Chapter 4

"Love and hate burn the same way. One just hurts more."

Lorenzo De Luca sat in the dimly lit safehouse, back pressed against the cool leather of the couch, fingers drumming idly against his thigh. The room reeked of gunpowder and sweat, a suffocating reminder of the ambush they'd barely survived.

Across from him, Valentina Rossi leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, her torn dress a testament to the chaos they'd just escaped. Her lip was swollen—his doing.

His own mouth still tingled from where she had bit him.

Fucking viper.

Despite the hostility crackling between them like an unlit fuse, neither had left. The game wasn't over.

Not yet.

"Someone else is pulling the strings," Valentina finally broke the silence. Her voice was calm, but her dark eyes burned with suspicion. "Dante? Maybe. But he doesn't work in shadows. He's loud. He wants you to know it's him. This?" She gestured toward the bullet-ridden walls, the bodies cooling outside. "This was too precise."

Lorenzo exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're suggesting a third party?"

Her gaze held his, unwavering. "I'm saying someone wants us both dead."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Then they should've aimed better."

Before she could respond, the windows shattered—

Then came the gunfire.

---

"DOWN!" Lorenzo barked, grabbing Valentina and yanking her behind the couch as bullets ripped through the air.

The front door exploded inward.

Men in tactical gear flooded the space—masks, silenced rifles, not the sloppy, brute-force tactics of Dante's crew.

These were professionals.

Valentina moved like a shadow, yanking a knife from her thigh holster and driving it into the throat of the first man who got too close. Blood splattered across her cheek, but she didn't hesitate.

Lorenzo should have been impressed.

Instead, he was furious.

She was supposed to be his enemy, not someone who fought alongside him like they were two halves of the same weapon.

Another attacker lunged—she ducked, twisted, and fired twice into his ribs. She turned back to Lorenzo, breathless.

"We can't stay here!" she hissed.

"No shit, princess," he growled, slamming the butt of his gun into another man's skull. "There's a back exit. Move."

They ran.

Bullets whizzed past them as they tore through the narrow hallways, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.

But just as they burst into the alley—

A black SUV screeched to a halt.

The doors flung open.

And out stepped Dante.

Grinning like he'd just won the fucking lottery.

---

Lorenzo's gun was up in seconds, aimed straight at Dante's smug face.

Valentina matched him, already locking onto Dante's men. But he wasn't alone.

A figure stepped out from the shadows.

A woman.

Tall. Dark hair. Ice-blue eyes. A scar trailing from her jaw down to her throat.

Lorenzo's stomach tightened.

Because he knew exactly who she was.

Isabella Ricci.

The woman who was supposed to be dead.

Valentina's fingers curled tighter around her gun. "Who the hell is she?"

Lorenzo didn't take his eyes off Isabella. "Bad news."

The woman smirked. "Oh, come now, Lorenzo. You wound me."

His grip on the gun didn't falter. "You should be dead."

Isabella took another slow step forward. "So should you. And yet, here we are."

Dante chuckled, lighting a cigarette. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. You and Valentina? A disgrace to your families. Sleeping with the enemy. Fighting side by side. Pathetic."

Lorenzo's jaw flexed. "You talk too much."

Dante exhaled a cloud of smoke. "And you fuck your enemies." His gaze flicked to Valentina. "Tell me, princess—do you scream his name when he's inside you, or do you pretend it's someone else?"

Lorenzo moved first.

The gunshot was deafening.

Dante barely dodged in time, the bullet grazing his arm. His men tensed, ready to attack—

But Isabella lifted a hand.

"Enough." Her voice was steel. "Not here. Not now."

Dante gritted his teeth but obeyed.

Valentina, still aiming her gun, sneered. "Cowards."

Isabella smirked. "And you're predictable."

Then, she leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Enjoy each other while you can."

And just like that, they were gone.

---

Back at Lorenzo's estate, tension crackled like a live wire.

"You knew her." Valentina's voice was sharp as she paced the room. "Who the hell is she?"

Lorenzo didn't answer immediately. He was still gripping his gun, still picturing Isabella's face.

"Someone who was supposed to be dead," he muttered.

Valentina scoffed. "Yeah? Well, clearly, you didn't watch hard enough."

Silence.

Then, finally, he turned, eyes burning with something dark. "Dante was right about one thing."

She arched a brow. "Oh? And what's that?"

His voice was low, dangerous. "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

Valentina smirked, stepping closer—too close. "But you didn't. And you won't."

His fingers twitched. His pulse thundered.

"Why?" she whispered.

He snapped.

One second, she was standing there, taunting him—the next, she was against the wall, his body pressed into hers, his hand tangled in her hair.

"You're a goddamn problem," he growled, lips inches from hers.

Her nails dragged down his chest, teasing, testing. "And you love problems, don't you?"

His lips crashed into hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a war.

A battle of dominance—teeth, tongues, hands gripping too tight, bodies demanding things neither wanted to name.

She moaned against his mouth—

That sound. Fuck.

He lifted her effortlessly, slamming her onto the table, papers and weapons scattering to the floor.

Their world was falling apart.

Their enemies were circling.