The city was louder that day.
Maybe it had always been but to Adora, every sound felt sharper now: the blare of taxis, the rush of feet on wet pavement, the hum of life she'd been so far removed from in Marco's mansion.
She had left at dawn, without looking back.
Now she stood in the tiny room above the old bookstore she'd found weeks ago a space she rented sometimes when she needed quiet. The walls were peeling, the ceiling creaked, and yet it felt real.
Unlike Marco's mansion, this place didn't whisper secrets. It breathed truth.
She wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup of coffee, staring out the window. New York stretched before her — raw, chaotic, beautiful. Somewhere out there, he was probably sitting in one of his black cars, making decisions that affected people she'd never meet.
And still, part of her wanted to be near him.
"God," she muttered softly, pressing her palm to her forehead. "What's wrong with me?"
She hadn't been able to forget the look in his eyes that mixture of guilt and hunger, of power and something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.
He wasn't just a man. He was a contradiction she couldn't stop unraveling.
A knock pulled her from her thoughts.
She hesitated, her heart skipping. Then she opened the door.
Naomi stood there, rain in her curls and curiosity in her eyes.
"Girl, I swear you've turned into a ghost," she said, stepping inside. "You've been avoiding everyone."
Adora managed a small smile. "I just needed space."
"Space from him," Naomi said knowingly. "Don't even try to lie."
Adora sighed, setting the cup down. "It's… complicated."
Naomi folded her arms. "Complicated is when you and your man have a misunderstanding. This? This is mafia-level drama."
"I didn't ask for any of this."
"I know," Naomi said, her tone softening. "But you also didn't stop it."
Adora looked away. "You think I should've?"
Naomi hesitated. "I think you're in too deep. And I think he's not a man who loves softly."
That hit harder than Adora wanted to admit. She turned back to the window, voice quiet.
"He said he wanted to protect me."
Naomi tilted her head. "From what?"
Adora didn't answer. Because deep down, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Marco
The DeLuca penthouse overlooked the Hudson, its glass walls catching the city's morning light. But for all its beauty, it felt empty.
Marco stood by his desk, his phone on speaker as one of his men spoke from the other end.
"Sir, she's been seen near Lower Manhattan an old bookstore. You want us to keep eyes on her?"
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "No. Just make sure she's safe. Nothing more."
There was a pause. "Understood."
The call ended, but the silence that followed was worse.
He leaned against the desk, staring at the photograph in front of him a candid shot Naomi had taken weeks ago, when Adora had been laughing in the market. Her smile was unguarded, free. It was the one thing about her he couldn't stop remembering.
What have I done to her? he thought.
Luciana's words from the previous day still echoed in his head.
"You're the storm, Marco. And she doesn't know how to swim."
He had spent a lifetime being feared, obeyed, respected. But this this ache of wanting to be worthy of someone was new. And it terrified him.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," he said.
Luciana walked in, dressed in black again elegance and venom personified. "You look like hell," she said.
He didn't glance up. "You shouldn't be here."
She ignored him, setting her gloves on the desk. "I came to apologize."
Marco gave a dry laugh. "Since when do you apologize?"
"Since I realized you actually care about her," Luciana replied, crossing her arms. "And caring makes you sloppy."
He looked at her then, eyes cold. "You don't get to talk about her."
Luciana smiled faintly. "I'm not your enemy, Marco. But you're losing control, and when you lose control people die. You know that."
He turned away, jaw tight. "Leave, Luciana."
She sighed. "For her sake, I hope she runs far away. Because the next war that's coming it won't spare anyone close to you."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Marco sat down, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His reflection in the glass seemed like a stranger's a man who could command armies, but not his own heart.
He picked up his phone again and typed a short message:
We need to talk. One last time.
He didn't send it.
Adora
By evening, the rain returned — gentle at first, then heavier.
Adora sat in the bookstore, helping the old owner close up. The quiet of the place soothed her, even as her thoughts kept drifting to him.
She knew walking away wouldn't be easy. Not from someone like Marco DeLuca.
The doorbell chimed.
Her heart froze.
He stood there rain dripping from his hair, coat dark and soaked, eyes locked on her like he'd been searching for hours.
"Marco," she breathed.
"Adora," he said softly, his voice low. "We need to talk."
The owner, sensing the tension, excused himself and disappeared to the back.
Adora crossed her arms, keeping her voice steady. "You shouldn't be here."
"Maybe not," he said, stepping closer. "But I couldn't stay away."
"Marco, I left for a reason."
"I know," he admitted. "But I need you to understand something before you decide you're done with me."
She hesitated. He was standing too close, his presence filling the room, the scent of rain and cologne wrapping around her like a memory she couldn't escape.
"I'm listening," she said quietly.
He searched her eyes. "The life I lead it's not something you can just walk beside. It consumes everything it touches. And I thought I could keep you apart from it, but
"You can't," she finished for him. "You can't because you are that life, Marco. It's not something outside you. It's who you are."
He flinched slightly, because it was true.
"I've done things I can't erase," he said, voice rough. "But when I'm with you… it's the only time I feel like maybe I could be someone else."
Her throat tightened. "And what happens when the world you built comes for me? When your enemies find out you care about someone who doesn't belong in your world?"
"I'll protect you," he said instantly.
"You can't protect me from you!" Her voice cracked. "You think I don't see it? The way people bow when you enter a room, the fear in their eyes, the control you hold like a weapon"
He stepped closer, eyes burning. "I never wanted you to fear me."
"But I do," she whispered. "Because I'm starting to love you, and that's the most terrifying thing of all."
The words hung in the air between them, raw and trembling.
Marco's breath caught. For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then he reached for her hand slow, deliberate but she pulled back.
"I can't," she said, her eyes glassy. "Not until I know who you are when you're not hiding behind the name DeLuca."
He nodded slowly, the pain in his expression almost too human. "Then I'll show you."
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said quietly, "you'll see the man behind the title. Even if it breaks what's left of me."
Before she could respond, he turned and walked out into the rain leaving the door open behind him, the sound of the city swallowing his footsteps.
Adora stood there for a long time, trembling.
Her heart wanted to follow him.
Her mind told her to run.
But somewhere deep down, she knew this wasn't the end it was just the silence before the next storm.