The air at the docks was thick with salt, smoke, and lies. Petrov's men fanned out behind him like shadows, their guns gleaming under the floodlight. The night was alive with tension, every breath sharp enough to cut.
Adrian stood like an unmovable wall between me and Petrov, his body language calm, almost bored, as if staring down one of the most dangerous men in the city was nothing more than a tedious chore.
But I could feel the storm beneath his composure. His hand twitched at his side, just once. A tell.
Petrov leaned on his cane, eyes sharp, amused. "My, my. What a picture. Moretti, the dutiful knight. And the bride he thinks he's saving. Almost poetic, don't you think?"
"Leave her out of this," Adrian said.
Petrov chuckled. "But she is this. She's the contract. The collateral. The prize. You're not saving her, Moretti. You're just stealing her from the rightful owner."
Every word pressed against my ribs like a blade. My voice came out raw. "I'm not anyone's prize."
Petrov's eyes slid to me. "Then why are you standing here in silk, under his hand, instead of walking away?"
Because I couldn't. Because Adrian had chained me tighter with silence than Petrov ever could with threats.
---
Luca stepped forward then, voice cracking. "Please, Petrov—this isn't how it was supposed to go. I can fix this. Just give me a little more time."
Petrov's laugh was sharp. "Time? You beg like a child who broke his toy."
Adrian's gaze cut to Luca, sharp enough to draw blood. "You made your choice when you dealt with him. And now you're nothing but his errand boy."
"I was trying to protect her!" Luca shouted.
I flinched. Protect me? By selling me twice?
Adrian didn't even blink. "No. You were trying to protect yourself. Don't twist it."
Luca's face crumpled, but he had no words left.
---
Petrov tapped his cane once against the dock. The sound echoed like a death knell.
"Enough," he said softly. "The Rossi debt comes due tonight. Unless, of course…" His eyes glittered. "You'd like to make me an offer, Moretti."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Name your poison."
Petrov smiled. "I want November Seventh."
The world tilted. The docks, the water, the very air seemed to still.
I turned to Adrian, heart in my throat. "What is he talking about? What happened on November Seventh?"
Adrian's silence was a cage.
Petrov's grin widened. "Ah, she doesn't know. Delicious. The bride sleeps beside a man drenched in blood, and he hasn't told her whose."
My chest constricted. "Adrian—"
But he didn't look at me. His eyes never left Petrov.
"You're reaching," he said coldly.
"Am I?" Petrov's gaze gleamed. "The docks burned that night. A dozen men went into the fire, but only one walked out. You. The heir, covered in smoke and sin. And the rest? Forgotten."
My pulse hammered. "What did you do?" I whispered.
Still, Adrian didn't answer.
---
The silence broke in gunfire.
One of Petrov's men moved too soon, aiming for Adrian. Rafe dropped him with a single shot, the crack echoing across the water. Chaos erupted.
Bullets flew. Men shouted. The night exploded into violence.
Adrian shoved me behind a crate, his body shielding mine. Splinters rained as bullets ripped into wood. His hand pressed my head down, his voice steel against the chaos. "Stay down. Do not move."
I wanted to scream, to fight, to demand answers—but survival swallowed everything. My heart pounded as the docks turned into a battlefield.
---
Through the gunfire, I saw Luca.
He crouched low, the black case still clutched in his hand. His eyes darted between Adrian and Petrov like a rat searching for the bigger piece of cheese.
Then—he ran.
Not toward me. Not toward Adrian. Toward Petrov's car.
"Luca!" I screamed.
Adrian's curse cut through the air. Rafe fired, grazing Luca's shoulder, but he kept going, stumbling, clutching the case.
Petrov's men covered him, dragging him behind their line.
And then Petrov's voice cut through the chaos, calm and cold as ever. "Let him come. A traitor belongs where he is most useful."
---
The gunfire died slowly, like thunder rolling away. Adrian's men held their ground. Petrov's retreated, Luca now among them, pale and bleeding but alive.
Petrov leaned on his cane, unbothered by the smoke and blood around him. "Consider this round mine, Moretti. You can keep your bride for now. But debts don't disappear. They compound."
His eyes found mine once more, that smile slicing through me. "And Elena… when the truth about November Seventh reaches you, remember whose lips offered it first."
Then he was gone. Cars roaring into the night, taking Luca with them.
---
Silence hung heavy on the docks.
I turned to Adrian, shaking. "Tell me. What happened that night?"
His shirt was streaked with blood that wasn't his, his face shadowed, unreadable.
"Elena—"
"No!" My voice broke. "No more silence. No more secrets. I'm standing in the dark while men trade me like currency. I deserve the truth."
His jaw flexed, his eyes cold and burning at once. For a heartbeat, I thought he might finally break.
Then he said only: "Not here."
And he turned away.
---
Back in the car, the silence was unbearable. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Rafe drove like the devil himself was behind us. Adrian sat beside me, his hand bloody against his thigh. He didn't look at me. Not once.
I wanted to hate him. To scream at him. But beneath the fury, beneath the fear, something more dangerous coiled in me.
I wanted the truth. And I wanted it from him.
No matter what it cost.
---
That night, back in the penthouse, I lay awake in the dark, his silence between us louder than any gunshot.
And as the city bled into dawn, one thought carved itself into my bones:
If November Seventh was the night Adrian Moretti was born into blood… then maybe it was also the night I lost every chance of freedom.