Zara’s POV The silence that followed the gunshots was worse than the noise. It was a thick, suffocating thing that smelled of ionized air, spent copper, and the ancient, disturbed dust of a house that had seen too much death. I stood in the center of Luciano’s study, my breath hitching in a throat that felt like it was lined with glass. My gaze was anchored to the floor, to the jagged splinters of the mahogany door that had once represented my only safety. Now, they were just kindling for the fire Luciano was about to light. "Look at me, Zara." Luciano’s voice didn't just crack the silence; it commanded it. I forced my head up. He was silhouetted against the tall, arched windows, the moonlight catching the silver of his cufflinks and the dark, wet sheen of blood on his knuckles. He looked like a statue carved from obsidian—beautiful, cold, and utterly immovable. "You called me a Moretti," I whispered, my voice sounding like a stranger’s in my own ears. "My name is Zara Vance. I
Last Updated : 2026-04-11 Read more