Heartbeat in the Crossfire

AMARA

The watch ticks in my hand, steady and cruel, oblivious to the wreckage it carries. I can't feel my fingers. I can't remember how to breathe. The weight of it presses down on my chest until it feels like my ribs might snap.

Somewhere, far away, the club's bass still pulses through the floor beneath my feet. But here, inside Moretti's office, the world has narrowed to sharp edges and old ghosts. My past. My brother. My blood.

And standing across from the devil I swore I'd never face again, I realize something with brutal, shattering clarity:I'm already at war.The only choice left... is to survive.

"Where did this come from?" I ask finally, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. I don't take my eyes off the watch. I'm afraid that if I blink, it'll disappear. That I'll wake up and realize this is just another nightmare.

"Delivery service," the man says, his tone clipped. "The delivery guy was told to bring the package to an Amara Valenti."

At the sound of my real name, something cold and electric runs down my spine. I finally tear my gaze away from the watch and glance up, recognizing the man who'd been guarding the door earlier. His face is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes now.Fear.Even Moretti's men are afraid.

"Get Marco in here," Moretti orders, his voice sharp. "Track down the courier. I want to know who handed him that box, where they were, what they looked like. Everything."

"We didn't let him leave, boss," the man replies. "He's downstairs."

"Good," Moretti mutters.

The man turns and slips out, closing the door behind him.

I force my numb fingers to move, setting the lid back on the box and placing it on the desk like it burns. My breath drags painfully in and out as I shove the panic deep down, locking it behind old walls. Not now. Not here. Not in front of him.

I straighten my spine and meet Moretti's eyes.

"Here's how this is going to go," I say, voice flat. Cold. Detached. It's the only way I know how to stay standing. "I'll agree to your offer. But on my own conditions."

His eyes flicker. For a long, unnerving moment, he says nothing. He leans back in his chair, expression unreadable, those silver eyes dissecting me like I'm an equation he's solving.

"You think you're in a position to negotiate?" he murmurs, voice silky and dangerous.

I don't blink. "If you wanted me dead, I wouldn't still be standing here. You said it yourself. I could be useful to you. So if you need me alive, you're going to hear me out."

A glimmer of dark amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Something sharper. Something wolfish.

I press on before I lose my nerve. "One: I'm not your soldier. I don't answer to your men, and I don't take orders without knowing why. Two: I'm not part of your empire. I'm here for one reason—finding my brother and learning the truth about what happened to my family. That's it. Three: If you lie to me, even once, I walk. I don't care how dangerous that makes things for me."

The air tightens between us. For a second, I'm sure he's going to pull a gun, end this right here. I know the look in his eyes; it's the same one my father had when he was weighing life and death. He's a man who could end me in under three seconds flat.

But then, slowly, he exhales. His fingers tap once against the desk.

"You're either the bravest woman I've ever met," he says at last, voice low and smooth, "or the most reckless."

I lift my chin. "Maybe both."

A beat. Then he gives a slight nod. I can't tell if it's respect or challenge. "Fine," he says. "Your terms."

Minutes later, the music is little more than a heartbeat through the walls. We sit in near silence, Moretti and I, while Marco—one of his lieutenants—delivers his findings. My brother's bloodied watch lies on the table between us, its steady tick-tick the only sound breaking the stillness.

I can't stop staring at it.Every tick is a countdown I can't afford to lose.

Marco's voice is steady, but his hands give him away. He slides the watch toward the center of the desk, and I catch it...there, burned into the leather strap: the same symbol from the box. It's old. Faded. Easily missed. But I see it now.

"They wanted you to see this," Moretti says quietly. "It's not about the watch. It's about what it stands for."

The air in my lungs turns to ice. "Who is 'they'?" I manage, my voice hoarse.

Marco exchanges a glance with Moretti, then turns to me. "You've heard of Black Scythe, right, Valenti?"

I nod slowly. My stomach lurches."They were wiped out. Years ago. My..." My voice falters. "My family made sure of it."

Memories flash like broken glass, gunfire. Screams. The smell of smoke. My mother's last look. My father's final command.

"No," Marco says gently. "Your family thought they wiped out Black Scythe. But it's easy to disappear. Your survival proves that."

The weight of his words crushes the air from my lungs.

"They know you're alive," Moretti murmurs, his gaze fixed sharply on me. "And they know you came to me. This wasn't random. It's a message."

"Or an invitation," I whisper.

My stomach knots.It was them.Black Scythe.The ones who burned my world to ash. The ones who took Lorenzo.

I push back from the table, grabbing the watch and dropping it into my purse. Every instinct screams at me to move. To act. To fight.

Moretti watches me, always watching. Calculating.

"Valenti," he says quietly.

I stop but don't turn.

"You should know," he murmurs, voice low and deliberate. "Word's already moving. Fast. Someone's letting it slip that you're alive. And that you're with me."

My stomach twists violently. "I didn't tell anyone."

"You didn't have to," he says darkly. "The city has ears. And enemies who never sleep."

A chill crawls over my skin. I know what this means. I've made my choice, and now there's no going back.

"You're not leaving the club," he adds, final and cold.

It's not a suggestion. It's not even a command. It's a death sentence dressed in silk.

I swallow the lump in my throat. The weight of the watch drags down my purse like it's full of lead. I nod because what else can I do?For now, I stay.

A knock cuts through the silence before the door creaks open. One of Moretti's men stands there, his eyes flicking uneasily to me before locking on Moretti.

"Boss," he says. "The kid who dropped off the package...he's downstairs."

The air sharpens. Moretti's slow, measured footsteps sound behind me.

"He talk?" Moretti asks, his voice like a blade.

The man shakes his head. "Claims he doesn't know anything. Said a woman paid him in cash to deliver the box. Told him it was just a prank."

A woman.

The words slice through me like knives. My breath catches.Someone else is playing this game.And I'm already caught in it.

I turn to meet Moretti's eyes.For the first time since I walked into this building, fear twists in my stomach. Not for myself. For my brother.

Moretti's face is unreadable steel."Let's go," he says darkly. His eyes don't leave mine. "Stay close, Valenti."