hesitated. "He sent a message. Not through channels. Directly to us."
Hayden looked up sharply. "Us?"
Luca handed over a phone. On it was a short video clip.
Ana, from two days ago, shopping in a small boutique. Laughing with the shopgirl. Completely unaware of the man in the background watching her. Enrico.
Then came the voiceover, grainy but clear.
> "You took my brother. You took my legacy. Now I'll take yours."
Hayden didn't blink. He didn't breathe.
"Triple security. Reinforce her staff. I want eyes on every route she takes."
Luca nodded. "Do you tell her?"
Hayden looked toward the monitor where Ana's face now appeared—live feed from the bedroom above. Peaceful. Sleeping.
"Not yet."
---
**The Next Morning**
Ana stirred to the scent of coffee and citrus. The sun was barely up, casting soft gold light across the sheets. Hayden wasn't beside her.
She pulled on his shirt again and padded barefoot into the living room. He stood by the kitchen island, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. When he saw her, something shifted in his expression—something unreadable.
"You're up early," she said.
"So are you." His voice was warm, but distant.
She crossed the room to him. "Is everything okay?"
He kissed her forehead. "Just business. Nothing for you to worry about."
Her brows furrowed. "You say that every time."
"That's because it's true every time."
He lied with such ease.
Ana reached for the coffee mug in his hand, took a sip, then wrapped her arms around his waist. "Do you ever think about what it would be like if we weren't in this world?"
His chest tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Just… you and me. No past. No blood. No threats. A boring life. Maybe a dog."
Hayden actually laughed. "You? A boring life?"
She shrugged. "Okay. Maybe not boring. Just... safer."
Hayden kissed her lips slowly, as if memorizing them. "You make me believe that kind of life is possible."
She smiled, but his eyes drifted away again.
---
**Later That Day**
Ana stood in her art studio on the lower level of the penthouse, finishing the final strokes of a new painting—storm clouds breaking over water. The colors were raw, emotional. Her fingers were stained with cobalt and grey.
She didn't notice the shadow in the hallway until it moved.
Ana turned sharply. "Hello?"
Silence.
A moment later, Marco—one of Hayden's men—entered, apologizing for startling her. "Just checking the perimeter, Signorina."
She gave a small, uncertain nod.
Something felt... off.
She hadn't seen Hayden since morning. The guards were more alert. The air in the penthouse felt tighter, like it was holding its breath.
She walked upstairs and entered the security room. Normally, she wasn't allowed there. But today, the door was slightly ajar.
Inside, Luca was speaking into a headset. "Dock 7 has been compromised. We need extraction ready."
Ana froze.
Luca turned, startled. "You shouldn't be in here."
"What's happening?"
"It's nothing," he said too quickly.
Ana stepped forward. "Luca. Tell me the truth."
He hesitated.
Hayden entered a moment later, eyes locking with hers.
"You lied to me," she said softly.
"I didn't want you to worry."
"You promised."
He closed the door behind them. "Enrico Nicholas is alive."
Ana's breath hitched. "My uncle?"
"He's been moving in secret. Rebuilding your father's network. Targeting my operations. Watching you."
"Watching me?" Her voice trembled now. "Since when?"
Hayden stepped closer. "He sent me footage. He's making threats. I didn't want to tell you until I had a plan."
Her eyes filled with fear and something else—betrayal. "You should've told me."
"I was protecting you."
"I don't need protection. I need the truth."
He took her hands, holding them tight. "You have it now. And I swear on my mother's grave—he will never touch you."
Tears fell down her cheeks. "Then promise me something else."
"Anything."
"When it's over... we walk away. You and me."
Hayden hesitated. "If we live... yes."
---
**That Night**
The bedroom was dimly lit, a single candle casting shadows on the walls. Ana sat on the bed in a silk slip, staring at the flickering flame. When Hayden entered, she didn't move.
"You still don't trust me," he said quietly.
She looked up at him. "I do. I just don't trust this world."
Hayden stepped forward. "Let me remind you why we fight."
He kissed her slowly, reverently—nothing rushed or aggressive. His fingers slid over the straps of her slip, letting them fall from her shoulders. She exhaled, arching toward him, as if needing to be reminded she was still alive.
His mouth traveled down her neck, his hands roaming her body with a tenderness that made her shiver. She tugged his shirt over his head, wanting his skin, his weight, his certainty.
"I need you," she whispered. "Now."
He pushed her back onto the bed, kneeling between her legs, eyes locked with hers. "Then take me."
They moved together like a storm—intense, intimate, desperate. He kissed every scar, every freckle, every place she once hid from the world. And when she cried out his name, it wasn't just from pleasure—it was from release. From fear. From the feeling of finally being seen.
When it was over, they lay in silence. Her fingers traced the tattoo on his chest. His arms cradled her like armor.
"Promise me again," she said, voice barely a breath.
"I won't let him take anything from us."
She nodded.
And far below the city, in the dark corner of a dockyard warehouse, Enrico Nicholas stared at a photo of Ana. His smile was cold.
"She won't be yours forever, Wolf."