Chapter 2 - The Weight of the Past"Who are you?" Nicholas asked, his thumb lingering against her jawline.
For five years, he had haunted the underworld looking for the ghost of Palermo—the assassin who had saved his life in a blood-soaked alley and left behind a scratched silver lighter. He searched every database, tortured every informant, and bled every rival syndicate dry trying to find the last heir of the Rossi bloodline.
And now, she was standing in front of him wearing a cheap black-and-white uniform, smelling of bleach and champagne.
Khloe didn't flinch. She kept her voice steady, pitching it low and hollow. "I am a servant of this estate, Mr. Moretti. Nothing more."
"A servant doesn't let a capo like Lorenzo back her into a corner without her pulse even accelerating," Nicholas countered, his eyes narrowing. He reached into his vest pocket, pulling out the battered, blood-stained silver lighter. He placed it gently on the wooden workbench between them. "Do you recognize this?"
Khloe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second—a micro-movement that would have escaped anyone else, but Nicholas caught it.
"I've never seen it before," Khloe lied smoothly.
"A lie," Nicholas said quietly. "Just like your name. Just like this uniform."
Before Khloe could step back, Nicholas caught her wrist. With practiced precision, he rolled back the fabric of her left sleeve. There, stark against her skin, was the jagged, star-shaped burn mark—the undeniable emblem of the Famiglia dei Lupi.
The air left the room. Nicholas stared at the scar, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"The Angel of Palermo," he breathed out, the name he had whispered in the dark for half a decade. "I spent five years looking for you across continents. And you were hiding right under my nose, scrubbing floors for men who treat you like garbage."
"I hid because the world wanted me dead, Mr. Moretti," Khloe said sharply, pulling her wrist free from his grip with a surge of strength that confirmed every suspicion he held. "And if you expose me now, I will ensure you regret it."
"Expose you?" Nicholas let out a low, humorless chuckle. "I've built half my empire on the promise of finding you. You saved my life, Khloe—or whatever your real name is. You think I'm going to hand you over to the wolves?"
"What do you want, Nicholas?" she asked, dropping the subservient act entirely. She stood at full height, her eyes flashing with dangerous defiance. "Do you want to use me to crush the remaining syndicates? Do you want a weapon?"
"I want a partner," Nicholas said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with absolute sincerity. "And right now, you need protection. Lorenzo Costa saw your face. He knows you didn't cower. By morning, he'll wonder why a maid didn't bleed when he threatened her. He will try to kill you to cover his own embarrassment."
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Khloe crossed her arms. "Let him try."
"He won't just try. He'll bring an army. And you can't fight an entire estate alone while pretending to be a frightened girl." Nicholas stepped closer, his shadow falling over her entirely. "Come with me. Step out of the shadows. It's time to reclaim what belongs to you."
