Chapter 1The bullet was meant for me—and Dante loaded the gun himself.
I was still wearing his ring when I found the kill order, my name written in his handwriting, tucked inside the jacket he'd draped over my shoulders just hours before.
Three hours earlier, I'd been in his bed. His mouth on my throat, his hands gripping my waist like I was the only thing keeping him alive. "You're mine, Valentina," he'd growled against my skin. "Say it."
And I had. God help me, I had.
Now I stood in his private study at the Moretti compound, the paper trembling in my fingers, reading the words that made my blood turn to ice: Valentina Serrano. Eliminate before the merger. Non-negotiable.
The date was tomorrow.
My legs nearly buckled. I pressed my back against the mahogany bookshelf, forcing myself to breathe. The compound was silent at this hour—3 AM—the guards on rotation, the family asleep in their wing. I'd only come to the study to leave a surprise note on his desk, something foolish and romantic, because that's who I was. A fool.
Dante Moretti, heir to the most powerful crime family on the Eastern Seaboard, the man who'd pursued me relentlessly for two years, who showed up at my restaurant every single night until I agreed to one dinner, who told me I was the only woman who ever made him want to be something other than a monster—he had ordered my death.
My mind scrambled to make it make sense. Maybe it was old. Maybe it was about a different Valentina. But the date was fresh, the ink still sharp, and beneath my name was a detail that shattered every excuse: She knows nothing. Keep it clean. No suffering—I owe her that much.
He owed me that much.
A sound—footsteps in the corridor. I shoved the paper back inside the jacket, my heart slamming so hard I could hear it in my skull. The door handle turned.
"Val?"
Dante stood in the doorway, shirtless, his dark hair mussed from sleep, concern softening those brutal features. He looked like a man who'd woken up and found his woman missing from bed. He looked like a man in love.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice low and warm, the same voice that had whispered promises against my lips.
I forced a smile. "Couldn't sleep."
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me against his chest, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Come back to bed. You're cold."
I was shaking, and he thought it was the temperature.
"Dante," I whispered into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—cedar, smoke, something dark and expensive. "Do you love me?"
His arms tightened. "What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer me."
He pulled back, tilting my chin up, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that once made me feel like the most important person in the world. "You know I do," he said. "More than anything."
More than anything—but not more than the family.
I let him lead me back to bed. I let him hold me. I lay in the dark with his arm draped over my waist, listening to his breathing slow into sleep, and I planned my escape.
Because the girl who loved Dante Moretti died the moment she read that paper. The woman who replaced her was going to survive.
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Chapter 2
I was out of the compound by dawn.
I left everything—the clothes he'd bought me, the jewelry, the phone he tracked. I took only my passport, the emergency cash I kept hidden inside a tampon box (the one place no Moretti soldier would ever search), and the kill order itself. Proof. Insurance. A reminder.
My hands were steady as I drove my old Honda—the one Dante always mocked, the one I'd refused to trade for the Mercedes he offered—straight to the only person in the world I trusted.
My older sister, Sofia.
She opened the door of her Brooklyn apartment in a bathrobe, took one look at my face, and pulled me inside without a word. That was Sofia. She never needed explanations before action.
"How long do I have before he comes looking?" she asked, already moving to the kitchen, filling a bag with essentials.
"A few hours. Maybe less." My voice sounded foreign to me—flat, mechanical. "He'll wake up, find me gone, and send Marco first."
Marco Vitelli, Dante's right hand. The man who smiled at me over Sunday dinners and who, according to that paper, had been assigned as my executioner.
"Jesus Christ, Val." Sofia's hands stalled. "Marco? That snake sat at my Thanksgiving table."
"They all did."
Sofia grabbed my shoulders. "Tell me everything."
So I did. Not just the kill order—everything. The two years of Dante's pursuit, the whirlwind of it, how he'd made me feel chosen, protected, seen. How his mother, Donna Moretti, had welcomed me into the family with open arms and home-cooked meals. How I'd fallen so completely that I'd ignored every red flag—the late-night disappearances, the locked rooms, the conversations that stopped whenever I entered.
"I thought he was protecting me from the ugly parts of his world," I said, my voice cracking for the first time. "Turns out I was the ugly part."
"Do you know why?" Sofia asked.
"The merger." I rubbed my temples. "The Morettis are merging with the Castellano family. I heard Dante mention it weeks ago—said it would make them untouchable. But he never told me the details."
"And you think you're the price?"
