Heartbeat in the Crossfire

AMARA

After a long, restless bus ride to the city, I finally find out where Moretti's new headquarters are. It wasn't easy, especially since I couldn't risk using any of my old contacts. But I have the address now. I know where the bastard is.

A nightclub called Devil's Dungeon.Not exactly subtle, but Dante Moretti was never the type to hide in the shadows. He's always thrived in the spotlight, because men like him think they're untouchable.

I fit right in with the crowd: slip dress, four-inch heels, and a cute little bag with my pistol tucked inside. My hair's still brown from the last time I dyed it months ago. With any luck, no one will recognize me on the street. But I'm not counting on luck. Not tonight.

Waiting in line outside is the most agonizing ten minutes of my life. Every nerve in my body screams. Every instinct is on high alert.

When it's finally my turn, I walk up to the bouncer. Tall, built, and definitely one of Moretti's. He sweeps his gaze over me, all business. Then, with a curt nod, he waves me through.

I exhale silently. Good call on the dress.

The club is a blur of bodies, strobe lights, and pounding bass. But I'm not here to party. I'm here for blood.

I scan the room carefully, my eyes locking on the guarded door behind the bar. One man stands directly in front of it. Others, scattered through the crowd, pretend to blend in, but I know better. They're his men. Trained. Armed.

I make my way to the bar, order a drink, and sit, keeping my body language relaxed even though my heart is hammering. I need time. Time to count bodies, exits, weapons.

A man slides onto the stool next to me. He leans in, flashing a too-easy smile. "Hello there."

I barely glance at him. "No," I say flatly, lifting my glass to my lips.

He blinks. "Okay," he murmurs, backing off without a fight.

I don't have time for men. Not for small talk. Not for distractions. My focus is razor-sharp. After this drink, I'm making my move.

Lorenzo.That name is the only thing keeping me standing right now.

I finish my drink, slide cash across the bar, and rise to my feet. I've clocked at least four of Moretti's men near that door. It doesn't matter. Nothing's stopping me.

I walk up calmly, one hand buried in my bag, fingers wrapped around cold steel.

The man guarding the door watches me approach, eyes sliding over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"This is where you stop, little lady," he says, voice low but hard.

I meet his gaze without flinching. "I'm here for Moretti."

Instant tension. His hand shifts to his gun. His men close in, subtle but deliberate. Guns appear, drawn just low enough not to attract attention in the chaos of the music and lights.

I could die right here.I'm aware of it.I don't care.

"Who the hell are you?" he growls.

I let the name fall from my lips, cold as ice. "Amara Valenti."

The recognition hits him instantly—widened eyes, a flicker of disbelief, then something like respect.

"We knew you weren't dead," he mutters.

"Good for you," I snap, rolling my eyes.

Without taking his eyes off me, he jerks his chin toward one of his men. "Tell the boss the past just walked in."

#

The club's pulse fades behind me with every step into the room. It looked smaller from the outside. In here, the air is thick: cologne, leather, and danger.

The space hums with quiet power. Dark walls. Polished floors. A decanter of amber liquid gleaming on a side table. And there...behind a desk that's more throne than furniture...Dante Moretti.

Unbothered. Unrushed. Eyes like cold metal dragging over me, slow and precise. He doesn't stand. Doesn't speak. Just watches, like he's been expecting me all along.

For the first time in three years, the old life wraps its claws around my throat.

"Didn't think I'd ever see your face again, Valenti," he says smoothly, voice like ice over steel.

I stop in front of the desk. "Didn't think I'd need to come back."

He leans back, deadly calm. "I'm guessing this isn't a social visit."

I pull the photo from my purse, holding it up. My fingers tremble, but I steady them. "You know why I'm here."

His gaze flickers to the photo for half a second—blank, unreadable. "Enlighten me."

"My brother, Moretti." The words slice out of me. "Your name. The city's filth. You thought I wouldn't trace it back to you?"

His eyes narrow, lips twitching into something cold. "Careful," he murmurs. "You're standing at the edge of something you don't understand."

I plant a hand on the desk, lean forward. "Oh, I understand plenty. Betrayal. Blood. How you stood by while my family burned."

The anger in my voice shocks even me. It's old. Deep. Rotting beneath the surface for three years.

His head tilts slightly. "You have no idea what really happened."

"Then tell me," I snap. "Right now. Tell me why the man who destroyed everything I loved still walks free while my brother's gone."

He studies me in silence. The weight of it crushes the breath from my chest. Finally, he speaks. "I didn't take your brother. And I didn't pull the trigger on your family." He pauses. "But you're right about one thing. I'm not innocent."

Of course he's not. Men like Dante Moretti don't have clean hands. The question is: how dirty are they?

"Did you have anything to do with Lorenzo's disappearance?" I demand.

He shifts slightly. "If I wanted your brother dead, Amara, he wouldn't have lived long enough to disappear."

"Then how do you explain this?" I snap, tossing the photo onto the desk.

He lifts it casually, like none of this touches him. When he reads the writing on the back, something faint, too faint, flickers in his expression. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"It's no secret I have enemies," he says. "Of course they'd plot to turn you against me."

My jaw tightens. "I've never been with you."

"Of course not," he agrees smoothly. "But the last of the Valenti line at war with me? That's a headline worth gold."

His voice drops an octave. Amused. Dangerous. "You're brave walking in here alone. Most would call it a death wish."

"I'm not most."

He actually smiles—barely. "No. You're not. That bravery could be useful to me."

I blink. "What?"

He tosses the photo back down. "I'm offering you protection. Information. A way to find your brother."

I freeze. "And the price?"

A dark glint sparks in his eyes. "I need someone I can trust on the inside. Someone smart. Unpredictable. And if the last three years have proven anything, it's that you're exactly that."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Trust? From the man who builds his empire on lies?"

He shrugs. "You don't have to trust me. Just work with me."

"And if I say no?"

His voice drops lower, lethal. "Then I can't guarantee you'll live long enough to ask again."

The words hit hard. He's right. The second word gets out that I'm alive, every enemy we've ever made will be hunting me.

But am I really about to place my life in Dante Moretti's hands?

I swallow. "I want the truth," I whisper. "About Lorenzo. About my family."

He nods slightly, opening his mouth to speak—but before a single word escapes, the door bursts open.

A man dressed head to toe in black storms in, breathless. "Boss. We've got a problem." He holds something small in his gloved hands. "Someone just dropped this off. For her."

The blood drains from my face.

Moretti's expression sharpens, cold fury flickering in his eyes as the man steps closer. I see it then. The box. Small. Black. There's a symbol etched into the lid. I don't recognize it, but something deep in my bones says I should.

"What is it?" Moretti asks, voice flat and lethal.

The man offers it to me. I take it with trembling hands, breath shuddering in my chest. The weight of it feels unbearable.

I open the box.

Inside is Lorenzo's watch.Still ticking.Covered in dried blood.

My breath punches from my lungs. My knees buckle slightly. I turn to Moretti—and he's already watching me. Eyes colder than ice, but something flickers there. Something almost protective.

The words barely leave me. "They know I'm here."