LOGINChapter 8
Maya Tuesday night, and the Falcons are up 4-1 in the third period. I should be relieved. Another win, another clean game, another successful night of narrative control. Instead, I'm watching the clock, counting down to when I can escape to Vesper and pretend to be Stella again. Even if it's just in my head. Even if Ryan Zurri never walks through those doors again. "Great game,are you heading to the party?" Thabo says as the final buzzer sounds. "Not tonight." "You never go to parties anymore." He looks concerned. "Crisis mode takes a toll I need a break ." "You okay, Maya?" No. I'm falling apart. I'm in love with my family's enemy. I'm being ordered to destroy him while every fiber of my being wants to protect him. "Just tired.Long week." "You want to grab a drink? Just us, nothing work-related?" "Rain check?" "Sure." He doesn't hide his disappointment well. " I'm sorry bud." "Have a good night, Maya." I escape before anyone else can corner me. The drive to Vesper feels like muscle memory same route, same time, same desperate need for a few hours where I'm not Maya Rossi. The parking garage is nearly empty. I take my regular spot, check my reflection in the mirror. I look exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes, stress written in every line of my face. I've barely slept since Saturday night, too busy dreaming about Ryan's hands on my skin, his voice in my ear. Too busy researching him during the day, learning everything about the man I can't have. Ryan Lorenzo Zurri is complex. On paper, he's exactly what my father says the heir to an empire, ruthless in business, following in Lorenzo's footsteps. There are cracks in that narrative. Charitable donations made anonymously. A tendency to choose development projects that benefit communities, not just profit margins. Employees who speak of him with genuine respect, not fear. He's not the villain my father painted him as. Which makes this so much worse. I take the elevator up to Vesper, my heart pounding. He won't be here. Lightning doesn't strike twice. Saturday was a fluke, a moment of perfect timing that can never be repeated. The elevator doors open, and I scan the bar out of habit. I freeze. Ryan is here. Sitting at the bar, nursing what looks like whiskey, looking devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a black shirt that probably costs more than most people's monthly rent. My heart stops. Starts. Stops again. He hasn't seen me yet. I could leave. Could retreat before he notices, preserve the fantasy of Saturday night, keep it perfect and untainted. I can't move. Can't look away. Can't do anything but drink in the sight of him. Then he turns, and our eyes meet. The impact is the same as Saturday. That jolt of electricity, that sense of recognition, that feeling of finally. He stands. Starts moving toward me. Every rational thought tells me to run. This is dangerous. This is impossible. This is going to destroy us both,my feet are rooted to the floor, and all I can do is watch him approach like a moth watching a flame. I was surprisingly calm. "Stella." He says when he reaches me, and the sound of that name in his voice does things to me that should be illegal. "Ryan." My voice is breathier than I want it to be. " I can't believe my luck ." "What are you doing here?" "Same thing you are, I think." His brown eyes are intense, searching. "Trying to understand what happened Saturday night." "Saturday night was..." "Don't." He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne and feel his heat. "Zurri." "Don't tell me it was just one night. Don't tell me it didn't mean anything. I know that's a lie, Stella. I can see it in your eyes. "You shouldn't be here." "Neither should you, and yet here we are." His hand comes up, brushes my cheek, and I shiver. " Eyes are everywhere . " "Why did you run?" " I had to." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I can give you." We're standing too close, too visible. Anyone could see us. Anyone could recognize me. Anyone could tell my father that his daughter is standing in a bar, looking at Ryan Zurri like he hung the moon. He is one hell of a fine spearman of a man. "We can't do this Ryan." I say, even as my body sways toward his. " liar ." "Whatever this is,it's impossible." "You keep saying that. I don't believe you." "Ryan." "Come upstairs with me." "Just for an hour. Let me prove to you that this is real." I want to. I want it so badly I can taste it. "I can't." "Can't or won't?" The same question he texted me. The one I couldn't answer then, can't answer now. "Does it matter?" "Yes." He takes my hand, threads our fingers together. "Can't means there's something stopping you. Something external. if I know what it is, maybe I can fix it." If only he could. If only there was a fix for our families' generations of hatred, for the war we're both trapped in, for the fact that falling for him is the ultimate betrayal of everything I'm supposed to be. "You can't fix this." "Let me try." "Ryan..." My phone buzzes in my purse. I ignore it, but it buzzes again , and again. Papa's ring tone. The universe's cruelest timing strikes again. "I have to take this," I say, pulling away from Ryan's touch even though it physically hurts " I ber it's your father. " I step away, answer the call. "Papa." "Maya. Where are you?" His voice is sharp. "I'm." I glance at Ryan, who's watching me with those too-perceptive eyes. "Tell him ." He whispers. "I'm following up on some leads. The Zurri research you wanted." Please let that be convincing. Please let him not hear the lie in my voice. "Good. I just got word that Ryan Zurri was spotted at a bar in the Waterfront