ZOE DEAN'S POV
"I asked what you're doing."
Nero's voice came again, sharper this time, colder.
The sound of it made my blood run thin. My chest tightened as I froze where I stood, my eyes glued to the gun leveled at me. The barrel gleamed in the dim light, steady, unshaking, like the man holding it. My throat dried instantly. One wrong move and I knew it would be over.
"I—" My voice cracked, barely a whisper. My hands trembled at my sides as if they had a will of their own. "I was... just curious. I didn't mean to—"
His eyes didn't soften, not even a flicker.
"Do you know what happens to people who don't mind their business?" His voice was like ice, low, unhurried. "They die."
The words struck me harder than the gun itself. For a moment, fear clawed at me so violently I wanted to shrink, to disappear, to beg. But something in me refused. Maybe it was the memory of how he'd once been gentle with me, how I'd seen him smile this morning at me.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "Your mother was murdered?"
Nero's eyes snapped narrower, sharp and unreadable. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. God, what was I doing? He still had the gun pointed right at me and here I was, asking about his past like I wasn't one pull away from death.
He didn't answer. He only stared. His silence was louder than any threat he could have made. My breath snagged in my chest, waiting, waiting, until finally, after what felt like forever, his arm lowered. He tucked the gun back into the waistband at his back, his expression unreadable.
"Mind your business," he said flatly, brushing past me. He snapped the laptop shut and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
I turned slowly, my pulse still racing. He wanted me to just pretend none of this mattered? Pretend I hadn't just stared down a gun? My chest rose and fell unevenly, emotions tangling in a mess I couldn't name. Fear, anger, hurt.
"Why don't you want to tell me anything about your family?" My voice came out softer than I intended, almost a plea. I took a step toward him, my hands clenching against my sides.
His frown deepened as he looked up at me. "Zoe, don't push me." His tone was still cold, but I could hear the warning under it. "I told you, mind your business."
I swallowed hard, studying him, searching for some crack in that wall he always put up. Did he even realize how much he was asking of me? My chest burned with frustration.
"You keep me here," I said quietly, the words trembling with the emotions I could no longer hold back. "You won't let me work, won't let me go back to my life. You say I should trust you… but you can't even trust me enough to tell me who you are? What you're hiding? Why I'm here?"
He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened, but he didn't look at me. Didn't say a word. The silence stung more than his gun ever could.
I exhaled shakily, the anger in me turning softer, heavier. "If you want me to trust you," I whispered, "then trust me too."
The room fell into a suffocating quiet. He still wouldn't meet my eyes, and for a long time, I just stood there, waiting. Hoping. Nothing. The ache in my chest deepened.
Finally, I turned, ready to leave, ready to put space between us before I broke. But just as I shifted, his hand closed around mine.
I froze. His grip wasn't rough, wasn't forceful, but steady. Cold. Desperate.
Slowly, I looked back. He still didn't lift his eyes to mine, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way he held onto me like letting go would undo something he wasn't ready for.
"Don't go, Zoe," he whispered, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
The words slipped under my skin, breaking through every defense I'd tried to build. My breath caught, my heart stumbling in my chest.
Right now, I wasn't seeing the mafia. I was seeing the man that was trying so hard to hide what hurt him most.
***
STEFANO RUSSO'S (NERO) POV
I held onto Zoe like my life depended on it. In a way, it did. The thought of her pulling her hand away, walking out of this room with anger written all over her face, it clawed at my chest like a sharp blade. I wasn't supposed to feel like this. I wasn't supposed to care. But here I was, terrified that if she left, something inside me would shatter beyond repair.
Since when did I start to feel this weak?
Weakness had never been in my vocabulary. Yet, with her… it crept in, soft but heavy, and I couldn't fight it. I had told myself in the beginning this would be simple. Take her. Break her. Leave her. That was the plan. Clean. Brutal. Familiar.
But now? Now I felt like the one breaking.
I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but Zoe had become my weakness. And in my world, weaknesses weren't just dangerous. They got you killed. They got the people you cared about killed too. Sooner or later, someone would see it. They'd see how much she mattered, and they'd use her against me.
Still, I couldn't let go of her hand.
I forced myself to lift my eyes to her, gathering every ounce of courage I didn't know I had. She stood there, her gaze questioning, almost accusing, but I pushed past the shame tightening my throat.
"I really need you," I said softly.
Her eyes narrowed, like she was searching for a crack in my words, testing me, weighing whether I meant them. The truth was, I did. More than she could ever know. Every word was real, even if saying them felt like stripping myself bare.
Zoe sighed, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly before she sank down beside me on the bed. I still didn't let go of her hand. Couldn't.
"I know I'm being unfair to you," I admitted, my voice lower, rougher. It was hard for me to speak truths like this, but she deserved at least that much. "But trust me, babe… you're not ready for my world."
Her gaze searched mine, steady and unflinching. "Then why am I here?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharp, like she was afraid of the answer yet needed it all the same.
Her question hollowed me out. Why was she here? Because I couldn't let her go? Because I was selfish? Because she was the only thing that made me feel human again? I opened my mouth, but nothing came. No answer felt right. No answer would keep her safe.
"Zoe," I finally said, forcing the words out. "Can we not do this today?" My chest ached as I looked at her. "I promise… I'll tell you everything soon. Just… give me time."
For a moment, she didn't speak. She only looked at me, and I braced myself for her to pull away. But then, slowly, she nodded. A sigh slipped from her lips.
"Okay."
Relief washed over me so powerfully I almost laughed, but instead, I managed a faint smile. "Thanks," I murmured, finally loosening my hold on her hand. I leaned back against the headrest, exhaling the weight I'd been carrying all night. God, it had been a long time since I'd been this open with anyone. It was terrifying. But it also felt… right.
The silence lingered, softer now, until a low rumble broke it. Zoe stiffened immediately, her cheeks flushing pink.
I couldn't help it—I smiled. A real one this time. "Are you hungry?"
She blinked, embarrassed, then nodded with the faintest smile. "Yes."
Pushing myself off the bed, I extended a hand to her. "Come on. Let's eat. Emily and Benny will be waiting."
For a second, she hesitated—like maybe she was still remembering the cold barrel of my gun pointed at her forehead, or the way we'd nearly torn into each other just moments ago. But then, she slipped her hand into mine, holding on like none of that had happened.
And maybe that was the scariest part of all—how easily she forgave me. How easily she trusted me, even when I didn't deserve it.