The rain in Seahaven was different than the rain back in the city.
In the city, rain smelled like wet concrete and exhaust fumes. It was dirty, slicking the streets where my family's soldiers did their ugly work in the shadows.
Here, at the edge of the world, the rain tasted like salt and freedom. It was cold, clean, and washed everything away.
At least, that's what I liked to tell myself.
I locked the heavy front door of the small veterinary clinic, turning the collar of my thick wool coat up against the biting wind. The sign flipped to Closed. Another day done as Sophie Brown.
Sophie Brown was a good person. She volunteered on weekends. She fostered kittens. She liked cinnamon in her coffee and always remembered Mrs. Gable's tabby cat's birthday. Sophie Brown had no history, no blood on her hands, and definitely no last name that made grown men tremble.
I loved being her. It was the best role I'd ever played.
For eight months, I'd managed to breathe. I'd stopped checking over my shoulder every five seconds. I'd almost convinced myself that the Moretti Princess was dead and buried, and only Sophie remained.
Almost.
The walk to my secluded cottage on the cliffs usually took twenty minutes along the coastal path. Tonight, the storm was rolling in off the Atlantic fast. The waves crashed violently against the jagged rocks below, the sound like cannon fire muffled by the wind.
My boots squelched in the mud as I hurried along the darkened path. The streetlights ended a quarter mile back. Out here, it was just me, the lighthouse beam sweeping across the churning black water, and the encroaching dark.
A prickle ran down the back of my neck.
It wasn't the cold. It was an old instinct, one honed during twenty-three years of living in a house filled with predators. It was the feeling of being watched.
I stopped. The wind whipped my auburn hair across my face, blinding me for a second. I pushed it back, squinting into the gloom behind me.
Nothing but wind-bent trees and rain.
You're paranoid, Sofia, I told myself, using my real name in the privacy of my own head. No one knows you're here. You covered your tracks. You're safe.
I turned and kept walking, faster this time. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The feeling didn't go away. It got stronger. Heavy. Oppressive.
Like a shadow detaching itself from the night, he stepped out from behind a cluster of gnarled pines.
I froze. My breath hitched in my throat, strangling a scream before it could even form.
He didn't need to speak. I knew that silhouette. I knew the breadth of those shoulders, the lethal stillness of his posture.
The beam from the lighthouse swept over us, illuminating him for a split second, burning the image into my retinas.
It was exactly like the nightmares that used to wake me up in a cold sweat.
He was wearing a black suit, impeccably tailored even out here in the mud, drenched by the rain. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, framing eyes that were colder than the ocean below. In his right hand, held casually at his side, was a matte black pistol.
Roman Corso. The Wolf. The man my father had spent a decade trying to kill, and the man who had sworn to wipe every Moretti off the face of the earth.
He had found me.
"Hello, Principessa," he said. His voice was low, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth. It cut right through the howling wind.
Eight months of peace shattered in two words. Sophie Brown evaporated on the spot. I was just Sofia Moretti again, a mob boss's daughter cornered by her executioner.
"Roman," I whispered. The name tasted like ash.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. He wasn't in a rush. Predators never were when their prey was already trapped. "You're good. Hard to find. Your father trained you well."
"I'm not part of that life anymore," I managed to say, though my voice shook badly. I backed away, one step at a time, toward the cliff edge. "I left. I don't want any part of the war."
A humorless smirk touched the corner of his mouth. It didn't reach his hazel, predatory eyes. "You don't get to retire from who you are, Sofia. You're a Moretti. That's a life sentence."
He raised the gun. It wasn't dramatic. It was just efficient. A job to be done.
Panic overrode logic. I spun around and ran.
It was stupid. There was nowhere to go but the ocean, a hundred-foot drop onto razor-sharp rocks. But my body refused to just stand there and die.
I scrambled up the muddy incline toward the highest point of the cliff, my lungs burning. The rain was blinding now, coming down in sheets. I slipped, scraping my palms raw on the stone, but scrambled back up.
Behind me, I heard his steady, relentless footsteps. He wasn't even running. He knew exactly where this path ended.
I reached the edge. The sheer drop stopped me short. The churning white foam below looked hungry.
I turned around, chest heaving, trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Roman was right there. He stopped about ten feet away. The rain ran down his face like tears he was incapable of crying. He looked perfect, lethal, a statue carved from obsidian.
"End of the road," he said softly.
I pressed my back against the invisible barrier of the wind pushing off the ocean. I lifted my chin. I was terrified, sick with it, but I wouldn't beg. A Moretti doesn't beg a Corso.
"Go ahead then," I yelled over the storm, the rain plastering my dress to my body. "Do it, Wolf. Prove my father right about you."
His jaw tightened. For a flicker of a second, something else passed through those cold eyes—annoyance? Regret? It was gone too fast to tell.
"It's nothing personal, Sofia. It's just business."
He took another step forward to close the distance, raising the gun level with my chest.
Then, the world tilted.
The cliff edge, soaked by days of torrential rain, gave way.
It didn't happen like in the movies. There was no crumbling sound, no dramatic pause. The earth just dissolved beneath his expensive Italian loafers.
