The rain fell like punishment.
Cold. Relentless.
Each drop hissed against the window of the Queens apartment, blurring the world outside into streaks of silver. The storm had swallowed the city whole, and inside, the small room felt even smaller — a trap disguised as shelter.
Elena's pulse thundered in her throat.
Rafael Moretti stood before her, the kind of calm that was far more terrifying than rage. His presence filled the space — elegant, deliberate, predatory. He took his time peeling off his black gloves, one finger at a time, like a man unwrapping a secret he already owned.
"You look disappointed," he said, his voice smooth as poison. "Were you expecting my brother?"
She swallowed hard. "Where is he?"
Rafael smiled faintly, setting his gloves on the counter. "On his way, I imagine. He's very predictable when it comes to you."
Her heart twisted — fear and fury bleeding into each other. "If you hurt him—"
He laughed, soft and cruel. "Hurt him? No, no. I just want him to feel what it's like to lose something he can't control."
He stepped closer, and she could smell smoke beneath the rain — that same faint, dangerous scent that clung to all the Morettis.
Elena backed up until the edge of the table pressed into her spine.
Rafael tilted his head, studying her like an artist studying a fragile piece of glass. "He's changed since you," he murmured. "Colder. Reckless. Almost human."
"I'm not your weapon," she said.
He smiled. "Aren't you? You're already doing my work for me, Elena. You're hollowing him out from the inside."
His words cut deep because some part of her believed it.
Lorenzo had changed. The ruthless, untouchable don who once ruled through fear now bled for her.
And in this world, that was a death sentence.
Rafael leaned closer, his breath ghosting against her ear. "Do you know why I hate my brother?"
She didn't move. Couldn't.
"Because he took everything that should've been mine."
He stepped back, eyes sharp and burning. "Our father left the empire to him. The men, the money, the power. But I was the one willing to burn for it. Lorenzo builds cages; I build fire."
Elena's voice was barely a whisper. "Fire destroys."
"Exactly," Rafael said softly. "And that's the only language this family understands."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph — old, folded, creased.
Her.
Taken from afar, weeks ago. Her at the university courtyard, laughing, sunlight in her hair. A moment she thought no one had seen.
Elena's chest tightened. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Long enough to see why he broke his own rules."
He slid the photo onto the table between them. "I can see why, too."
The way he said it — low, dangerous — made her stomach twist.
"You're trying to scare me," she said.
"No." He smiled. "I'm trying to make you understand that in this world, beauty is currency. And you're about to become the most expensive thing he's ever owned."
Her voice trembled. "He doesn't own me."
Rafael's smile turned sharp. "Then why are you still here, little bird?"
Across the city, Lorenzo's car tore through the rain.
The wipers barely kept up. The engine growled as he pushed harder, faster, every muscle in his body wired with one single thought: her.
The address burned in his memory.
Rafael had left it for him on purpose. A taunt. A trail of blood meant to draw him in.
He was following it anyway.
The radio crackled — Matteo's voice. "Boss, the team's two minutes behind you. Wait for us before you move in."
"No," Lorenzo said flatly. "He'll kill her if he knows I brought backup."
"Then you'll walk into a trap."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. "I've lived in traps my whole life."
He hung up.
The gun on the passenger seat gleamed in the dim light. He reached for it, checking the chamber — one bullet for Rafael. One for himself, if it came to that.
The rain hit harder, like the city was warning him to turn back.
But Lorenzo Moretti didn't turn back. Not for blood. Not for mercy.
Not even for love.
Inside the apartment, Rafael poured two glasses of whiskey — the same brand Lorenzo favored.
He held one out. "To choices."
Elena didn't take it. "I'm not drinking with you."
"Fair," he said, setting it down. "You prefer my brother's taste, don't you?"
Her pulse spiked. "You don't know him."
"Oh, I know him better than you think." His smile darkened. "I know what he does when he's angry. When he's afraid. When he's in love."
Her throat tightened. "He doesn't love me."
Rafael's gaze softened, almost pitying. "Then why is he coming for you?"
The words landed like a strike.
He was right.
He was coming for her.
Rafael stepped closer again, slow, deliberate, until she could feel the heat radiating off him. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You want to know the difference between him and me?"
He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"When Lorenzo wants something, he cages it. When I want something…"
He smiled.
"I burn everything else down."
Before she could move, the door burst open.
Gunfire. Shouting.
The storm outside roared in through the open frame.
Lorenzo.
He moved like a shadow made of fury — gun raised, eyes wild.
"Get away from her."
Rafael laughed — the sound cold and echoing. "Right on time."
Elena pressed herself against the wall as the brothers faced each other — mirror images divided by fire and blood.
Lorenzo's voice was ice. "You should've stayed buried."
"And miss this family reunion?" Rafael's grin didn't reach his eyes. "You brought her into our war, brother. You made her your empire's heart. Now I'll make her its ruin."
He raised his gun.
The sound that followed was thunder.
The bullet struck the wall inches from Elena's head — but it wasn't Rafael's shot.
It was hers.
Her hands shook as she held the gun Lorenzo had given her weeks ago — hidden, forgotten, until now. The recoil burned her palms, but she didn't lower it.
Rafael turned toward her slowly, almost amused.
"You just made a choice, little bird."
Before he could take another step, Lorenzo's second shot echoed through the room.
Rafael staggered — once, twice — before collapsing to the floor, blood spreading dark across the tiles.
Silence followed.
Only rain.
Only breath.
Elena dropped the gun, trembling. Lorenzo crossed to her, grabbing her shoulders, his voice raw.
"Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head. Tears blurred her vision. "You came."
He cupped her face, forehead pressed to hers. "I always will."
Outside, sirens wailed somewhere distant.
Inside, the brothers' war ended not with vengeance, but with silence.
And yet, as Lorenzo looked down at Rafael's still form, something in his eyes shifted — darker, colder.
"This isn't over," he said quietly. "It never is."
Elena caught his hand, her grip desperate. "Then promise me something."
He looked at her.
"Anything."
"Don't let this world turn you into him."
Lorenzo's gaze softened, but there was something unspoken behind it — something he couldn't promise.
Instead, he brushed his thumb along her jaw and whispered,
"I'll try."
Outside, the rain kept falling — cleansing nothing, forgiving no one.
And somewhere in the dark of the city, another war began to breathe.