Chapter Six: The Kiss & The Gun
There were three rules I promised myself I'd follow when I infiltrated the Moretti empire:
1. Don't get close.
2. Don't get caught.
3. Don't fall.
I broke all three the moment Killian Moretti touched me with his eyes.
By the next morning, the city was humming with whispers. Anton Ricci was found dead—two bullets to the chest, clean and professional. No trace, no blood trail, no evidence. Just like Killian liked it.
And somehow, the message was clear: Killian knew everything.
I should've felt satisfaction. Anton was a traitor. A necessary casualty. But what I felt was emptier than justice. It felt... hollow. Like I had become part of the very machinery that destroyed my father.
The worst part? I was beginning to forget how to hate Killian.
And that scared me.
By dusk, I was summoned again—this time to a private estate outside the city, one the Blackthorn families used when things got too loud downtown. It was heavily guarded, barbed wire surrounding marble, shadows moving behind tinted windows.
Inside, Killian was waiting.
He stood in the middle of a private shooting range—jacket off, sleeves rolled, gun in hand. He didn't acknowledge me at first. Just kept firing.
Each shot hit dead center.
Every. Single. One.
He finally turned, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"You came."
"You summoned," I replied, biting back the tension rising in my throat.
"You have good aim," he said.
"So I've heard."
He tossed me a loaded pistol. "Show me."
I caught it mid-air, walked up to the line, and aimed at the same target he'd just riddled with holes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three headshots.
I lowered the weapon.
He was closer now. Too close.
He stared at the target, then at me.
"That hesitation you had," he said.
"I didn't—"
He cut me off. "You did. And it made you more dangerous."
"Why? Because I think before I kill?"
"No," he said. "Because you feel something before you pull the trigger."
I turned away. "So what is this, then? A test? A training session? Another power play?"
His voice dropped. "It's a warning."
I faced him again.
"From who?" I asked.
"Me," he said simply.
Then he stepped closer—until there was no air left between us.
"I don't know what it is about you," he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. "But it's turning into a problem."
"Then solve it," I whispered.
He didn't move away. He didn't speak. Instead, he reached behind me, took the pistol from my hand, and set it down gently.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't gentle.
It was violent in its hunger—like he'd been waiting too long to claim something that didn't belong to him.
I responded before I could think. My hands gripped his shirt, my mouth opened to his, and for a moment, I forgot my father's face. I forgot the blood. I forgot the plan.
He pushed me against the wall, and I let him. Our bodies clashed like fire meeting oil—dangerous, hot, and reckless.
Then something inside me snapped.
I shoved him back, hard.
He stared at me, breathing like a man who'd tasted poison and wanted more.
"This can't happen," I said. "You know that."
His jaw tightened. "It already did."
"You're the enemy, Killian."
He stepped forward again. "Then shoot me."
"What?"
He picked up the gun and pressed it to his own chest, eyes blazing. "If I'm your enemy, kill me now."
I stared at him, frozen.
My fingers wrapped around the grip.
I could end it. Right here. Right now. Take the shot and finish what I came for.
But I didn't.
I lowered the weapon.
He smirked, not with arrogance—but relief.
"You're not ready," he said.
"No," I whispered. "I'm just not a monster."
He stepped back, finally.
"You're wrong," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "You just haven't met your monster yet."
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Not the smug smirk or the commanding stare—but the moment his mouth met mine. The moment I didn't pull away.
The moment I didn't want to.
My father's voice echoed in my mind, distant but sharp: "Never let the wolf in the house, Amara. He'll make you forget the fire he caused."
But what if I already had?
And worse… what if I wanted to?