The Moretti compound had never been so quiet.
After the press conference, silence replaced the usual low hum of tension. It was the calm before a storm. But Ana knew—storms didn't stay waiting long.
She stood in the rooftop garden, the night wind catching her hair. Below, Rome glittered like a crown of broken diamonds.
Hayden joined her, a hand slipping to the small of her back.
"You did it," he murmured. "You stood next to me, even when you had every reason to walk away."
"I didn't do it for you," she said softly.
"I know," he replied. "But you stayed anyway."
She looked up at him, something wary but tender in her eyes. "Because if I leave now, your enemies won't just come for you. They'll come for me, too."
Hayden's expression darkened. "Let them."
Ana smiled faintly, but the edge in her voice was real. "No. We're not reacting anymore. We're controlling the board."
---
Across the city, in a smoke-filled lounge behind the cover of a private gentlemen's club, a figure watched Ana and Hayden's press conference on loop.
He leaned back in his chair, sipping whiskey, a scar dragging down the side of his face like a burn mark. His name was Luca Bianchi, and once—years ago—he'd been promised a seat beside Enzo Moretti.
Until Enzo had him nearly executed.
Until Hayden replaced him.
And now, as Ana Nicholas rose beside the son of his enemy, Luca smiled like a man sharpening knives.
"You see?" he said to the woman sitting across from him.
She didn't answer.
Didn't speak.
She simply lit a cigarette with fingers too elegant for the shadows she lived in.
Luca continued, voice smooth. "She's dangerous. He's in love. Which means... he's vulnerable."
The woman took a slow drag, then exhaled. "You want her killed?"
He chuckled. "Not yet. We need her. Her name, her bloodline. She's the key to making the Morettis fall."
A long pause.
Then the woman said quietly, "And if she won't play along?"
Luca leaned forward. "Then we take her past… and we twist it."
---
Back at the penthouse, Ana sat in Hayden's study, scrolling through encrypted emails.
One message stood out.
No subject. No sender.
Just one line.
> Do you know what really happened to your mother?
Ana's blood ran cold.
She clicked.
The screen filled with a grainy surveillance photo—her mother, standing outside a hotel in Zurich. The timestamp: three weeks before her death.
And beside her?
A man.
Face blurred. Bodyguard build.
Ana's stomach dropped.
She zoomed in. Tried to make sense of it.
The file came with coordinates. A location in Milan. A message:
> You want the truth? Come alone.
---
She didn't tell Hayden.
Not because she didn't trust him—but because she knew how he protected the things he loved.
Sometimes with bullets.
Sometimes with silence.
And right now, she needed answers, not fury.
---
That night, Ana slipped into a silver car and drove to the Milan address.
It was an abandoned estate on the outskirts of the city, half-burned, with ivy growing through broken walls.
She stepped inside, heart thudding.
No guards. No cameras. No lights.
Only footsteps behind her.
She spun, fists clenched—but a voice stopped her.
"Easy, Ana. If we wanted to hurt you, you'd already be bleeding."
Luca Bianchi stepped from the shadows.
Tall. Scarred. Smiling like a man who loved control more than oxygen.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"An old friend of the family," he said. "Yours… and Hayden's."
"You sent the file."
He nodded. "And I have more."
Her pulse hammered. "Why?"
"Because I want what you want," Luca said. "Enzo's secrets. The truth. And his legacy buried."
Ana crossed her arms. "Then give me the information."
Luca tilted his head. "Not so fast. I need something in return."
Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
He stepped closer, too close. "Loyalty. When the empire falls—and it will—you'll need a new alliance. I can protect you."
She didn't move. Didn't flinch.
"Hayden won't fall."
Luca smiled. "He will. Because men like him always do. They burn too hot. Love too hard. And they break too easily."
Ana stepped back. "I'm not yours to manipulate."
He didn't argue.
Just handed her a file. Thicker this time.
Inside: photographs, phone logs, a single medical report.
She froze.
The name listed under Mother was hers.
The name under Father?
Not Nicholas.
Not even Moretti.
Ana looked up slowly.
"What the hell is this?"
Luca's voice was a whisper.
"Ana... you're not who you think you are."