Chapter 4: A Forbidden Glance

The Rossi motorcade rolled into Naples under a veil of tension. Black cars lined the narrow streets, engines purring like predators, their tinted windows reflecting the old stone facades. Soldiers in tailored suits stepped out first, scanning alleys and rooftops with sharp eyes. Only then did Don Enzo Rossi emerge, his daughter and son close behind.

Adriana smoothed the folds of her navy dress, her pulse quickening. Naples smelled of salt, gunpowder, and tension. The Moretti strike had left the city trembling, and now the Rossi allies gathered in a grand but decaying palazzo, its marble floors cracked and walls lined with faded frescoes of saints who had long since turned their backs on them.

Inside, voices rose in anger. The air was thick with smoke and fear as men argued about vengeance. Adriana lingered at her father’s side, silent, her presence ornamental yet observed. Her father wanted her here, to display the Rossi line, to remind the others that his bloodline was strong. But no one asked her opinion. No one ever did.

Marco leaned down, whispering in her ear with a smirk. “Keep your head down, sorellina. These men are wolves, and wolves eat little lambs.”

She shot him a glare. “Then maybe they should be careful of lambs with teeth.”

He chuckled and turned away, already hungry for the politics of blood.

The meeting unfolded in heated waves—pledges of loyalty, promises of retribution, murmurs of fear about Damian Moretti. His name hung in the air like smoke. Some cursed him, others praised his ruthlessness in hushed tones. Adriana listened, every syllable a spark against her skin.

And then the room stilled.

A figure had appeared in the arched doorway, flanked by two men. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered, he carried himself like a king walking into enemy court. His suit was black, his tie sharp as a blade, his expression unreadable.

Damian Moretti.

Adriana’s breath caught. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, hidden beneath her skirts. She hadn’t expected him here—certainly not in the lion’s den of Rossi allies. Yet there he was, calm and dangerous, his presence igniting the room into silence.

“Don Rossi,” Damian said smoothly, his voice carrying with effortless authority. “I came to deliver a message.”

Her father bristled, rising slowly, his lieutenants shifting at his side. “You are either brave or foolish to stand in this hall, Moretti.”

Damian’s eyes flicked to Adriana for a heartbeat—just a flicker, barely a second, but it was enough to unravel her composure. That glance seared through her, a spark and a warning all at once.

“I came alone,” Damian continued, ignoring the threats bristling around him. “You spill blood, we spill more. But you know how this ends, Don Rossi. Naples belongs to us now. And soon…” His gaze flicked again, sharper this time, resting an instant longer on Adriana before returning to her father. “…more will follow.”

A ripple of outrage spread through the room. Men shouted, chairs scraped back, hands twitched toward weapons. But Don Enzo raised his hand, silencing them. His voice was ice. “Get out of my sight, boy, before you leave in pieces.”

Damian’s smirk was slight, controlled. He inclined his head with mock politeness. “Then I’ll see myself out.”

He turned, striding toward the exit, his men shadowing him. The hall erupted again in fury, voices calling for war, for vengeance, for blood.

Adriana’s pulse hammered. Logic told her to stay put, to keep her eyes down, to vanish into the safety of her family’s shadow. But something stronger—foolish, reckless—propelled her feet after him.

The corridor outside was quieter, lined with ancient statues and flickering wall sconces. Damian was halfway down when he stopped, as if he had known she would follow. Slowly, he turned.

Their eyes met, unguarded this time.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, echoing the words he had spoken to her in the Moretti estate.

He stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. “Neither should you.”

Adriana’s breath caught. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but her feet rooted in place. He was too close now, his presence filling the narrow corridor.

“You came here to taunt my father,” she said, forcing her voice steady. “You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

Damian tilted his head, studying her with that same piercing gaze. “Alive, yes. But not untouched.” His eyes lingered on her face, tracing the defiance in her expression, the quickening of her breath. “You saw me, Adriana. And you’re still here.”

Her heart raced. “Maybe I should scream. Call the guards. End this right now.”

“Maybe you should,” he murmured. His voice dipped lower, the words brushing against her skin like a threat and a promise. “But you won’t.”

The silence between them throbbed, thick with danger and something else—something neither dared name. She hated how much truth there was in his words, how her body betrayed her by leaning ever so slightly closer.

“Why me?” she whispered before she could stop herself. “Why look at me at all?”

His smirk was faint, dangerous. “Because you’re the only one here not pretending to be something you’re not.”

The words sank into her, cutting deeper than any blade. He was right. Around her father, her brother, Isabella—she was always a mask, a jewel, a pawn. But in Damian’s gaze, she felt seen. And that terrified her more than anything.

A sound broke the spell—heels clicking against marble. Isabella’s voice rang lightly down the hall, calling Adriana’s name.

Adriana flinched back, heart pounding. Damian’s eyes flicked past her, his jaw tightening. “Careful,” he murmured. “The wolves around you bite deeper than mine.”

And then, with a step as silent as shadow, he was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor just as Isabella rounded the corner.

“There you are,” Isabella said smoothly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they swept over Adriana’s flushed face. “I thought you’d run off to hide. Meetings like these can be so… overwhelming for some.”

Adriana forced a breathless smile, hoping her pulse didn’t give her away. “Not overwhelming. Just tiresome.”

Isabella’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and knowing, before she looped her arm through Adriana’s. “Come. Your father’s looking for you. Best not to keep him waiting.”

Adriana allowed herself to be led back, though her chest still ached from the weight of Damian’s words, his presence, his glance.

A forbidden glance.

And she knew, deep in her bones, that it would not be the last.