The morning after the explosions, New York felt eerily calm like the city was holding its breath. The sun rose over broken glass and burned steel, casting a gold sheen over chaos that refused to die.
Adora sat by the window, clutching a mug she hadn't sipped from. The coffee had long gone cold. Below her, the streets were crawling with black cars and flashing badges. Every news anchor in the city had one name on their lips Marco DeLuca.
He hadn't slept.
She knew it from the way he moved steady, quiet, dangerous.
Marco stood near the bar counter, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and tense.
"I don't care what it takes, Enzo. Find who planted that bomb. No one moves without my word."
He paused, listening.
"Luciana's stable?"
Another pause.
"Good. Keep her guarded. No one goes near her until I say so."
When he ended the call, silence filled the room again.
Adora finally spoke. "How bad is it?"
He turned to her slowly. "Worse than I thought."
"Tell me."
He hesitated, then walked over, leaning on the edge of the table. "The attack wasn't about killing me. It was about breaking the council. Half the city's alliances are in pieces. The others are already picking sides."
"Which means?"
"War," he said simply.
Adora felt her stomach tighten. "And you?"
Marco looked out the window. "I don't have a side anymore. When they bombed that hotel, they declared me expendable. So now, I take the city back piece by piece."
Her voice trembled slightly. "And if you die trying?"
He glanced at her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something like regret. "Then I die knowing I didn't run."
She set the cup down. "You think dying makes you brave? It makes you gone. And I've already had enough ghosts."
Marco moved closer, until the space between them was charged with quiet electricity. "You think I want this life?" he asked softly. "You think I don't dream of walking away?"
"Then why don't you?"
"Because men like me don't get to walk away," he said. "We get hunted when we try."
Adora's eyes glistened. "Then let me help you fight smarter. You don't have to do this alone."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're already too close, Adora."
"And you're already in too deep."
For a long moment, neither moved. The world outside burned quietly, but in that room, time slowed grief and desire tangling like smoke.
Finally, Marco reached out, his thumb tracing the side of her face. "You shouldn't have found me that night at the docks."
She caught his hand. "And you shouldn't have let me stay."
He almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I'm selfish."
"Maybe we both are," she whispered.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Then God help us both, Adora."
Later that Day
Luciana stirred awake in a hospital bed miles away, her chest bandaged, her breathing shallow.
Enzo sat by her side, muttering curses under his breath.
When her eyes fluttered open, she rasped, "Where's Marco?"
"Alive," Enzo replied. "Barely."
Luciana's fingers tightened around the sheet. "Then tell him… whoever did this isn't just after him. They're after what he protects."
Enzo frowned. "What do you mean?"
She stared at the ceiling, voice weak but deliberate. "Someone knows about Adora."
That Night
Rain fell again soft, relentless, whispering against the windows like ghosts knocking to be let in.
Adora lay on the couch, half asleep, the weight of exhaustion finally winning. Marco sat nearby, staring at the city lights. He hadn't said a word in hours.
When her breathing evened out, he reached for his phone, typing quickly.
ENZO: Move her to the safehouse. Tomorrow night. No arguments.
He hit send, then looked at her this woman who'd somehow stepped into his world and refused to be swallowed by it.
He didn't want to lose her. But in his world, wanting was the first step to destruction.
Still, as thunder rolled again and her fingers twitched slightly in sleep, Marco made himself a silent promise
He would end this war.
He would burn the city if he had to.
But Adora would walk away free.
Even if it meant she'd have to walk away from him.