STEFANO RUSSO'S (NERO) POV
When I pushed open the door of the villa, it was close to midnight. The house was mostly dark, silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the low, smoky haze drifting from the living room.
Benny was there, as I expected—slouched on the couch, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. He looked like he'd been waiting for me, though he'd never admit it. His eyes snapped to me the moment I stepped inside.
I could feel the weight of his stare long before I reached him. My suit was ruined—drenched in blood, stiff in places where it had already dried. The metallic smell clung to me, and every step felt heavy, like my boots carried the echo of what had just happened.
His cigarette froze halfway to his lips. His eyes widened, just slightly, the way they did when something rattled him more than he cared to show.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to ease the knot of tension pounding behind my skull. The simple gesture did nothing, but it gave me something to do besides fall apart. Without saying a word, I crossed the room and sank into the couch beside him.
Benny didn't look away once. I could feel his gaze crawling over me, cataloguing the blood, the exhaustion, the storm in my expression.
"So… you were right." His voice was rough, edged with disbelief. "CEO Ben had a surprise waiting for you."
I reached over and plucked the cigarette from his hand, letting the smoke curl between my lips before releasing it into the dim air. The bitter taste was grounding, almost comforting. His question hung in the room, unanswered.
Instead, I said flatly, "I want you to send a gift back to him for me."
Benny straightened, cigarette forgotten now. "Do we kill him?" His tone had shifted—serious, alert, like he was already rehearsing the steps in his head.
The thought lingered. Killing him would be simple, final. But no—death was too merciful for a man like that. I let the silence stretch before shaking my head.
"No. Capture him alive." My voice was calm, though my hands tightened against my knees. "I have a question for him."
Benny's eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting into me as if he could peel back my thoughts. For a moment, he didn't speak, just studied me with that unnerving calm of his. Then he exhaled through his nose, smoke trailing out slowly.
"You're going to ask him," he said at last, voice low, almost careful, "about your mother's murder… aren't you?"
The air thickened between us. My throat felt dry, but I forced myself to take another drag of the cigarette. The burn in my lungs gave me focus. I blew out the smoke and stared into the empty space ahead of me, my eyes fixed but unseeing.
"Yes."
The word was simple, but it carried all the weight of the years I'd been waiting to say it.
****
ZOE DEAN'S POV
I yawned loudly, twisting deeper into the sheets as if the duvet could shield me from the invading light streaming through the curtains. My body felt heavy, like it had been weighed down by days of restless sleep and too many thoughts. I wasn't working anymore, no strict schedules, no rushing out the door, and instead of feeling free, I just felt… lazy. Weak.
As I wrestled with the duvet, trying to bury myself inside it, a sound slipped through the quiet. At first, I thought I imagined it. A soft chuckle. Low. Male.
My eyes fluttered open, hesitant, adjusting to the brightness. That's when I saw him.
Nero was sitting right there beside me, his back against the headboard, a white pillow propped behind him, laptop balanced on his thighs. He was shirtless, again, his toned chest partly hidden under the duvet that covered him to the waist. My gaze betrayed me for a second, landing on the tattoos sprawled across his body, the black ink more visible in the daylight.
"Oh my God!" The words flew out of me as I jerked back, my heart lurching. My face flushed hot, and I quickly averted my gaze, clutching the duvet tighter around me. "Can you at least stop trying to seduce my eyes?!"
Nero chuckled again, softer this time, amused. His voice came out light, unusually relaxed. "You didn't seem like you wanted to wake up earlier."
I dared a glance at his face, careful not to let my eyes wander lower. His expression was calm, lips tugged in the faintest of smiles. My suspicion prickled. Why was he in such a good mood this morning?
"I needed to sleep more," I muttered, defensive.
His smile deepened, his eyes holding mine longer than they should have. I almost squirmed under the intensity of his stare. Then, in a tone that felt far too gentle for a man like him, he said, "Good morning."
I raised a brow at him, half-suspicious, half-curious. My voice was little more than a whisper. "Good morning."
He turned back to his laptop, fingers gliding over the keys, while I studied him from the corner of my eye. That's when it struck me—he hadn't come home at a reasonable hour last night. I remembered pacing the room, waiting, wondering.
"You didn't return on time last night," I said quietly. "Where were you?"
The shift in him was immediate. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tensed, and the easy smile he'd worn vanished like smoke in the wind. His eyes stayed on the screen, his fingers typing slower now. "I had something to take care of," he said, flat and final.
I sighed, the kind of sigh that came from knowing a door had just been closed in my face. Pushing further would be pointless, maybe even dangerous. So I let it drop and slipped into the bathroom to wash up.
By the time I came out, towel-dried hair sticking damply to my shoulders, Nero was gone. His presence lingered in the room though—his scent, faint traces of cigarette smoke—and the laptop, still open on the bed.
My curiosity rose like a tide I couldn't stop. My better judgment screamed to leave it alone, but the other part of me, the part that was trapped here with a man I barely understood, pushed me forward. What secrets was he hiding? Was I living with a savior… or a captor?
I tiptoed closer, my heart thudding in my chest. The screen was still glowing, the cursor blinking. I hesitated only a moment before lowering myself onto the edge of the mattress and scrolling.
Words filled the page. My eyes scanned quickly, then slowed, disbelief prickling at every line.
The Investigation Notes of Camellia Russo
Entry 1 –
I've decided to keep a written account of everything. The police report says "death by natural causes," but nothing about my mother's passing has ever felt natural to me…
My breath caught. This was about his mother. The same mother Emily had mentioned yesterday that was killed. My chest tightened as I read further, his words like confessions never meant for me to see. The paranoia of being watched. His mother hadn't died naturally—she had been murdered.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. Who was Nero really hunting?
I was still lost in the words when footsteps echoed behind me. Slow. Heavy. Each one sank dread into my stomach.
My blood turned cold. I froze, praying for time to stop, for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole.
"Zoe."
His voice was deep. Low. And so close.
"What are you doing?"
I turned slowly, every movement heavy with dread. When my eyes finally met his, the breath caught in my throat. His gaze was burning—angry, sharp enough to cut—and that wasn't all.
In his hand, steady and merciless, was a pistol.
And it was pointed straight at me.