ZOE DEAN'S POV
The jet sliced through the sky as if it were gliding toward a secret. Below us, the world looked unreal—patches of gold and green cut by narrow roads, cloaked by forests that looked like something out of a painting.
Inside, though, it wasn't quiet or magical. It was war.
At least, that's what our game of UNO felt like. Cards flew like daggers across the polished table, accusations louder than the hum of the engines.
"You draw four again?" Benny's voice cracked with betrayal.
I grinned, not bothering to hide the mischief curling at my lips. "Play or cry."
What they didn't know was that I was better at this game than all of them combined. My father had made sure of it.
'Don't trust the smile, trust the hand,' he used to say when I was little, stacking cards with ruthless precision. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. My father wasn't a man I liked remembering. He belonged to a past I kept locked away, a life I wasn't proud of.
Emily threw her head back and laughed, her voice carrying across the cabin. "Not the UNO reverse combo!" she mocked, clutching her stomach.
Nero sat quietly, sunglasses still on, watching the chaos with an amused half-smile. He'd been kicked out of the game earlier, but he didn't look the least bit disappointed. With his arms stretched across the seat and his champagne in hand, he looked like a king on his throne.
And for some ridiculous reason, I felt proud. Proud that he found me entertaining. Proud that my father, of all people, had taught me at least one useful skill.
"UNO!" I yelled, holding up my last card like a trophy.
But Benny slammed his card down before I could blink. "Out!"
"What—wait, what?!" I sputtered, staring at his empty hand.
He leaned back with a smug grin, wrapping his arm around Emily, who immediately melted against him. "While you were busy admiring Nero," he teased, "I was busy playing to win."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I wasn't admiring Nero," I shot back.
Nero scoffed, sipping his drink like he was above it all.
Soon after, music filled the jet—soft Afrobeat rhythms that seemed to calm the cabin. Emily curled into Benny's shoulder, already half-asleep. They looked like kids wrapped in blankets, untouched by the world outside.
I smiled faintly.
I don't remember when my eyes grew heavy, but when I woke, the atmosphere had changed.
The music was gone. The warmth of the game, the laughter—it was gone too.
Nero's voice was what pulled me back.
Sharp. Low. Cold.
I blinked away the blur of sleep. He stood near the cockpit door, phone pressed to his ear, his body tense like coiled steel.
"Kill them all," he said, voice flat, deliberate. "I don't want any survivors."
My breath hitched in my throat.
That wasn't the Nero who teased me. Not the one who bought me things, who asked permission before kissing me.
This was Don Nero. The man I had doubted was real. The mafia. The killer. The red flag I had ignored.
"I don't care what's being offered," he continued, his tone cutting like glass. "I just need this man dead. Don't make me do this myself."
He turned slightly. His gaze caught mine.
And for a moment, both of us froze.
His brows furrowed. A flicker of something—shock, maybe anger—passed across his face. He hadn't wanted me to hear that.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Finally, he muttered into the phone again, softer now. "We'll land in a few hours. Do what I asked. I'll handle the rest."
He lowered the phone slowly, almost reluctantly, and looked at me.
My mind spun with questions, but my body wouldn't move. Who was he ordering dead? Why? What had I gotten myself into?
"You okay?" he asked at last, his voice gentler, though the stiffness in his frame betrayed him.
I nodded, though the word stuck in my throat.
He let out a slow breath and moved toward me, hesitant, like I was something fragile. He sat beside me, eyes searching mine as though he could read every thought racing in my head.
"About what you heard…" He paused, words failing him.
I forced a breath in, then out, steadying myself. "It's okay. I understand."
I didn't. Not at all. But I knew better than to push him now.
His gaze lingered on me, as if weighing the truth of my words. At last, he nodded.
"Come here," he said softly, opening his arms.
I hesitated only a moment before leaning into him. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it grounded me, even though it shouldn't.
I should have been afraid. Terrified. This was the man who had just ordered people to be killed.
But I wasn't.
And that scared me more than anything.
I melted into him as the jet sliced through the clouds. Outside, everything looked peaceful, like nothing had changed. But I knew the moment we landed in Dubai, everything would.
****
STEFANO RUSSO'S (NERO) POV
After a while, Zoe's steady breathing filled the quiet cabin, brushing against my ear like a rhythm I wasn't sure I deserved to hear. She had fallen asleep against me, and for a while I just lay there, still, my arms wrapped around her.
But earlier—earlier she had looked at me.
The look in her eyes when she caught me on the phone still replayed in my head. The way her eyes had widened, first with fear, then something else… curiosity, confusion, maybe disappointment. That look had gutted me. For a moment, it felt like the ground had split open and swallowed me whole.
I had wanted to explain. God, I had wanted to explain how dangerous I was. But how does a man tell a woman he likes that he is everything she should run from? That he is not just flawed but ruined? How do you put into words the weight of blood on your hands?
I sighed, pulling her closer anyway, letting her warmth seep into me like it could wash the stain off my skin. Maybe this was wrong. Me. Her. All of it. Maybe I was selfish for holding her when I should let her go. This little fantasy of mine—thinking I could have her, keep her—maybe it was time to let it die.
Sleep found me eventually, though uneasily.
. . .
We touched down at a private airstrip with the sun already burning against the horizon. The jet slowed, wheels scraping against the runway until it stopped completely. I stood as soon as the door opened, my body wired, restless.
"Let's go," I said quietly, glancing back at Zoe.
She rose without a word, her expression unreadable, her eyes a mask. It stung more than I wanted to admit. She hadn't been like this before. And I knew I was the reason she was.
We stepped out together, my hand wrapping around hers as if holding her could tether her to me. No passport checks, no waiting lines. Just the warm bite of the air, heavy with the scent of flowers and herbs carried by the wind, and the long stretch of road ahead.
Emily muttered as she looked around, clutching Benny's hand tightly. "Why does this place creep me out? It feels like a desert."
Benny squeezed her hand, leaning close to reassure her. "Nero knows what he's doing, babe." His voice was low, meant only for her, but I caught it anyway.
Zoe glanced at me then, quick, searching, before turning her gaze toward the sleek black Range Rover waiting for us. I studied her profile as we walked. Her silence was louder than any question she could have asked.
The drive was quiet. Emily and Benny took the front while Zoe and I sat in the back. Her shoulder brushed mine, yet she felt miles away.
Outside, Dubai unfolded. Towers stretched skyward, glinting in the morning light. It was all sharp edges and glass reflections, beautiful but unforgiving. The last time I had been here, it ended in blood. Now, I was back—for another job. Another mess that blurred the line between life and death.
Eventually, the city melted away, replaced by quieter roads that wound toward the water. When the car stopped, an endless stretch of ocean lay before us, blue and shimmering under the sun.
As we stepped out, Zoe's voice reached me, soft, hesitant. "Where are we going?" Her eyes flicked up to mine, suspicion flickering there.
I forced a smile, gentle, the kind meant to reassure. "It's a surprise."
We boarded a yacht that cut cleanly across the water, carrying us toward an island rising like a secret from the horizon.
And then she saw it.
The villa appeared first as a gleam of glass and steel, then it opened fully before us—a modern fortress, shimmering in the light, its walls all glass, its presence commanding.
Zoe froze at the sight. "Is this real?" she breathed, wonder spilling from her voice before she could stop it.
I smiled then, softer than I'd meant to. "Yes, baby," I said, the word slipping out as naturally as air. "It's real."
And for a moment, I let myself forget about what waited for me here.