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HER POV – The next morning, 9:30 a.m.
Lorenzo drove me home himself.
No driver. No guards. Just him, me, and the uncomfortable weight of what we'd done pressing against my chest.
"You're quiet," he said, eyes on the road.
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
"How to lie to my father."
His hands tightened on the wheel. "You could tell him the truth."
I laughed—short, bitter. "And say what? 'Papa, I spent the night at your business partner's mansion, and by the way, he's been inside me in ways you'd never want to imagine'?"
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. "When you put it like that."
"He'd kill you."
"Probably."
"And then he'd lock me in my room until I'm thirty."
He glanced at me. "So we lie."
"We lie." I reached over and touched his hand. "For now. But you promised—no more 'not yet.'"
"I remember."
"Then figure out how to tell him. Because I'm not sneaking around forever."
He pulled up outside my father's estate. The gates loomed. Guards nodded.
"I'll pick you up tonight," he said.
"Lorenzo—"
"Eight o'clock. Wear something nice."
He leaned over and kissed me—quick, fierce, possessive.
Then I was out of the car, walking up the driveway, feeling his eyes on my back.
Here we go.
---
The front door was unlocked.
Unusual.
I stepped inside. The foyer was empty, but I could feel it—the tension, the weight of something waiting.
"Vivienne."
My father's voice came from the study.
Shit.
I walked toward the sound. Pushed open the door.
Aldo Moretti sat behind his desk. His face was calm—too calm. That was never a good sign.
"You weren't home last night," he said.
"No, Papa. I stayed with Katya."
"Did you?"
My blood went cold. "What do you mean?"
He stood up. Walked around the desk. He wasn't tall, but he commanded the room like a general.
"I called Katya's phone at midnight. She said you'd left at nine."
Katya, you idiot.
"I went to a club," I said carefully. "With some friends."
"What friends?"
"People from school. You don't know them."
"And these friends," he said, stopping in front of me, "they let you stay out all night? Without calling me? Without a guard?"
I said nothing.
His hand shot out—not to hit me, but to grab my chin. He tilted my face up, inspecting me.
"You smell like expensive cologne. And sex."
My heart stopped.
"Papa—"
"I'm not stupid, Vivienne." He released my chin. His eyes were cold. "You've been seeing someone. A man. And you thought you could hide it from me."
"It's not—"
"Who?"
I couldn't tell him. Not yet.
"No one you know."
His jaw tightened. He turned away, walked to the window.
"I've spent your whole life protecting you," he said quietly. "From enemies. From men who would use you. From this life." He looked back at me. "And you repay me by sneaking around like a whore?"
The word hit like a slap.
"I'm not a whore."
"Then who is he?"
I didn't answer.
Aldo nodded slowly, like he'd expected this.
"Fine. Don't tell me. But there will be consequences."
"What kind of consequences?"
"You're grounded. No leaving this house without a guard. No phone. No Katya. No nothing." He walked back to his desk. "And I'm moving up your flight to Moscow. You leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Papa, I still have two weeks—"
"Tomorrow." His voice was final. "You'll finish your degree. You'll stay away from Italy. And when you come back, we'll discuss your behavior."
I wanted to scream. To cry. To tell him everything.
But I couldn't.
Because telling him meant putting Lorenzo in danger.
So I swallowed. Nodded.
"Yes, Papa."
He didn't look at me. "Go to your room. Give Enzo your phone."
Enzo. Of course. My father's head of security—not Lorenzo's Enzo, but a different man. Same name. Different master.
I turned and walked out.
---
My room – 10:00 a.m.
I handed my phone to Enzo (the Moretti one) without a word. He took it, expressionless, and closed the door behind him.
I sat on my bed.
Stared at the wall.
Tomorrow.
I'd be on a plane back to Moscow. Away from Lorenzo. Away from everything we'd just started.
Unless—
I looked at my laptop. Still on my desk. Not taken.
They'd taken my phone, but not my laptop.
I opened it. Typed fast.
Lorenzo – my father knows I was out all night. He's sending me back to Moscow tomorrow. I don't have a phone anymore. Don't call. Don't come here. He'll kill you.
I'll find a way to contact you from Russia.
Don't forget me.
I hit send. Closed the laptop.
Then I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere across the city, Lorenzo would get my message.
And I had no idea what he'd do next.
---
HIS POV – 10:15 a.m.
My phone buzzed as I walked into my mansion.
I pulled it out. Read her message.
My blood turned to ice.
Tomorrow. Moscow.
I stopped in the middle of the foyer.
Marco appeared. "Boss?"
"Get Nico on the phone. Now."
"Is something wrong?"
"Everything is wrong."
I walked to my study, already dialing.
She's leaving.
Like hell she is.
---
TWENTY YEARS AGO – LORENZO'S MEMORY
He was ten years old.
