Chapter 7: Collision

The Rossi villa blazed with firelight, a storm of music, laughter, and politics. Tonight was no ordinary gathering—it was a display of power. Don Enzo had called allies, merchants, and politicians into his gilded hall to remind Naples that the Rossi name still carried weight.

Adriana moved through the throng like a phantom, her emerald gown trailing across marble tiles. Men bowed politely, women smiled thinly, but none of it touched her. Her eyes skimmed over jeweled chandeliers, the sea of masks and wine, searching for escape. She hated these nights—the false laughter, the heavy perfume of lies.

And then, as she reached for a glass of wine from a passing tray, her pulse stopped.

Because across the hall, through a break in the crowd, she saw him.

Damian Moretti.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass until it nearly shattered. He should not have been here—not in her father’s home, not in this nest of vipers. Yet there he stood, perfectly at ease in his tailored black suit, his presence magnetic and defiant.

The hall shifted around him. Men whispered, some in outrage, some in awe. Don Enzo’s allies tensed like coiled springs, hands twitching near concealed weapons. But Damian did not flinch. He moved through the room with the calm grace of a wolf in a den of sheep, his eyes scanning—and then finding her.

Their gazes locked.

Heat slammed into her chest, stealing her breath. She tried to look away, to bury the fire in her veins. But Damian’s stare held her, unrelenting, until her skin burned.

“Adriana.”

She jumped slightly, wine sloshing in her glass. Isabella stood at her side, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she followed Adriana’s gaze across the hall.

“Well,” Isabella murmured, lips curling. “The infamous Moretti heir. I must admit, I didn’t expect him here. Bold of him, don’t you think?”

Adriana forced a tight smile, her voice careful. “Bold… or reckless.”

Isabella tilted her head, studying her with unnerving precision. “Which do you prefer?”

Adriana didn’t answer. But the way Isabella’s smile deepened told her silence had betrayed her.

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At the head of the hall, Don Enzo finally rose, his booming voice cutting through the tension.

“Naples has always been a city of strength, of loyalty, of bloodlines that endure!” He raised a glass, eyes glittering with challenge. “And though enemies would see us broken, the Rossi name will not bow!”

The crowd roared in approval, but Damian’s smirk curved sharp at the edges. He set down his glass and stepped forward, his voice slicing through the din.

“And yet,” he said, calm but loud enough for all to hear, “bloodlines fade when they rot from within.”

The hall fell silent. Every head turned.

Enzo’s face darkened. “Careful, boy.”

Damian’s eyes gleamed with defiance. “I don’t deal in careful. I deal in truth. And the truth is, Naples does not bow to ghosts clinging to old power. Naples belongs to those willing to seize it.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Men shifted uneasily. Isabella’s lips curved, as though she relished the sparks. But Adriana—her heart thundered with panic and exhilaration all at once.

Enzo’s voice was ice. “Leave my hall before I have your tongue cut from your mouth.”

But Damian didn’t move. His eyes locked on Adriana again, ignoring the fury around him, ignoring the danger. His stare burned into her, unflinching, as though daring her to step forward.

And for one insane moment, she almost did.

The hall exploded into shouting. Guards pressed forward, weapons gleaming at their belts. Damian’s men appeared at the edges of the room like shadows suddenly given form.

It was chaos.

Adriana’s pulse spiked as her father barked orders, as allies screamed for blood. She clutched her skirts, breathless, torn between duty and the fire that was consuming her.

And then—suddenly—Damian moved.

Not toward her father. Not toward the door.

Toward her.

Her breath caught as he cut through the crowd like a blade through silk, his presence impossible to ignore. People gasped, stepping back, clearing a path as if some primal instinct told them to move.

He stopped just short of her, the world shrinking until it was only them.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Adriana’s hand trembled around her wine glass. “You shouldn’t—”

“I told you,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, meant for her alone. “You’d see me again. And not in the dark.”

Her chest tightened. She should scream. Call for her father. Push him away. But she didn’t.

The collision had come. And she was powerless to stop it.