tonight. Vesper. Do you know it?" My blood turns to ice. "Yes." "I want you to go there. See if you can accidentally run into him. Turn on the charm, get him talking." Papa's voice is cold, calculating. "Noted Papa." "Find out what he knows about our bid, what his father's planning. Get inside his head." Oh no. "Papa, I don't think..." "This is important. This is how we win,are you going to tell me you can't handle a simple seduction?" The word makes me sick. Seduction. Like Ryan is a mark, a target, not the man who held me like I was precious. I look at Ryan across the bar. He's still watching me, with concern written on his face. "I can handle it." I hear myself say. "Good. Call me when you're done. I want a full report." He hangs up before I can protest further. I stand there, phone in hand, feeling the walls close in. Ryan approaches slowly, like I'm a spooked animal. "Everything okay?" "No. Everything is very not okay." "Talk to me." "I can't." I meet his eyes, and I know he can see the desperation in mine. "I'm not going anywhere." "Ryan, you need to leave. Now. Before... " "Before what?" Before I fall completely. Before I betray my family for you. Before this becomes something neither of us can walk away from. "Before this gets more complicated." "It's already complicated, Stella. Or should I say Maya." The world stops. He knows.I can't breathe. "How long have you known?" "Since Sunday morning. After you left. I couldn't stop thinking about you, so I looked for you. Found you." Anger flares through the panic. "Knowing who I am? Knowing what that means?" "Yes." "Are you insane?" "Probably. Maya, I don't care about our families' bullshit war. I don't care about the politics or the power plays or any of it. I care about you." "You don't even know me." "Don't I?" His voice is soft. "I know you're trapped by expectations. I know you're exhausted from playing a role. I know that Saturday night, when you were Stella, was the first time in years you let yourself be real." He cups my face. "Shit." "I know you felt what I felt. I know you're terrified of it." Tears burn behind my eyes. "This can't work." "Why not?" "My father just ordered me to seduce you. To get inside your head, find out what you know, use you to win this development deal." The words taste like ash. "Maya ." "That's what I am, Ryan. That's what my family made me. A weapon." I expect him to recoil. To look at me with disgust or anger or betrayal. Instead, he smiled. Sad, but genuine. "You want to know something funny? My father gave me the same orders about you. Find your weakness, exploit it, destroy you and your operation." Oh. "So we're both weapons." "Apparently." We stand there, two people caught in an impossible situation, and despite everything the danger, the betrayal, the absolute insanity of this I start to laugh. "This is so fucked up." "Completely." He's laughing too. "We're supposed to be destroying each other, and instead..." "Instead what?" His laughter fades, replaced by something more intense . "Instead I'm falling for you." My heart stops. "Ryan." "I know it's insane. I know it's too fast. I know every logical reason why this is a terrible idea." "Zurri." He steps closer, until we're breathing the same air. "I can't stop thinking about you, Maya. Can't stop wanting you. Can't stop imagining what it would be like if we were just Ryan and Maya . No families. No war. Just us." "That's not reality." "Maybe not, for a few hours, we can pretend.Come upstairs with me. Let's have one more night where we're just us. Tomorrow we can go back to being enemies, tonight..." "Tonight we're just Ryan and Maya" I finished. It's the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. I should say no. Should walk away. Should choose duty over desire like I always do.I'm so tired of it . "One night.That's all we get." "Then let's make it count." He takes my hand, and we walk to the elevator . Because that's what this is, isn't it? The beginning of the end. We're both dead. We just don't know it yet. As the elevator doors close and Ryan pulls me into his arms, as his mouth finds mine and the world disappears, I can't bring myself to care. If I'm going to burn, at least I'll burn for something real. At least I'll burn for him. "you're not alone Maya . "Chapter 70 Ryan The idea starts the way bad ideas usually do simply, and with complete confidence. Maya is sleeping. This is itself an event worth noting—she is, by her own admission and the evidence of the past week, not a good sleeper in ordinary circumstances, which these are not, and the fact that she went down at nine and stayed down and is now, at ten-thirty the following morning, still asleep with her face turned toward the window and her breathing slow and even, is a sign that her body is finally doing the work of recovering properly. I am not going to wake her. I am, however, hungry in a way that has been building since six AM, and I am standing in Maya's kitchen with its elegant stone worktops and its copper pots and its nearly empty refrigerator—Maria stocked essentials before we arrived but not, apparently, accounting for a second person—and I am thinking that Maya deserves to wake up to a proper meal. This is a good thought. Everything that follows from it is somew