His eyes widened slightly—the only sign of surprise he showed. He didn't scream. He didn't flail. He just… dropped.
One second, the most dangerous man in the underworld was about to end my life. The next, there was nothing but rain falling into the empty space where he had stood.
"Roman!"
The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. I dropped to my knees in the mud, crawling to the jagged new edge of the cliff. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
I peered down into the abyss. The lighthouse beam swept around again, slicing through the dark.
It illuminated the jagged shelf of rock about thirty feet down.
He was there.
He wasn't moving. He was crumpled awkwardly on the narrow ledge, half in the water that washed over the stone with every wave. His gun was gone, lost to the sea. The dark suit made him look small against the gray stone.
I stared, paralyzed, rain dripping from my nose.
He was dead. The Wolf was dead. I was safe. I should get up, walk back to my cottage, pack a bag, and run as far as I could before his people came looking for him.
Then, I saw it.
A shallow rise of his chest.
It was barely there, a pathetic little hitch of movement, but it was real. He was alive. Hurt badly, unconscious, but alive.
The tide was coming in fast. In twenty minutes, that ledge would be underwater, and he would drown.
I sat back on my heels, mud soaking through my jeans, staring at the man who had come here to murder me.
Fate hadn't just saved me. It had delivered my worst enemy into my hands.
My instincts as a nurse screamed at me. Go down there. Stabilize his neck. Stop the bleeding. It was what Sophie Brown would do.
But I wasn't Sophie Brown right now. I was Sofia Moretti. And I knew exactly what happened when you showed mercy to a wolf. You didn't get a thank you. You got your throat ripped out the second it was strong enough to stand.
"No," I whispered, the sound snatched away by the wind.
I scrambled back from the edge, my heart pounding so hard it made me dizzy. I didn't check on him again. I didn't look for a way down.
I turned and ran.
I ran back toward the cottage, slipping in the mud, crying, terrified that at any moment a hand would grab my ankle. I didn't stop until I was inside with the deadbolt thrown and the curtains drawn.
I packed a bag in five minutes. Cash, passport, a change of clothes. I sat in the dark kitchen with a knife in my hand, waiting for his soldiers to kick down the door.
But they never came.
By morning, the storm had passed.
The sky was a mocking, brilliant blue. I hadn't slept a wink, but I was at the clinic at 8:00 AM sharp. Routine was the only thing holding me together. If I ran now, I'd look guilty. If I stayed, maybe... just maybe, the ocean had finished the job I couldn't.
I was wiping down the stainless steel exam table, my hands trembling so bad I nearly dropped the spray bottle, when the bell above the front door chimed.
Ding.
"Sorry, we're fully booked for the morn—"
I looked up. The bottle slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a loud clatter.
A man was standing in the doorway. He was wearing a suit that cost more than this entire building. He had the same sharp jawline as Roman, the same dark hair, but his eyes weren't hazel. They were dark, amused, and cruel.
Luca Corso. Roman's younger brother.
He flipped the sign on the door to Closed and locked it with a calm, deliberate click.
"You're a hard woman to find, Sofia," he said, stepping into the clinic. He smelled like expensive cologne and gunpowder. "My brother spent months looking for you."
I backed up against the counter, my hand groping behind me for a scalpel, anything. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Drop the act," Luca said, leaning casually against the reception desk. "We tracked Roman's phone to the cliffs. We found him."
My stomach dropped to the floor. "Is he..."
"Dead?" Luca laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Roman is too stubborn to die. But he's not doing well, either. He took a nasty hit to the head. He's out cold. Coma."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He was alive. "Then take him," I said, my voice shaking. "Take him back to the city to a real hospital. I didn't kill him. I just ran."
Luca's smile vanished. He walked toward me, invading my space until I was pressed against the cabinets. The amusement was gone. He looked desperate, and dangerous.
"I can't take him back," he hissed. "There was a coup last night. Our capos turned. If they find out the Wolf is unconscious and vulnerable? They'll storm the hospital, finish the job, and kill me next."
He reached into his jacket pocket. I flinched, expecting a gun.
Instead, he pulled out a set of car keys and slammed them onto the metal counter next to me.
"He needs a hole to hide in until I crush this rebellion," Luca said. "And you, Principessa, just volunteered."
"No," I said instantly. "No way. I'm not hiding him. When he wakes up, he'll kill me!"
"If you don't help me, I will kill you right now," Luca countered, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You broke him. You fix him. You're a nurse, right? Keep him alive. Keep him hidden. And keep your mouth shut."
"And when he wakes up?" I asked, trembling.
Luca shrugged, adjusting his cuffs. "Cross that bridge when we get there. Just make sure he doesn't die on your watch."
He turned and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch.
"Oh, and Sofia? Don't get any ideas about finishing what the cliff started. I'll be watching."
The door chimed as he left.
I looked out the window. A black SUV was idling at the curb. In the passenger seat, slumped over and unmoving with a bandage wrapped around his head, was Roman.
My enemy. My patient.
I was trapped. I had to save the life of the man who wanted to end mine. And I knew, with terrifying certainty, that the moment those hazel eyes opened, I was dead.