The warehouse sat on the edge of Milan's industrial district, its rusted frame barely holding together the secrets it had kept for decades. Juliet stood outside its side entrance, her back pressed to the cold concrete wall, her breathing steady but sharp. She adjusted the earpiece, her eyes scanning the alleyway as Adonis's voice crackled in.
"Left flank's clear. Your move," he said, tone cool, calculated.
Juliet smirked. "Try to keep up, De Luca."
She moved like a shadow, slipping through the side door, boots silent against the stained floor. The interior was dimly lit—rows of crates stacked high, their contents unmarked but reeking of gunpowder and danger. The intel was solid: this place was a weapons drop owned by the Giovanni family. If she and Adonis were lucky, they'd find shipment logs—maybe even something that could connect the Giovanni empire to her parents' murder.
Adonis entered from the opposite end, his figure almost too composed in the chaos of decay. Black leather jacket zipped to his throat, his hazel eyes scanned the room with the kind of precision born from both luxury and war. He didn't look at her when he spoke, just kept his eyes forward.
"Remember," he said, voice low, "we're here to gather. No shooting unless it's necessary."
Juliet's hand hovered near her holster. "You say that like I'm the reckless one."
"I've read your file, Moretti," he muttered. "Reckless is an understatement."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. There was no time for verbal jabs. They moved in synchronized silence, a dance neither had rehearsed but somehow performed effortlessly. Juliet took the left aisle, Adonis the right, weaving through crates, eyes alert.
Then she saw it—a small wooden desk near the back wall. A manila folder rested atop it, half open, filled with shipping manifests stamped with Giovanni's crest. Juliet reached out, fingers brushing the edge, when a loud creak rang out.
"Don't move," a voice snarled from the shadows.
Juliet froze. She didn't need to turn to know the cold muzzle of a pistol now kissed the back of her skull. She cursed herself internally—too focused, too fast.
From the other side of the room, Adonis's figure stepped into the light.
"Easy," he said, hands raised. "She's alone. Just a scout."
The man behind Juliet didn't lower his weapon. "You don't belong here, De Luca."
Juliet's eyes widened. The thug recognized him. That wasn't good.
"I belong anywhere I want to," Adonis replied, stepping closer. "You know my name. So you know what happens next if you don't put that gun down."
The man hesitated—but only for a second.
Juliet moved first.
A sharp pivot, elbow slamming backward into the man's ribs. He grunted, faltered. She twisted around, disarming him with fluid precision, landing a knee to his gut before slamming his face into the crate. He slumped unconscious.
Adonis blinked, impressed. "Remind me never to sneak up on you."
Juliet tucked the pistol into her belt, lips curled. "You'd never get that close."
They didn't have time for banter. The noise would draw more. She grabbed the folder and nodded toward the exit. Together, they slipped back into the night, disappearing before backup arrived.
Back at Adonis's loft—an elegant but cold space tucked in a forgotten corner of central Milan—they stood over the folder, its pages spread across a marble island like fragments of a ruined life.
"These shipments go back five years," Juliet murmured. "Explosives, weapons, drugs. All laundered through Giovanni's shell companies... and your father's jewelry business."
Adonis didn't flinch, though his jaw clenched.
"I knew he was dirty. I didn't know he was this deep."
Juliet turned to him, eyes narrowing. "Do you think he ordered the hit on my parents?"
Adonis looked at her, something stormy and raw flickering behind his eyes.
"I don't know. But Giorgio Giovanni doesn't make moves without Don De Luca's blessing. If your parents were getting close… it's possible."
The words sank like lead between them. Juliet's breath caught. She had spent years hunting ghosts, building her career on justice, truth—and now the answers were close, maybe too close.
"You said your father framed you," she said, voice quieter now. "Why would he do that to his own son?"
Adonis sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing the scar on his knuckle absently. "He made a deal. With Giovanni. To protect the family legacy. I was the price."
Juliet didn't speak. She just watched him, her heart caught in the space between pity and fury. For the first time, she saw the boy behind the man. Not just the fighter or the strategist. But the son who had been betrayed by his own blood.
"I'm going to take them down," he said, voice steel. "Every one of them. And when I do, I'll burn the whole damn empire they built on people like your parents—and me—to the ground."
Juliet stepped closer, her voice steady. "Then we'll do it together."
Adonis looked up. Her brown eyes, full of fire and pain and something dangerously close to trust, met his. There was a silence, thick and sharp, like the edge of a blade held too close to the skin.
He gave a single nod. "Together."
Outside, the rain began to fall, washing the blood and smoke from Milan's darkened streets. Inside the loft, two broken people stood shoulder to shoulder—not allies, not yet lovers—but something more dangerous.
Partners.