"My name is on a kill order, Sofia. I don't need to think anything."
She was quiet for a moment, then: "The Castellanos have a daughter. Bianca."
The name hit me like a slap. I'd seen her once—at a gala Dante had taken me to. Tall, raven-haired, draped in Valentino, with the kind of cold beauty that looked like it had been carved from marble. She'd watched Dante all night with proprietary eyes, and when I'd asked about her, he'd laughed it off. "She's nobody, baby. Old family politics."
"He's marrying her," I said. It wasn't a question.
Sofia nodded slowly. "That's how these mergers work. Blood ties. And if he's engaged to Bianca Castellano—"
"Then the girlfriend who knows his face, his habits, his home—she's a liability."
The word tasted like poison.
"We need to get you out of the country," Sofia said.
"I have a plan." I pulled out my passport. "Professor Ashworth at Columbia offered me a research position in London last year. I turned it down because Dante said he needed me close."
Sofia's expression darkened. "Of course he did."
"I'm going to email Ashworth today. If the position's still open, I'm on a plane by Friday."
"And if Dante finds you before Friday?"
I reached into my bag and unfolded the kill order, smoothing it flat on the kitchen table. "Then I make sure every federal agent, every journalist, and every rival family gets a copy of this. His handwriting. His order. Let's see how the great Dante Moretti explains that to his new in-laws."
Sofia stared at me, and for the first time that morning, she almost smiled. "There she is," she said. "Welcome back, little sister."
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Chapter 3
By noon, Dante had called eleven times. Not my phone—that was at the bottom of the East River. He called Sofia, my mother, my restaurant, even my college roommate Priya, who hadn't spoken to me in months.
Sofia played dumb. "Haven't heard from her. Maybe she went on a spa day?"
My mother, who knew nothing about Dante's real life and thought he was a "successful import-export businessman," was confused but unhelpful. "She didn't tell me anything. Is everything okay?"
By 2 PM, Marco showed up at Sofia's door.
I was hidden in the bedroom, ear pressed against the wall, barely breathing. Through the thin plaster, I heard every word.
"Sofia, hey." Marco's voice was casual, friendly—the same tone he used when he brought cannoli to family barbecues. "Dante's worried about Val. She left early this morning, no note, phone's off. You know how she gets when she's upset."
"I don't, actually," Sofia replied coolly. "Valentina doesn't get upset. She gets quiet. There's a difference."
"Right, right." A pause. "So you haven't seen her?"
"If I had, I'd tell her to call her boyfriend. But I haven't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a client call in ten minutes."
Sofia was a corporate attorney. She could out-stare a sociopath and had, on multiple occasions.
Marco lingered. "Look, between us—Dante's not in a good place. He really cares about her. If she's somewhere safe, just let us know. No drama."
No drama. The man assigned to put a bullet in me was promising no drama.
After he left, Sofia locked every bolt on the door and came to find me. "He bought it," she said. "For now."
"He'll be back."
"Then we move faster."
Professor Ashworth responded to my email within the hour. The position was still available—a two-year research fellowship at King's College London, starting September. He remembered my thesis on forensic accounting and said I was his first choice.
I almost laughed. Forensic accounting. The skill set that had made me attractive to Dante in the first place—"My girl's so smart, she could audit the Vatican"—was now my ticket out.
Sofia booked me a flight to London for Thursday under her married name. She'd kept her ex-husband's surname specifically for situations like this, she joked, though neither of us laughed.
Wednesday night, I sat on Sofia's couch, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My mind kept circling back to the same questions. When did he decide? Was it before or after he told me he loved me? Was any of it real?
The worst part—the part that made me physically sick—was remembering the night before I found the order. The way he'd held my face in his hands, looked straight into my eyes, and said, "When this is all over, I'm taking you to Italy. Just us. I want to show you where my family comes from."
He was planning my death and my vacation in the same breath.
My phone—the burner Sofia had bought me—buzzed with a message from an unknown number. I don't know what happened, but I know you're scared. Don't go back to him. -Rome
Rome. Dante's younger cousin, the only Moretti who'd ever treated me like a person rather than a possession. He must have figured out something was wrong. I typed back: I'm safe. Don't tell anyone.
His reply was instant: Never. Be careful, Val. The family meeting is Friday. After that, everything changes.
I didn't ask what he meant. I already knew. Friday was when they'd discover I was gone for good. Friday was when the hunt would begin.
My flight was Thursday at 6 AM.
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