Gunfire shattered the stillness.
From the twelfth floor of the penthouse, Ana could see the orange flash of muzzle fire burst in the alley below. It was chaos—screams, glass breaking, the sharp screech of tires skidding. And Hayden was already gone.
He had kissed her once, told her to wait, and vanished down the private elevator with Luca and half a dozen armed men. He didn't say goodbye. He never did. Because in his world, goodbyes were for people who didn't come back.
Ana refused to be one of those people.
She turned away from the window, heart pounding like a war drum. Every instinct screamed at her to chase him. But she knew Hayden—knew his need to protect her, to shut her out of the danger. That was his weakness. He still didn't understand that they were stronger together.
She went to the closet, threw on black jeans and boots, and pulled Hayden's leather jacket around her shoulders. The weight of it grounded her. Her fingers brushed over the inner pocket and found something she hadn't noticed before—a key card. Silver. Unmarked.
It wasn't labeled, but she knew what it was.
Hayden's private vault.
Her hand tightened around the card.
If this night ended in blood, she needed to know what secrets he had buried. If Matteo was turning on them, there had to be something—some piece of leverage. And Hayden would never give it up willingly.
Ana slipped out of the penthouse and made her way to the secured level of the building. No one stopped her. No one noticed her. They were all too busy guarding the top floors and watching the streets.
The vault was cold, made of steel and secrets. She slid the card into the reader, and the lock clicked.
Inside were shelves of files, cash, weapons, and documents. Passports. Maps. Photos.
And in the center of it all—a single black box with the initials *R.M.* etched into the lid.
Ana opened it.
Inside, she found a photograph. A young woman. Beautiful. Strong jaw. Familiar eyes. Hayden's mother.
And under the photo—a blood-stained letter, yellowed at the edges. Addressed to *Enzo Moretti*. It was dated two days before the fire that took her life.
Ana unfolded it, her fingers trembling.
> "Enzo,
>
> I fear we are surrounded. Someone inside the family has betrayed us. I've seen the signs, heard the whispers. Alexander Nicholas was only a pawn. The real threat is Matteo. He's been dealing with the Russians behind your back. If anything happens to me, promise me—protect Hayden. Don't let him become a monster.
>
> —Rosa"
Ana's breath caught in her throat.
Matteo had betrayed them all. Long before Hayden ever picked up a gun.
And Hayden didn't know.
She tucked the letter into her jacket and sprinted for the elevator.
---
The street outside the Moretti estate looked like a war zone. Two SUVs burned at the gate. Men lay unconscious or worse in the gravel. The air reeked of gasoline and rage. But Hayden stood at the center of it all, blood on his shirt, gun in his hand, chest heaving.
Matteo stood across from him, his suit stained with dust and smoke, surrounded by Bratva soldiers.
"This ends tonight," Hayden growled.
Matteo smiled. "You should've stayed in Milan, boy."
"You should've stayed loyal."
"You think your little empire matters? You think this girl makes you strong?" Matteo laughed, then turned to the men behind him. "Shoot the bitch."
Hayden moved like lightning.
Two shots cracked through the night. One man dropped, then another. And suddenly everyone was firing.
Ana burst from the alley just as the crossfire erupted. She ducked behind a car, heart hammering. Hayden was in the open, dodging bullets, trying to reach Matteo. His eyes locked on hers for half a second—and that was enough.
She ran.
Not away.
Toward him.
Toward the fire.
---
They met behind a smoking SUV. He grabbed her, pulled her down beside him.
"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.
"I found something," she panted, holding up the letter.
Hayden scanned it quickly, face shifting from confusion to shock to white-hot fury.
"Matteo—" he whispered.
"He set it all up. The fire. Your mother. Everything."
Hayden's hands curled into fists. "He killed her."
Ana touched his face. "And now you know. Don't let him walk away."
"I won't."
---
Hayden stepped out from behind the wreckage, walking straight into the crossfire like a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Matteo!" he roared. "You killed her!"
The gunfire faltered. Matteo turned slowly, raising his weapon. "She was soft. She made your father weak. You would've been weak, too, if I hadn't burned that softness out of you."
Hayden didn't hesitate.
He raised the pistol and fired once—clean, precise.
The bullet hit Matteo in the chest.
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence fell.
Then Ana ran to Hayden, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
"It's over," she whispered.
"No," he said softly. "It's just beginning."
---
That night, the fires burned out. The bodies were removed. The city returned to its usual rhythm of power and silence.
Ana sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo of Rosa Moretti. The woman who had tried to stop all of this before it began.
Hayden walked in, his shirt unbuttoned, bruises blooming across his ribs. But his eyes were clearer than they'd been in years.
"She was trying to protect you," Ana said. "She didn't want you to become this."
"I became worse," he admitted.
She looked up. "But you came back."
He crossed the room, knelt in front of her. "Because of you."
He took the photo from her hands and placed it on the bedside table, then slid into bed beside her.
"I don't know what happens next," Ana whispered.
"I do," he murmured.
He pulled her close, kissed her shoulder. "We rebuild. We love. We burn everything else down."