Chapter 69 Maya The house is on Via dei Giardini. I bought it four years ago during a property acquisition that was, on paper, a portfolio diversification decision and was, in reality, the first thing I had ever purchased purely because I wanted it. No strategic rationale. No yield calculation that justified the price. Just a nineteenth century townhouse on a quiet street in Brera with original stone floors and a courtyard with a fig tree and windows that let in afternoon light the colour of something warm. I have spent a total of eleven weeks in it across four years. I've never brought anyone here. I tell myself this is because my time in Milan is always professional—meetings, due diligence, the quarterly visits to the investment fund I co-manage with a Milanese firm. I tell myself it's practical. I tell myself a lot of things about a lot of decisions and I've gotten very efficient at not examining them too closely. Ryan examines everything closely. This is one of the
Chapter 68 Ryan The heartbeat doesn't stop. I mean that literally it continues, of course, monitored and steady in the way that Dr. Conti has pronounced satisfactory, and then the ultrasound ends and the room returns to its ordinary hospital dimensions and the sound stops being something I can hear externally. But it doesn't stop. It moves from the screen to somewhere inside my chest and it stays there, beating alongside my own at a frequency I can feel but couldn't explain to anyone. I've heard descriptions of this moment. From Marco, when his daughter was born three years ago—he called me from the hospital at two in the morning barely coherent, saying things that didn't connect grammatically, and I thought at the time that I understood what he meant. I was sympathetic and warm and entirely wrong about what I understood. I didn't understand anything. Dr. Conti leaves with the particular tact of a woman who has learned when a room needs to be vacated. Maya and I sit in th
Chapter 67 Maya The thing about hospitals is that they make time strange. There is no natural light calibration in this room—the window shows me sky but not sun, brightness but not warmth, and the hours move in the rhythm of the ward rather than the rhythm of the world outside. Vitals at six. Rounds at eight. Medication at ten. Lunch at twelve-thirty that I eat approximately half of before my appetite retreats again. The structure is imposed from outside, which should feel like the opposite of everything I've built my life around, and yet. There is something almost restful about it. I think about this while Ryan sleeps in the chair beside me. He fell asleep at around eleven, which I consider a personal achievement—I'd been working on it since nine, responding to his attempts at conversation with shorter and shorter answers, letting the silences stretch until they became comfortable and then soporific, the way you'd settle a child who doesn't know it's tired yet. He's sleepi
Chapter 66RyanThe hotel is four blocks from the hospital.I know this because I walked it. Not because walking made sense at ten o'clock at night in an unfamiliar city in October, but because the alternative was getting into the car Chiara had arranged and sitting in the back of it while someone else controlled the speed and the direction and the arrival time, and I couldn't do that. I needed to move under my own power. I needed the pavement beneath my feet and the cold Milan air in my lungs and the physical fact of forward momentum, because if I stopped moving It was going to have to fully feel what I'd been holding at arm's length for the past fourteen hours.I wasn't ready to feel it yet.So I walked.The hotel room is anonymous and adequate and completely wrong.I stand in the middle of it for approximately thirty seconds after the door closes behind me, looking at the bed I'm supposed to sleep in, the desk I'm supposed to sit at, the window that looks out at a street that has
Chapter 65MayaThere is a particular quality to hospital ceilings.I have noticed this before—at my mother's bedside, once, when I was nineteen and not yet good at the controlled composure I would later develop into something approaching an art form. Hospital ceilings are uniformly indifferent. They don't react to what happens beneath them. They offer nothing except the reminder that there is something above you, solid and unhurried, while everything below is in motion.I stare at the ceiling of my room in the Ospedale San Raffaele and I breathe, because breathing is currently a project rather than an automatic function and projects require attention.In through the nose. Count to four. Out through the mouth.The oxygen cannula sits awkwardly against my face and I resist the urge to pull at it the way I've been resisting for the past—I check the clock on the wall—six hours. It is now early afternoon. The Milan light coming through the window has the particular flat quality of a cloud
Chapter 34: RyanThe takeout containers were still on the kitchen counter half-eaten pad Thai, a demolished box of spring rolls, the lingering scent of ginger and toasted sesame oil hanging heavy in the air. The fluorescent light of the glass extractor fan cast a sharp, clinical glow over the is
Chapter 33: Maya The hydrogen peroxide bubbled on my knee, white and angry, eating at the grime from the bathroom floor. I bit my lip against the sting and pressed the cotton pad harder. Physical pain was easier. Physical pain had rules. "You're sure you're okay?" Gabriella's
Chapter 18 Maya The party moved from the dining room to the lounge, the music swelling into something jazzier, more hedonistic, the kind of music that encourages bad decisions and expensive regrets. I get caught in a conversation with a group of investors, nodding and smiling while my mind is
Chapter 13 Maya The drive to the Commodore takes fifteen minutes. I spend it oscillating between fury and something that feels dangerously like vindication. Jeremy wasn't devoted. He was using me, probably for access to the family, to information. Or maybe he just wanted both Rossi sisters and







