The jet sliced through the clouds like a blade, smooth and silent. Below, the Mediterranean shimmered like obsidian glass—beautiful, endless, and deceptive. Just like everything in Hayden Moretti's world.
Ana sat by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight.
She hadn't said much since takeoff.
Hayden hadn't pushed her. But he was watching her—every flicker of emotion, every nervous glance at the file in her lap. He knew that look. It was the face of someone bracing for war but already bleeding inside.
"We land in twenty minutes," he said.
Ana didn't look at him. "What are we expecting?"
Hayden leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The island's registered under a shell company out of Panama. My father's men use it for meetings too dirty to happen on European soil. No phones. No satellites. Just guards and secrets."
"And we're walking into that."
"No," he said. "We're breaking in."
Ana finally turned. "So we're uninvited?"
A ghost of a smirk. "Very."
She let out a bitter breath. "Perfect."
Hayden handed her a small velvet box.
Ana stared at it. "What's this?"
"Open it."
Inside was a delicate earpiece, nearly invisible, and a slim glass vial no longer than her pinky.
"What's this for?" she asked, eyeing the vial suspiciously.
"Liquid transmitter. Swallow it before we land. If we get separated, I'll still be able to track you."
Ana raised a brow. "Romantic."
Hayden's expression was dead serious. "Necessary."
She didn't argue. Just uncorked the vial and downed it like poison.
---
By nightfall, they reached the island.
It was a jagged strip of rock and jungle rising out of the sea—untouched by time, save for the sprawling mansion built at its center. The estate sat like a throne, lit from within like a serpent's den.
Two guards patrolled the dock. Ana crouched behind a crate while Hayden disabled them with eerie efficiency—one chokehold, one silenced shot. No hesitation.
She knew she should've been afraid.
But all she felt was adrenaline.
They moved through the jungle fast, low to the ground. Hayden led, cutting through vines and silence like he'd done this a hundred times.
He stopped at the base of a hill and crouched.
"There," he said. "Secondary entrance. Service tunnel."
The grate was old and rusted, half-covered in moss.
Ana looked at him. "You sure?"
"Always."
They crawled in.
The tunnel was tight, damp, and reeking of mold and gasoline. Rats scurried in the darkness. The deeper they went, the warmer it got—until it opened into a chamber of concrete and wire. A maintenance wing. Unused.
They emerged into the main corridors slowly.
Ana's heart pounded. Her skin was slick with sweat. She could hear the murmur of voices above them, echoing off marble.
"We're close," Hayden whispered.
They slipped into a side hallway, through a utility door, and up a narrow servant's staircase. Everything about the house was silent—but *watchful*, like it was breathing.
Then Ana froze.
Voices.
Louder now.
She pressed against the wall, pulling Hayden back with her.
Footsteps approached. Two men in suits turned the corner, laughing. One held a cigar. The other carried a silver briefcase.
Ana's hand found Hayden's. He held it tight.
Then he pressed his mouth close to her ear.
"Go with me," he whispered.
She turned toward him—only to feel his lips crush against hers.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't gentle.
It was war.
The kiss was a cover. A distraction.
But also something else.
His hand curled around her waist, pushing her back into the shadows. Her breath caught. Their bodies pressed together like a secret being whispered into the dark.
The men passed without noticing.
But neither of them pulled away.
Even after the footsteps faded.
Finally, Ana opened her eyes.
"What the hell was that?" she breathed.
Hayden's voice was low, rough. "We needed a cover."
"You didn't have to use *tongue*."
He smiled—just slightly. "You're welcome."
She shoved him off, cheeks flushed. "You're impossible."
But her heart hadn't stopped racing. Not from the danger. From *him*.
---
They reached the surveillance room ten minutes later.
Hayden neutralized the tech quietly. Ana took over the monitors.
What she saw nearly made her gasp.
One of the live feeds showed her father—older now, lined with power and secrets—sitting across from Enzo Moretti. They were drinking scotch and smiling like the world wasn't burning outside.
"They're still working together," Ana whispered.
Hayden nodded grimly. "The war was staged. A blood feud built on profit."
Ana felt sick. "They turned your mother into a martyr. And me into bait."
"Not anymore."
He touched her shoulder. This time, it wasn't a distraction. It was real.
Ana turned to him. "What now?"
"We get proof," Hayden said. "And then we burn them both."