The warehouse smelled of salt and rust. His father had brought him along—learn the business, see how men talk. His mother came too, because she always did. Elena was there, Aldo's wife, with baby Vivienne in her arms.
The meeting was supposed to be safe. Neutral ground. The Yakuza wanted to discuss a shipment.
They didn't want to discuss.
They wanted blood.
---
The first shot took his father in the chest.
Lorenzo saw it happen. His father's eyes went wide. He fell forward, hands reaching for nothing. His mother screamed. Elena turned to run.
The second shot took his mother. Through the car window. A stray bullet. She slumped against the glass, blood running down like rain.
Lorenzo didn't scream. He froze.
The Yakuza poured out of the shadows. Men with knives. Men with guns. Men who moved like wolves.
Elena ran. She had Vivienne in her arms. She almost made it to the exit.
They caught her.
---
Lorenzo watched.
He was behind a stack of crates. He couldn't see everything. But he heard. The sounds stayed with him for twenty years.
Elena begging. Then not begging. Then nothing.
Vivienne crying. Loud. Relentless. A baby's scream cutting through the chaos.
The Yakuza didn't care about a baby. They left her on the floor beside her mother's body.
Lorenzo crawled out from behind the crates. He didn't think. He just moved. He picked up Vivienne. She was warm. Sticky with blood that wasn't hers.
He held her. She kept crying.
He didn't know how long they sat there. Minutes. Hours. The gunfire faded. Men shouted in Japanese. Then more shouting in Italian.
Aldo.
---
Aldo came through the smoke like a devil. His shoulder was bleeding. His face was black with ash. He had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
He saw Lorenzo first. Saw the boy holding the baby.
Then he saw Elena.
He didn't stop. Didn't fall. Didn't scream.
He walked to Lorenzo, picked them both up—the boy and the baby—and carried them out of the burning warehouse.
Outside, the night was cold. Sirens in the distance. Aldo set them down in the grass.
"Don't look back," he said.
Lorenzo looked back.
He saw the fire. He saw the bodies. He saw the Yakuza men who'd escaped, running into the darkness.
He never forgot their faces.
---
Aldo buried his wife. Lorenzo buried his parents. Two graves side by side.
Aldo raised Vivienne alone. He raised Lorenzo too. Taught him to shoot. Taught him to fight. Taught him to be harder than the men who'd taken everything.
Lorenzo never told Vivienne what he saw that night. Neither did Aldo.
Some truths were too heavy for a child.
But Vivienne was twenty-one now. And the Yakuza were coming back.
---
HIS POV
Tomorrow. Moscow.
I read it twice. Then I put the phone down and walked.
Marco stepped aside. Didn't ask where.
The drive took fifteen minutes. I didn't think about the past. I didn't think about the warehouse or the blood or the baby in my arms. I thought about what I was going to say.
The gates opened. I parked. Walked to the front door.
Enzo opened it. Started to speak. I walked past him.
Aldo's study door was closed. I opened it.
---
ALDO'S STUDY
He was at his desk. Whiskey in hand. Eyes red.
"You're sending her back," I said.
"She's my daughter."
"She's mine." I closed the door behind me. "She has been since I was ten years old and you pulled me out of that warehouse with her in my arms."
Aldo didn't flinch. "You were a child."
"I'm not a child now."
He set down the glass. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't watched you become a man? I raised you, Lorenzo. I fed you. I taught you."
"Then trust me."
"Trust you?" He stood up. "I trusted your father. He's dead. I trusted my wife. She's dead. The only thing left in this world that I didn't lose is her."
"And me." I stepped closer. "You didn't lose me. I'm standing right here."
He stared at me.
"I'm not asking," I said. "I'm telling you. She stays. With me. In my house. In my bed. And you will not stop it."
"You think you can threaten me?"
"I'm not threatening you." My voice was low. "I'm giving you the truth. I love her. I've protected her for three years from across the ocean. I will protect her for the rest of my life. You can be part of that, or you can stand alone."
Aldo's hands shook. "The Yakuza—"
"Are coming. I know. Let them."
"She's all I have."
"She's all I have too." I held his gaze. "But I'm not going to lose her. And neither are you. Not anymore."
He was quiet for a long time.
Then: "Six o'clock. Pick her up."
I nodded. Turned. Walked out.
No hug. No tears. Just two men who'd seen too much and lost too many.
---
HER ROOM
I opened the door. She was sitting on the bed, hugging a pillow.
"Pack a bag," I said.
She looked up. "Papa—"
"Said yes."
She didn't ask how. She just stood up and started packing.
PRESENT TIME – LORENZO'S POV
He stood by the bedroom window, looking out at the dark.
Vivienne was asleep behind him.
The phone buzzed. Nico.
Broker identified. Name: Kenji Tanaka. He's in Milan. Want him handled?
He put the phone down. Looked back at Vivienne.
Twenty years ago, he held her in a warehouse full of death.
Tonight, she was in his bed. Alive. His.
He wouldn't fail her again.
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