Florence was both haunting and beautiful. The sun cast golden light over the old stone buildings as the private jet touched down, but Lily felt none of its warmth. The air was heavy with anticipation.
Damian didn't speak much during the flight. He was on edge, always scanning the skies, always aware. Lily had come to understand that it wasn't paranoia—it was survival. The Italian mafia didn't take kindly to threats. And she was about to threaten its king.
They drove through narrow streets to a secluded villa hidden beyond the hills. Anton had secured it. Bulletproof windows. Armed guards on every level. But even that didn't stop the chill that ran down Lily's spine as she stepped inside.
"I don't feel safe here," she said, arms crossed as she looked around the pristine marble entryway.
Damian glanced at her. "You're not."
She blinked. "That's… not comforting."
He stepped closer. "But I'm here. And I won't let anything happen to you."
She wanted to believe him. But how could she, when her entire life had been built on deception? Still, when he touched her cheek—just a graze of his thumb—her body responded before her mind could argue. Her breath hitched. Her heart stuttered.
"I know you don't trust me yet," he said. "But you will. You trusted me once. Before all this."
She tilted her head. "Did I? Or was it just survival?"
His eyes darkened, that familiar edge of possessive heat flaring in them. "You didn't just survive with me, Lisichka. You belonged to me."
The way he said it—low, dangerous, tender—sent shivers through her.
---
Later that night, they sat in front of a fire in the study, pouring over documents Anton had retrieved—birth certificates, surveillance reports, old photos.
Lily picked up a black-and-white photo of a woman with dark curls and haunted eyes.
"Is this… my mother?"
Damian nodded. "Elena Moretti. You were named after her."
Lily's throat closed. "She's beautiful."
"She was fierce. Rumors say she tried to leave Kevin once. Said she wanted to raise you away from the mafia life. That was when she vanished. Some say Kevin killed her."
Lily's stomach twisted. "And no one did anything?"
"Kevin's power was absolute. Fear keeps people silent."
Lily looked at him. "Is that what kept you silent when you thought you killed my father?"
Damian's jaw clenched. "No. I stayed silent because I knew no one would believe the truth. And because I thought if I kept you close, I could keep you safe."
She looked away. "But I wasn't safe. Not even from you."
He stood suddenly, pacing like a caged wolf. "You don't understand what it did to me—thinking you hated me. Watching you flinch when I came near."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have married me when I was broken and lost."
He stopped, turned slowly. "You weren't broken when I married you. You chose me."
Her heart pounded. "Then why can't I remember loving you?"
He stepped forward, crowding into her space, his presence magnetic and overwhelming. "Because you buried that part of yourself so deep, not even death could touch it. But it's still there, Lisichka."
His mouth crashed into hers—rough, claiming, desperate.
She resisted for a heartbeat.
Then melted.
Every touch felt familiar. Every groan and sigh a memory waiting to surface. Her hands tangled in his hair. His fingers gripped her waist, lifting her onto the edge of the desk. Papers scattered to the floor.
He kissed down her neck, biting gently, groaning against her skin. "Tell me you feel it," he growled. "Tell me your body remembers even if your mind doesn't."
She gasped as he pushed her back, his hands dragging her dress up.
"I… I feel it," she whispered.
"Good."
Because what followed wasn't just sex—it was a war of want and memory, pain and pleasure.
---
By morning, reality crashed back in.
Anton entered without knocking, grim and cold.
"We have a problem," he said, throwing down a surveillance photo. "Kevin knows you're here."
The picture showed Lily on the balcony from just a few hours ago. A sniper scope's red dot hovered near her temple.
Lily went cold. "He's watching us?"
"More than watching," Anton said. "He sent a message." He handed her a note.
"Blood returns to blood. Come home, Elena. Or I'll burn the world around you."
Her hands trembled.
Damian took the note, read it, and crumpled it with a sneer. "He's trying to bait us."
Lily swallowed. "Then maybe we let him."
Damian turned to her. "Absolutely not."
"He wants me, not you. If I go, maybe I can finally end this."
"I won't let you walk into that man's house alone."
She looked him dead in the eyes. "Then come with me."
---
That night, they dressed in black. Anton made arrangements with a contact inside the Italian mafia—someone loyal to Lily's late mother.
Their destination: Kevin Moretti's villa. The heart of the empire. A fortress surrounded by iron gates, wolves in tailored suits, and blood-soaked history.
As they pulled up the drive, Lily's fingers tightened around Damian's.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I'll kill him if he touches you."
She offered a ghost of a smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
The doors opened.
And Kevin Moretti, the man who stole her life, waited with open arms and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"My Elena," he said. "Welcome home."