Three days passed.
Three long, suffocating days filled with strategy meetings, encrypted messages, and sleepless nights.
And through it all, Derek became a different version of himself—harsher, colder, consumed by planning Montaro's downfall. His eyes lost their softness, his voice clipped with authority.
But he still looked at me.
He still saw me.
Even when I didn't want him to.
I wasn't used to being the center of anyone's world. My father used to call me a distraction—something fragile to be hidden behind locked doors. But Derek didn't treat me like glass.
He treated me like fire.
And that terrified me more than anything.
---
The plan was simple in theory.
Complicated in execution.
I would attend a masquerade gala hosted by one of Montaro's allies—an arms dealer named Vittorio Russo. The Morettis suspected that Montaro might show up in person or at least send someone close to him. Our goal was to draw him out.
Derek hated the idea.
But he agreed.
Because he knew, deep down, I was right. Montaro wanted me. And if we didn't strike soon, he'd take me on his own terms.
So we decided to make the first move.
---
The night of the gala arrived, and the world outside the Moretti estate transformed into something dangerous and seductive.
The black car that waited for me was sleek, bulletproof, and surrounded by armed guards. Derek personally oversaw every detail—right down to the mask I would wear.
"You'll be watched every second," he said as we stood in my room.
I wore a black silk gown, open-backed, slit high at the leg. The mask was laced with gold, molded perfectly to my face. I barely recognized myself.
"And if something goes wrong?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Derek stepped forward, cupping my chin. "Then you scream my name. And I'll tear down every wall between us."
My throat tightened. "You're not supposed to care this much."
"I didn't plan to."
Neither of us moved. The tension between us had grown into something unbearable—something dangerous and intoxicating.
But we didn't kiss.
Not yet.
Because some kisses aren't stolen.
They're earned.
---
The gala was held in an abandoned cathedral in the heart of Naples. Restored, opulent, and crawling with criminals dressed in silk and sin.
The chandeliers sparkled with stolen diamonds.
The music was a haunting waltz, played by musicians who never looked up.
And I walked through the crowd like a queen in exile.
Everyone stared.
Not because they knew who I was—but because I was alone. Vulnerable. And in this world, vulnerability was blood in the water.
I made my way to the upper level, where I could overlook the ballroom. My earpiece buzzed gently—Derek's voice in my ear.
"I see you."
My heart steadied at the sound of him.
"I don't see Montaro," I whispered.
"He won't reveal himself unless he's certain."
"Then we need to make him certain."
I lifted my glass and tilted my head, making sure the cameras caught me from every angle. I needed to look calm. Tempting. Like bait dressed in beauty.
A man approached me a few minutes later. Tall, sharp smile, mask shaped like a fox.
"May I join you?" he asked.
I nodded, pulse racing.
He leaned closer. "Do you always attend dangerous parties dressed like a gift?"
"Only when I want to be unwrapped," I replied coolly.
He chuckled. "You're braver than most."
"Or dumber."
"I've been sent to deliver a message," he said suddenly, voice dropping low.
I froze.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small black envelope. No name. Just a red wax seal marked with an M.
Montaro.
I took the envelope with trembling fingers and opened it under the table.
Inside was a single line written in dark ink:
"I never chase what already belongs to me."
My blood turned to ice.
The man stood.
"If I were you, I'd run."
Then he disappeared into the crowd.
---
"Derek," I whispered into the mic. "He was here. His man gave me a message."
"I saw. Stay where you are—don't move."
But it was too late.
The lights flickered.
The music stopped.
And suddenly, the sound of gunfire shattered the night.
Chaos erupted.
Men screamed. Glass shattered. Security rushed in.
I ducked behind the balcony, adrenaline flooding my veins. The message burned in my hand, the words repeating over and over in my mind like a curse.
"Already belongs to me."
Footsteps thundered behind me.
I turned—
Only to find Derek.
His face was wild with rage, his arms wrapping around me protectively as he shielded my body.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
"No—"
But before I could finish, another explosion rocked the building. The chandelier crashed to the floor, sending sparks and fire in every direction.
Derek didn't wait.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the chaos.
Blood. Screams. Smoke.
The war had officially begun.
---
We made it back to the estate by dawn.
I was silent the whole ride back.
When we arrived, Derek followed me to my room, pacing like a caged animal.
"I should've never let you go," he muttered.
"You didn't have a choice."
He stopped. Turned.
"Don't tell me what I do or don't have."
I stepped closer to him. "You care. Admit it."
He grabbed my waist, pulled me against him, his eyes ablaze.
"You think I don't dream about you every damn night? You think I don't want to lock you away somewhere no one can ever touch you again?"
"Then do it," I whispered. "Touch me."
For one moment, we stood at the edge of something brutal and beautiful.
Then he kissed me.
Hard.
Desperate.
His mouth crushed against mine like he was trying to erase every threat, every fear, every damn man who had ever tried to claim me.
I clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world falling apart.
And in that moment—
He was.