Ana woke to the weight of Hayden's arm slung over her waist and the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke still clinging to the sheets. The Roman morning light poured in through the tall windows, painting gold across his bare chest, across the bruises he didn't try to hide.
His breath was steady, deep, almost peaceful.
But she knew better.
Nothing about Hayden Moretti was peaceful. Not even when he slept.
Last night had been a storm—rage, passion, confession, hunger. His mouth, his hands, his voice in her ear—it was more than sex. It was a surrender. One he hadn't allowed himself before. One she'd never expected.
Ana ran her fingers gently across his ribs. He stirred.
"Staring at me, Mrs. Moretti?" he murmured, voice thick with sleep and seduction.
She swallowed the rush of heat rising through her body. "Just trying to figure you out."
"You won't," he said, opening his eyes slowly. "But you're welcome to keep trying."
He rolled onto his side and pulled her closer, pressing her into him until she could feel everything—his warmth, his strength, his need. She gasped softly as he grazed his lips along her shoulder, teeth catching lightly at her skin.
"You bruise so easily," he whispered, eyes tracing the marks he'd left the night before. "I like it."
Ana's breath hitched as his fingers dragged slowly down her thigh, deliberately, lazily. "You're insatiable."
He smirked. "Only for you."
Just as his mouth found hers again, the shrill buzz of his phone on the nightstand shattered the moment.
Hayden's expression darkened instantly.
He reached over her to grab it, eyes scanning the message with growing tension in his jaw. His body turned to stone.
Ana sat up. "What is it?"
Hayden didn't answer at first. He threw back the covers, grabbing his discarded pants and slipping them on with practiced speed.
"Hayden," she said again, sharper this time. "Talk to me."
He turned to her. "There's a bounty on your head."
Ana froze.
"What?"
"Anonymous contract. Someone wants you dead for betraying your father. Half a million euros. Open target."
Ana's chest tightened. "He knows. He knows what I did."
Hayden's eyes blazed. "No. He suspects. And now that you've made it public, the entire network he built is scrambling. Some of them want to impress him. Some want revenge."
He crossed to the closet, pulled out a matte black gun case, and unlocked it. Ana watched as he checked the weapon inside like he'd done it a thousand times—and he had.
"You think they'll come here?" she asked quietly.
"They'll try," Hayden said. "But they won't get close."
She stood, wrapping a silk robe around her. "You can't control every variable, Hayden."
He stepped forward in three fast strides, crowding her against the glass. His hand gripped her chin, not hard, but firm.
"I can control this," he said, voice low. "You. Me. This place. No one will touch you. I swear it."
There was that edge again—the one that walked the line between obsession and love. It thrilled her and terrified her at once.
"Hayden—"
He kissed her.
But this kiss wasn't gentle. It was full of desperation. Possession. A demand for her to believe him.
He lifted her up onto the window ledge, parting the robe with slow, claiming hands. His breath was harsh against her throat. She shivered.
"This body," he said, dragging his mouth down her collarbone, "belongs to me now."
Ana's pulse roared in her ears. She didn't fight it. Didn't want to.
"You want control because you're scared," she whispered against his mouth.
"I want control because it's the only thing keeping me sane," he answered.
Their mouths met again, and this time it wasn't just hunger—it was war. Every kiss a confession, every touch a battle. Hayden's hands on her thighs, her nails in his back, the silk robe slipping away like a secret.
He needed to feel her. To anchor himself in her.
Because outside these walls, chaos was building.
When they came back to their senses, Ana rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
"How long do we have?" she asked quietly.
"Not long," he said.
"Then let's make it count."
Hayden stared at her. The fire in her eyes. The quiet strength.
She wasn't the scared girl he once watched through a camera lens. She was standing beside him now—bloody, bruised, marked—and still here.
Still his.
He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Then stay close. And listen to everything I say."
Ana met his gaze. "Only if you promise to stop treating me like something that might break."
He smirked. "You already broke, Ana."
Then he kissed her again.
And for a moment, there was no war. No death threats. No betrayal.
Just the ghost of something dangerous becoming something that might—might—turn into love.