The sky over Milan brooded with thick clouds, gray as the pasts both Adonis and Juliet tried to bury. Rain hadn't fallen yet, but the city felt like it was holding its breath, just like Juliet as she paced the dimly lit hallway of Adonis' penthouse.
The door clicked behind her, and she spun, tense.
Adonis stepped in, drenched from the outside, a sleek black coat clinging to his broad shoulders. Drops of water slid from his hair to his jawline. He looked like a storm personified—silent, intense, deadly.
Juliet froze. The scent of gunpowder and blood clung faintly to him. Her detective instincts screamed, but something deeper—something raw and dangerous—compelled her to look closer.
"You went after them, didn't you?" she asked, her voice low.
Adonis pulled off his coat, tossing it onto a chair, not meeting her eyes. "They came too close. I had to send a message."
"You mean a massacre," she muttered.
He turned then, eyes locking onto hers. "Sometimes that's the only language these men understand."
Juliet folded her arms, trying to ground herself. "I understand justice. I don't understand vengeance."
Adonis walked slowly toward her, each step deliberate. "Then maybe you don't understand what it takes to survive in this world, Moretti."
"That's not fair—"
He was inches from her now. "Neither was ten years in prison for something I didn't do."
The words hung between them like smoke. Juliet's breath caught. She'd studied criminals her whole life, interrogated men who killed without blinking—but nothing unnerved her more than the way Adonis' pain seeped through his calm façade.
"I don't want to lose you to this darkness," she said quietly.
Adonis blinked, startled by the softness in her tone. "You can't lose what you never had."
That stung more than she expected.
She looked away, not ready to admit he was already inside her heart—like a bullet lodged too deep to remove.
Before either of them could speak again, Juliet's phone buzzed.
A message from Antonio:
"Giovanni's men hit another warehouse. Two guards dead. Looks like they were looking for something."
Juliet's pulse quickened. "We have a problem."
Adonis read over her shoulder. His jaw tightened. "He's searching for the ledger."
"The one your father kept?" she asked.
Adonis nodded. "Giorgio believes it holds the names of every mafia transaction for the past twenty years. If he finds it before we do…"
"He consolidates power," Juliet finished.
For the first time, they were aligned—not just in motive, but in urgency.
Meanwhile, across Milan — Giorgio Giovanni's private estate.
A black-gloved hand snapped shut a silver lighter. The flicker of flame lit Giorgio's face briefly as he lit his cigar. His office reeked of power and smoke, lined with gold-framed portraits and shelves of antique books. But Giorgio wasn't admiring literature. His eyes were fixed on a CCTV monitor.
Onscreen was Juliet.
He studied her every move from a hidden camera planted during a recent search of Adonis' home.
"She's the key," Giorgio murmured.
A shadow shifted behind him. His consigliere spoke. "You still think she'll lead De Luca into exposing the location?"
Giorgio exhaled smoke slowly. "Not think—know. He's already unraveling. And she's the thread."
He leaned forward, tapping ashes into a crystal tray. "But if she proves too loyal… remove her."
Back at the penthouse, Adonis handed Juliet a towel. She took it, drying her hair from the damp breeze wafting in through the open balcony. The cold didn't bother her. But Adonis' silence did.
She glanced at him. "You're hiding something."
"I've told you everything," he replied, too quickly.
She stepped closer, searching his face. "No. You've told me what I need to know. But not what I deserve to know."
Adonis hesitated. The truth was a blade. But Juliet had earned it.
"My father didn't just send me to prison for a trade deal," he said slowly. "He sold me off like property to Giorgio for leverage. And in return, Giorgio promised to keep the Morettis… quiet."
Juliet's eyes widened.
"You're saying—"
Adonis nodded grimly. "The deal that sent me to prison… included the hit on your parents."
The room spun. Juliet gripped the counter to steady herself. Rage and grief clashed inside her like a storm.
And still… she looked at him.
"You knew this whole time?" she whispered.
"I suspected. I didn't have proof—until now."
Juliet's breath trembled. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Adonis stepped closer, pain etched in his face. "Because I knew what it would do to you. And I couldn't bear to watch you break."
Her eyes glistened. "I'm not the one who's breaking."
Silence.
Then, in the faint hum of the Milan night, Juliet reached out, her fingers grazing the scar on his knuckle. A small gesture—but one that screamed louder than any words.
"You don't get to choose what breaks me," she whispered.
Adonis said nothing. He just stood there, letting her touch speak volumes.
Outside, the city shivered.
Inside, two hearts shattered together.