The Marchetti compound rose from the cliffs like a bone-white cathedral.
It was simply breathtaking and that was saying a lot considering she was raised in Conti Mansion.
Emilia had expected a fortress, not a palace.
The Conti mansion was a tomb compared to this—every archway paved, every fountain choked with blood-red roses. It was truly a sight.
But beauty here was a blade. She saw it in the way the guards' hands lingered on their guns, the way the maids walked without making any sound.
Salvatore dragged her up the grand staircase, his grip bruising. "Enjoy the view, principessa. It'll be your prison soon enough."
She said nothing.
Paolo's face swam in her mind—his laugh as he taught her to shoot, the way his wedding ring had gleamed in his casket.
Salvatore's hands did that. Tore him apart.
She memorized the knife strapped to Salvatore's ankle, the one he'd used to carve Marchetti symbols into her brother's skin.
I'll take it. I'll bury it in his throat.
They stopped at double oak doors. Salvatore knocked once, his smirk sharpening. "What? Got something to say."
Emilia stared right back at him.
"He wasn't just Vittorio's son, you know" She said in a quiet voice. "He was my big brother and I loved him so much. He was Nissan's father and Mara's husband...you remember Mara, right? The twenty seven year old pregnant girl that you cut open and left to die by the roadside"
"So?" He had the guts to ask.
"So" Emilia moved closer to him "The first thing I am going to do as a Marchetti bride is demand for your head on a platter and call it a wedding present. Go on" She gestured at the door "we don't want to keep the old man waiting"
Salvatore stared at her in disbelief. They said that Conti girls were docile, weak minded stock meant for marriage alliance, they clearly misjudged this one in front of him.
"Shut the fuck up or I will do it for you"
He pushed the door open.
The study was a mausoleum of power.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves framed a massive desk, behind which sat Enzo Marchetti.
He was older than Vittorio, his silver hair swept back like a crown, but his eyes— sharp and gold-flecked—burned with the same dangerous fire.
"Emilia Conti." His voice was a rumble, the Sicilian accent thick. "You look like your mother."
The air left her lungs. Mama.
Executed in a drive-by when Emilia was five. A Marchetti bullet, Vittorio claimed.
"You knew her?" Emilia's interest was peaked.
Her mother was a forbidden topic in Conti Mansion, her father said it hurt too much, nevermind the daughter who barely remembered her.
"We were… acquainted." Enzo steepled his fingers. A scar ran from his knuckle to wrist, the skin puckered and white. "Sit."
She remained standing. "No. Thank you"
He studied her, unblinking. "You've caused quite a stir, girl. Your father's men are tearing the city apart. For the boy who gave you that mark. We Marchetti men can be possessive, you know. We hate when other people eat our food"
Luca.
Her chest tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about. But you are right. I'm not a virgin. I think you should pick a fight about it with Vittorio"
Enzo laughed. "Smart girl but I have a better suggestion"
Enzo opened a drawer, tossing a grainy photo onto the desk. Emilia's breath hitched—there she was, blurred and pixelated, pressed against Luca in the alley outside La Luna. His hand cupped her face; hers fisted in his jacket.
"Who is he?" Enzo asked softly.
"A stranger."
"Strangers don't risk Vittorio's wrath for a one-night stand." He leaned forward. "Tell me his name, and I'll ensure your wedding night is… painless."
Emilia's nails bit into her palms. "Go to hell."
For a heartbeat, fury darkened his face. Then he laughed—a deep, rattling sound.
"You have your mother's spine. She, too, told me to burn." He stood, towering over her. "Salvatore! Take her to the bridal suite. Double the guards."
The "bridal suite" was a cage.
Silk sheets, a balcony overlooking the sea, and a door bolted from the outside.
Emilia paced, her mind racing. Luca's in danger. Because of me.
A knock startled her. A maid entered, her head bowed, carrying a tray of kettle and espresso.
"Leave me" Emilia snapped.
The maid didn't move.
"I said—"
"Jesus, Conti. It's me."
Emilia froze. The maid lifted her head—Lynda, her curls stuffed under a lace cap, her eyes lined with kohl.
"How did you—"
"Marched in with the pastry chef. Turns out the Marchettis hire their help based on looks, not brains." Lynda tossed her a bundle of black fabric. "Put this on. Now."
The maid's uniform smelled of lemons and gun oil.
"There's a service exit past the kitchens," Lynda whispered, strapping a knife to Emilia's thigh. "We've got six minutes before all hell broke loose"
"Wait." Emilia gripped her arm. "I need to find Luca. My father's hunting him—"
"Are you crazy? We're not dying for some guy you banged!"
"He's not some guy! He's—"
What? A stranger who made me feel alive? A boy who left me with a rose and I gave him a death sentence.
"—innocent."
*
La Luna's neon sign flickered like a dying star, the bass from the club thudding through the alley walls.
Emilia tugged her hood lower, the stench of rotting garbage and urine burning her nostrils.
This is where it started. Where he found me.
Linda gripped her elbow. "Five minutes, Emi. Then we're gone."
Emilia pushed inside. The club was a sweaty, strobe-lit purgatory. Same sticky floors, same pink cocktails sweating on the bar. But the boy with the leather jacket was gone.
She shoved through the crowd, heart hammering. Where are you?
The bartender—a huge man with a spiderweb tattooed across his throat—recognized her. "Looking for someone, bella?"
"Luca. Dark hair, green eyes. Tall"
He smirked, polishing a glass. "Luca, huh? He's not the type you find twice on purpose."
Emilia slammed a stolen Marchetti gold watch on the counter. "Try harder."
The bartender pocketed the watch. "Check the loading dock. He's got a… habit of lurking there."
"Thank you"
Behind the club, the air tasted of diesel and decay. A single bulb swung above a rusted door, casting jagged shadows.
There.
Luca leaned against a graffiti-smeared wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His knuckles were split, fresh blood staining his sleeves.
"Was I that good, Love?" he said, not looking up.
Emilia knew he was talking about the night they spent together. It turned her cheek cherry pink fast.
"I have had better" She told him with a little smile, she was letting her guard down without even knowing it.
"Liar" he whispered. "I popped it, didn't I? Your cher-"
"Guys!" Lyn screamed frustrated.
It snapped Emilia back to the present.
"Some bad men are coming. Tonight. They are going to hurt you. You need to leave the city"
He flicked ash. "Not your problem."
"It is when I'm the reason they're hunting you!" She grabbed his arm. "Come with me. Lynda's got a safehouse—"
"No." He stepped into the light.
A bruise bloomed along his jaw, darker than the others.
"You don't get it, do you? This isn't some fairy tale. They will kill you. I'm sorry but your life in this city is over"
His voice cracked. "You really came here to warm me?
"Yes"
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. Pain. Longing. Then he smirked, cold as ever. "Consider me warned. Now, get out of here"
Headlights sliced through the alley. Tires screeched.
"Emi!" Linda sprinted toward them, gun drawn. "Conti SUVs—two blocks out!"
Luca shoved Emilia away. "Run."
"Not without you!"
"Run, goddamn it!"
Lynda tackled her into a waiting sedan. As they peeled onto the highway, Emilia twisted to see Luca standing in the road, a shadow against the blazing headlights.
Gunfire erupted.
She screamed his name—
But the sedan swerved into the night, leaving only smoke and ghosts behind.