Nobela ni Nessa ojo

Dante Moretti had not slept in three days. Not properly. Not since Amara disappeared. The city of Sicily had become restless beneath him, every street corner carrying whispers of war while his men tore through ports, casinos, underground clubs, and abandoned properties searching for her. And still— nothing. Which only made the rage worse. Dante stood near the massive windows of the temporary estate he had taken over outside the city, one hand gripping a glass of untouched whiskey while the storm outside battered violently against the cliffs. “She’s alive.” The words came from one of his men behind him. Dante didn’t turn. “I know.” Because if Amara had been dead— he would’ve felt it already. The thought alone irritated him. Too emotional. Too reckless. Amara was supposed to be temporary. Convenient. A distraction he could control. So why did the thought of another man touching her make violence crawl beneath his skin? A knock interrupted the silence before Matteo e

Amara stared at him through the glass doors in complete disbelief. Luciano stood casually on her balcony like climbing several stories up a cliffside mansion in the middle of the night was perfectly normal. The bottle of wine dangling from his fingers somehow made it worse. “Are you insane?” she whispered sharply, sliding the balcony door open. Luciano stepped inside effortlessly. “That’s usually the first thing women ask me.” Amara folded her arms immediately. “You climbed the side of the mansion.” “You say that like it was difficult.” “It should’ve been.” Luciano shrugged casually before setting the wine bottle on the table near the window. “You looked restless.” His eyes drifted toward her slowly. “I got curious.” Dangerous man. Dangerously charming man. Amara hated how naturally he occupied space around her. Like he belonged wherever he decided to stand. “You do this often?” she asked cautiously. “Break into women’s rooms?” A smirk. “Only when they’re interest

The room fell silent so quickly it almost hurt. Luciano’s hand remained against Amara’s waist for exactly two more seconds before slowly sliding away. Not rushed. Not guilty. Which somehow made the situation worse. Riccardo’s expression revealed nothing as he stepped fully into the penthouse, dark eyes moving calmly between them. But Amara had spent enough time around dangerous men to recognize tension when she saw it. And right now? The air felt one wrong sentence away from violence. “Well,” Luciano said lightly, completely unbothered. “This looks dramatic.” Riccardo ignored him entirely. Instead, his gaze settled on Amara. “You seem determined to explore every restricted part of my home.” His voice remained calm. Too calm. Amara straightened immediately. “I got lost.” Luciano laughed softly under his breath. Riccardo’s eyes flicked toward his son. “You find something amusing?” “A little,” Luciano admitted. “She’s a terrible liar.” Amara shot him a glare. Traito

Amara recovered quickly. Years of training taught her how to hide surprise, fear… even attraction. So despite the fact that Riccardo’s son was still holding her against him— warm hand firm against her waist— she forced herself to compose her expression almost immediately. Professional. Controlled. Calm. Even if her pulse completely betrayed her. “You can let go now,” she said smoothly. A slow smirk appeared on his face. “Can I?” Amara narrowed her eyes instantly. Definitely Riccardo’s son. The resemblance was impossible to ignore now that she looked closer. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Dangerous eyes. But where Riccardo carried controlled menace— his son carried confidence. The effortless kind. The kind that knew exactly what effect it had on people. Still, Amara stepped back carefully, reclaiming her balance. “You almost died five seconds after meeting me,” he mused lightly. “That has to mean something.” “I trip once and suddenly it’s destiny?” “No,” he said cal

Amara didn’t move for a full minute. Riccardo’s words still hung in the air like something heavy and irreversible. *I know exactly who you are.* Her expression remained controlled, but inside— everything tightened. Because it wasn’t the fact that he knew. It was the fact that he had known all along. “You’ve been playing with me,” she said quietly. Riccardo studied her calmly, leaning against the balcony railing as the ocean wind moved through his dark shirt. “I’ve been observing you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.” Amara’s jaw tightened. “Observing is just a prettier word for stalking.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And yet you’re still standing here.” That silence that followed was heavier than words. Amara refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking. Instead, she exhaled slowly and looked away toward the sea. “If you know about the agency,” she said carefully, “then you already know I won’t betray them.” “I never asked you to.” That made her pause.

Amara barely slept. Even wrapped in silk sheets inside a room bigger than most apartments, her mind refused to rest. Riccardo’s words from the night before replayed endlessly in her head. *Dante’s father and I were once very close friends.* Friends. Not enemies. Not rivals. Friends. The thought unsettled her more than it should have. Because if Riccardo had once been close to Dante’s family… then this wasn’t just revenge. It was personal. Deeply personal. Amara sat up slowly, pressing a hand against her temple as morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows overlooking the Sicilian cliffs. Somewhere beyond those waters— Dante was probably tearing the city apart looking for her. The thought tightened something painfully in her chest. Which was ridiculous. Because Dante Moretti was never supposed to matter this much. Their relationship had started as an assignment. A fake relationship designed to get her close enough to study him, investigate h