The rain had stopped.
Rome lay beneath them, soaked and silent, its cobbled streets glistening like spilled ink. The storm had passed, but its weight still lingered in the air, thick and slow like honey. In Hayden's penthouse, everything was still.
Ana stood at the edge of the balcony wrapped in one of his silk robes, the deep emerald green clinging to her damp skin. Her blonde hair was tangled from sleep, her eyes distant. From here, she could see the ruins of old churches, the dome of the cathedral, the rooftops soaked with memory.
He watched her from inside, leaning against the doorframe shirtless, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled around him like shadows.
"You haven't said much since we got back," he said finally.
Ana turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "There's not much to say when you shoot your own father."
"You did what I couldn't," he said, walking toward her. "You ended it. You saved me from myself."
She met his eyes. "But who saves *me*, Hayden?"
The question hung between them like a blade.
Hayden reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek. "I do. If you'll let me."
Ana let herself lean into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, she was just a woman—bare, grieving, and desperately trying to breathe.
"I hate that I still love you after everything," she whispered. "I hate that you lied. Manipulated me. Used me."
"I know," he murmured. "And I hate what I became just to feel close to her memory. But this... what we have now\... it's not part of the plan anymore. It's real."
She looked up at him, something raw rising in her throat. "Then show me."
He dropped the cigarette into a nearby ashtray, stepped forward, and kissed her.
It wasn't like before.
This time, there was no rage. No control. No calculated seduction.
This was surrender.
Hayden's hands moved with reverence—fingers tracing the shape of her back, the curve of her waist. Ana melted into him, clutching the silk robe tighter until he slipped it from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, leaving her bare and vulnerable under the dawn light.
He kissed her again, slower now, tasting every part of her lips like he needed them to breathe. His hands ran over her hips, cupping the softness of her thighs, pulling her against him. She gasped as he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside without breaking the kiss.
He laid her gently on the bed, his mouth trailing along her collarbone, down to the rise of her breasts. She arched beneath him, her fingers digging into his back as her breathing quickened.
"Hayden…"
Her voice was a moan—a plea and a curse all at once.
He looked up at her. "Say it again."
She whispered his name like a prayer, and it shattered something inside him. He'd been touched by violence, raised by wolves, made of ice and vengeance. But with her, he felt human.
Alive.
He kissed his way down her stomach, slow and aching, his breath warm against her skin. She writhed beneath him, clutching the sheets, her legs parting in instinctive welcome. His mouth found the place that made her tremble, and he stayed there—learning every gasp, every broken whisper, every desperate pull of his name from her lips.
She came undone in waves, crying out, her body arching off the bed as she clung to him like an anchor in a storm.
When he moved back up her body, she pulled him down for another kiss—hot, messy, open-mouthed. Her fingers worked at the belt of his pants, urgent, needy. He let her undress him, let her take control for the first time.
She pushed him back on the bed, straddling him. The vulnerability in her eyes was gone now—replaced by fire.
"If this is the end of who we used to be," she said breathlessly, "then I want to remember it like this. With you. All of you."
He sat up, kissed her fiercely, and slid inside her in one deep, slow motion.
She cried out, nails raking down his back, their bodies moving in rhythm—raw and desperate, the last remnants of pain melting into passion. They rocked together in silence, save for the sounds of skin against skin, the ragged breathing, the broken whispers of *I need you*, *don't stop*, *I'm yours.*
Time ceased to exist.
There was only them.
And when it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, her head resting on his chest, their legs entwined.
For the first time, Hayden didn't feel the weight of the past on his shoulders.
Only her heartbeat.
Only her breath.
Only this.
---
Later that afternoon, sunlight spilled into the room, catching dust motes in golden halos. Ana lay on her side, tracing invisible lines across Hayden's bare chest. He watched her quietly, memorizing every touch.
"You know what comes next," she said softly.
Hayden nodded. "The family will retaliate. My father's old allies... they'll want answers. Blood, probably."
"Will you run?"
He shook his head. "No. I'll face it. For her. For us."
Ana met his eyes. "Then I stay too."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." Her voice didn't waver. "You burned down my past. The least I can do is help you build a future."
Hayden cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb across her lips. "I don't deserve you."
"No," she said with a soft smile. "You *don't*. But I'm still here."
And that, more than any confession or vow, was what broke him.
Not with tears.
But with peace.
Because in all the fire, in all the chaos, in all the blood he had spilled to avenge his mother—this was the only thing that felt *right.*