Chapter Six: No exit for traitor.

**Amelia's POV**

Looking out into nothing, I was standing at the window where Nico had been earlier.

This one revealed everything, unlike the sealed window in the study room.

Black-clad bodies moved swiftly like shadows across the grounds for guys. Feet thudded against stone. In a language I could not comprehend, voices yelled instructions. Draw weapons. Faces were tough.

Something was rather quite wrong.

My heart beat against my ribs as though it sought release.

Step by step, I retreated away from the glass till my shoulders hit the wall's edge. That video kept flashing in my mind, of how the guy who dropped me here, the one I believed worked for Nico, had been just a stranger with a borrowed face.

Black suit lie.

And I had seated myself next him. Went with him. Counted on him.

Voices murmured, sharp and tense outside the door.

I heard footsteps at that point.

The door then swung open.

Nico stepped in.

He didn't, look at me. Not even once.

He headed right to a drawer, snatched a pistol with a calm jerk, and opened it. The weapon's frigid, clear reloading noise resonated throughout the chamber. He pulled a black knife after adding a second gun to his waistline. His fingers grasped it like a well-known lover.

Planning to bring it back with him, he moved like a man heading into hell.

His suit, his stance, even his quiet struck sharper than bombs.

Few minutes ago, this was not the man who had gently pushed my hair back.

This was the creature they mumbled about.

He turned halfway, his voice like stone. "Shoot if anyone but me or Matteo opens this door." His voice was sharp.

I ate a mouthful. "I... I don't have a gun."

He dipped into the drawer again without a blink and drew out a little gun, then hurled it onto the table beside me.

"Now you do."

He disappeared then.

The steel door behind him slammed shut. The noise reverberated through my bones. I am not even familiar of how to operate a gun.

I stared at the firearm. Though it hovers inches above it, my hand failed to close. I was unable to touch it.

Not currently.

I wasn't prepared for blood.

I was unlike him.

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**Nico's POV**

The east wing was overly calm.

I knew every inch of this house. The way the floor creaked near the third window, the precise pause in the hallway lights, the faint buzz of the security panel hidden behind the art.

But today? The quiet had teeth at present.

This was not a break-in.

It was difficult.

With weapons drawn, Matteo and two of my men quietly escorted me. No comments. No unwanted noises. Exactly the type of silence that only killers knew.

The hallway ahead was covered in darkness. Lights had been gone off. Deliberately.

They did not want to be seen.

I did not wish to waste time.

A sound, a slight tap from the right.

blurred.

I turned and shot. Immediately.

Too slowly. With blade first, he moved like smoke.

The blade flew by my face and snatched air. Landing on the floor

He struck again. Black clothing. Covered face. His eyes. I knew those eyes.

Once he had smiled at me.

at my house.

At my table.

He had arrived to slash my neck today.

I grabbed his wrist in mid-swing and twisted till something broke.

He grumbled and kicked my side a knee.

Though pain blazed, I didn't move.

He returned.

I stood aside this time. Allow him to fall forward only sufficiently to reveal his side.

And then I plunged my knife right into his throat.

His throat snatched his breath, then gurgled out.

Warm blood shot across my hand. Streaking my shirt. He tripped, knelt down, then fell out flat.

Under him the marble turned crimson.

Gun drawn, Matteo came moments later. Boss. "You good?"

I cleaned the knife against the shirt worn by the body. "He's done." I said calmly. Standing on my feet.

Matteo went across. Who is he?

“Dead,” I mumbled.

Matteo swallowed heavily, he said nothing further. He knew better when I sounded like this. But something felt wrong.

This had been far too easy.

Too clean. Too smooth.

In the underworld, when something is far too easy, it’s never considered a win. It's a message.

I knelt next to the body and flipped over the jacket.

Then I located it.

A folded note, blood-stained.

Bold red ink slashed across it:

"You're always one step behind, Nico.

She is already mine.

My fingers curled over the paper.

This had not been an hit.

It had diverted attention. A distraction.

They were not here for me.

They had come for her.

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**Amelia's POV*"

Minutes turned like hours.

The stillness was maddening. Like it may bite me, I stared at the gun on the table. Questions and fear wreaked havoc on my mind.

Then, I heard footsteps.

Heavy. Rushed and direct.

I backed toward the desk.

No password. No alerts.

Simply desperation.

The door shot open.

Nico came it.

His chest rose and descended as if a storm was contained inside him. His shirt was splashed like furious artwork and drenched in blood. His eyes were wild, cold, and calculating.

Not with anger.

Nor force.

But Panic.

I asked, my voice quiet and broken, what happened?

He marched forward and snatched my shoulders, his grasp firm, nearly bruising. Running his eyes as if to check if I was fine.

“You didn't tell anyone else about that folder, correct?” His voice was tight, low and hurried.

"N-No. Only you. Why?" I could hardly follow. "What's going on?"

He let me go, turned, and pulled something from his coat.

A remark.

He let it at my feet.

I bowed down and picked it.

The ink scorched my eyes.

"She is now mine."

My blood chilled.

"What does this mean?" I whispered, my heart beating fast.

Nico's jaw moved, his voice was like faraway thunder. "They weren't trying to infiltrate my house."

Then what? I muttered hurriedly.

They're after you.

The room felt colder.

I was suddenly no longer in a safe house.

I was in the middle of a conflict.

Nico turned to face his men and bellowed, Double the guards. Lock down every exit. No one without an authorization makes it through. You see a shadow. put a f**king bullet in it.

He then looked at me.

His tone sank low. Brutal. At last.

Not without passing me first, "No one touch what belongs to me."

My heart thumped quickly against my body. And for the first time since I came, a part of me believed him.

I was not certain if I should be afraid. Or grateful.