Emma barely had time to breathe before the elevator doors opened with a sharp ding.
Alexander stepped in, his expression carved from stone, a storm brewing in his blue eyes. He pressed the button for the penthouse. The doors slid shut, sealing them in silence.
Emma didn't look at him. Not right away.
Her arms were wrapped around herself, trying to suppress the tremble in her chest. The conversation with Isabella still echoed like a scream inside her skull. Who the hell was she really married to?
"Rough night?" he finally asked, voice low and cool.
She laughed bitterly. "Is that what you call it? A rough night?"
Alexander turned to her. "You left the charity gala without a word."
"You mean the one where your dead ex-fiancée made a casual appearance?" Emma snapped. "Or is that not the kind of surprise you like to warn your wife about?"
His jaw clenched. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty passed through his gaze. "You weren't supposed to meet her like that."
"Like she's still in love with you? Or like she's stalking us?" Emma took a step closer. "She said something. About how you left her for dead. About how I'm just another pawn in your twisted war."
Silence.
And then, Alexander laughed—dry, humorless, almost angry. "Of course she did."
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the elevator. "She doesn't understand what she got herself into. You don't either."
"No, I think I'm finally starting to." Emma's voice trembled with rage. "There's a war between you and my real father, and I've been handed over like a weapon. I don't know who I am in this story. I don't even know if I want to be in it anymore."
Alexander stepped closer, the coldness in his features replaced with something dangerous, something raw. "You think I'd let you go that easily?"
Emma tilted her chin defiantly. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
The elevator slowed. Her heart thundered.
"I didn't choose you just for this deal, Emma," he said suddenly, his voice rougher. "I chose you because you were unpredictable. You weren't afraid of me."
She swallowed. "I am now."
The doors slid open to the penthouse.
But neither of them moved.
Then, without warning, Alexander cupped her jaw and crushed his mouth to hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was fire and fury, desperation and control. A kiss that tasted like secrets. Like surrender.
Emma wanted to slap him. She wanted to shove him away.
But her body betrayed her.
She kissed him back.
Until her mind screamed.
She shoved him away, breathless, furious. "Don't ever do that again."
His voice was a whisper. "You didn't hate it."
"That's the problem," she said. "I don't know what's real with you anymore."
Just then, a piercing chime echoed from the security panel on the wall.
Alexander turned. "That's the alarm."
Emma's stomach dropped. "What kind of alarm?"
He moved to the screen embedded in the wall—and froze.
She followed his gaze.
On the security footage: men in black masks pouring into the lobby. Armed. Silent. Military precision.
Emma's blood ran cold. "Who are they?"
Alexander didn't answer. He turned, grabbed her wrist. "We need to move. Now."
"Alex—!"
"They're not here for me. They're here for you."
---
Emma's feet stumbled as he dragged her down the hallway and into a hidden passage behind a bookshelf.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
"There's a reason I wanted you off the grid," he muttered. "You're worth more to your father than I thought."
"My father?"
Alexander shoved a code into a keypad at the end of the hallway. A steel door slid open, revealing a secure room lined with screens, weapons, and emergency supplies.
"You think Dante just let you go? You're his blood. And you being married to me? That's a threat to everything he controls."
"He doesn't even know me!" she snapped.
Alexander gave her a dark look. "He knows of you. And that's enough."
Alarms echoed from the floor below.
He handed her a small earpiece and a phone. "You follow my voice. Don't open doors unless I say. Don't trust anyone."
"What about you?" she asked, eyes wide. "Can I trust you?"
He paused. "I don't know. But I won't let them take you."
With that, he pressed a button and the wall behind her slid open to a dark stairwell. "Go. Now."
Emma ran.
Her breath was ragged. The stairwell was narrow and silent except for the soft thudding of her own heartbeat. She tried not to cry. Tried not to think about the fact that she was running from masked men through her billionaire husband's secret panic tunnels.
Then her earpiece crackled. "Turn right at the bottom," Alexander's voice said.
She did.
Another corridor. Then a room. Dark, unfamiliar.
Then the door slammed shut behind her.
She whirled. "Alex?"
No answer.
She reached for her earpiece. Static.
The lights flickered.
And then… a voice.
Low. Cold. Familiar.
"You're even prettier than the photos, figlia mia."
Emma turned slowly. Her blood turned to ice.
Standing in the shadows, flanked by two men with guns—was Dante Romano.
Her father.