Thunder shook the windows.
Rain poured down in silver streaks, painting the glass with restless shadows. The DeLuca mansion stood like a fortress against the storm, every light burning as if to defy the night outside.
Adora stood near the tall window, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coat. Marco was on the phone again, his voice low, clipped, sharp. Words she couldn't understand Italian, maybe, or something coded for people who lived in his kind of world.
When he finally hung up, the silence between them felt louder than the thunder.
"They're on their way," he said simply.
"Who?" she asked, though part of her didn't want the answer.
"The men I warned you about. My father's people… and some who want to see me gone."
Adora blinked. "Your father?"
Marco's jaw tensed. "He built this empire. The docks, the trade, the money. I inherited the shadow of it all. But I refused to keep doing it his way. I started cleaning up what he dirtied. He calls that betrayal."
Her heart raced. "And now he's sending people to kill you?"
His eyes lifted to meet hers steady, unreadable. "He's sending people to remind me who holds the power."
"Then leave. There's still time."
"There's never time," he said softly, almost regretfully. "But I'll make sure you get out of here."
"I'm not leaving you."
He turned sharply. "Adora, you don't understand what's coming"
"Then make me understand!" she snapped. "You walk into my world like you can fix it, you say I deserve more than survival then you hide behind secrets! What are you so afraid of me knowing?"
He stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. Then he crossed the room slowly until he was only a breath away.
"I'm afraid," he said, voice low, "that if you know everything about me, you'll run. And I won't be able to stop you."
Adora swallowed hard. "Maybe you should trust me enough to decide that for myself."
The words seemed to hit him. He exhaled slowly, and some of the tension in his face eased.
"You shouldn't have come here," he murmured again, but this time his voice trembled not with anger, but with fear.
"Maybe," she whispered, "but you wouldn't have stopped me."
A faint, rueful smile tugged at his lips. "You're right."
Outside, lightning flashed white and violent. The mansion's halls glowed for an instant, revealing the portraits of DeLuca men on the walls, generations of power and ruthlessness. Each seemed to stare down at them, judging.
Adora felt small beneath those eyes, yet fiercely alive.
"Marco," she said quietly, "if they come tonight, what happens to you?"
He turned away, adjusting his cufflinks with slow precision. "They'll expect me to surrender the docks, the accounts, the men who are loyal to me. But I don't bend."
"And if you don't?"
"Then we bleed."
She took a step toward him. "You can't fight your family forever."
He looked back at her, something breaking behind his eyes. "When your family destroys everything they touch, you learn how."
The sound of tires screeching cut through the storm. Headlights flashed through the rain three cars pulling up at the gates.
Adora's breath caught. "They're here."
Marco moved immediately, calm but fast. "Stay behind me. Don't speak to anyone unless I tell you."
"Marco
"No arguments."
The front doors opened before he could reach them. Three men entered, water dripping from their coats. They moved with the quiet confidence of people who knew violence intimately.
The one in front older, tall, silver hair slicked back was unmistakable.
Adora didn't need an introduction to know this was Marco's father.
"Papà," Marco said coolly.
"Marco." The older man's voice was smooth, commanding. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to come myself."
"You didn't," Marco replied. "You chose to."
The older man's eyes flicked toward Adora, sharp and assessing. "And who is this?"
Adora stiffened, but Marco stepped subtly in front of her. "No one you need to concern yourself with."
His father smiled faintly. "No one? You used to be better at lying."
"I stopped practicing," Marco said, tone like steel.
The room tightened with tension. The two other men behind the elder DeLuca shifted slightly a silent warning.
Adora's pulse thundered. "Marco," she whispered, "please."
He didn't move. "You came here to deliver a message, Father. Deliver it and leave."
The older man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "My message is simple: come home. Stop this ridiculous rebellion. You've already drawn attention from people who don't forgive ambition."
Marco's jaw clenched. "Your ambition kills. Mine rebuilds."
"You sound like your mother," his father said with a sneer. "Soft. Sentimental. Look where that got her."
The words hit like a blade. Marco's face went rigid, his eyes darkening to something Adora had never seen before fury wrapped in grief.
"Don't," he said quietly, dangerously, "speak her name."
His father raised a brow. "Or what? You'll shoot me? In my own house?"
"This isn't your house anymore," Marco replied.
A long silence stretched between them. Then the elder DeLuca turned, as if bored. "You've made your choice, then."
"I have."
"Then you've also made your funeral."
He motioned to the men behind him, but before they could move, Marco drew his gun.
The sound of it clicking echoed through the room, cutting through the rain and thunder.
"Not tonight," Marco said, voice low. "Not in front of her."
Adora's heart stopped. She'd seen fear before, hunger, desperation but this was different. This was the edge between life and death, and somehow she'd become part of it.
His father didn't flinch. "You wouldn't dare."
Marco's hand was steady. "Try me."
Another silence. Then the older man laughed softly cold, hollow, final.
"You'll die for her, then."
"If I have to," Marco said.
The elder DeLuca studied him for a long, almost fascinated moment. Then he turned to leave, his coat sweeping behind him.
"Enjoy your little fairytale, figlio mio. When it burns, remember I told you so."
The doors closed behind him.
The house fell silent again, except for the rain and Adora's uneven breathing.
Marco lowered the gun slowly, exhaling like a man who'd held his breath for hours.
Adora finally found her voice. "You pointed a gun at your father."
"He stopped being my father a long time ago."
She stared at him this man who could be so gentle and so terrifying in the same breath. "What happens now?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "Now, he'll go after everything I own. Everyone I trust. Maybe even you."
"Then I should go."
"No." His voice snapped out, sharp, then softened. "Please… don't."
"Marco
"I can't protect you if you disappear."
She stepped closer. "And what if I don't want your protection? What if I just want the truth?"
He looked at her then, truly looked the exhaustion, the storm, the raw need in his eyes stripped of all the charm and armor.
"The truth," he said quietly, "is that the moment you walked into my life, I started to care about something that made me weak. You."
Adora froze. Her heart thundered louder than the storm.
"Don't say things you'll regret," she whispered.
"I already regret not saying them sooner."
Something inside her cracked open something she'd been holding back since the first time she saw him. The fear, the pull, the dangerous magnetism between them it all collided at once.
Before she could stop herself, she reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was warm, rough, human.
He leaned into her touch as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
"Then don't think," he said softly. "Just feel."
And before the storm outside could drown them out, he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was fire meeting rain desperate, hungry, and full of everything they'd both been trying to deny. Her hands tangled in his shirt; his fingers found her waist, pulling her closer as if the space between them had never existed.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
"This is a mistake," she whispered.
"Maybe," he said, forehead resting against hers. "But it's the only thing that's ever felt right."
Outside, thunder rolled again deep and distant.
Inside, two hearts beat out of rhythm, caught between danger and desire.