The night was far from over.
Selene jumped into the car with Loraine while Samir boarded his own sports car with his girlfriend, Monica, and their friend, Natalie.
As the sleek, black luxury car pulled away from the club, the city lights reflected against its tinted windows, casting fleeting shadows across the occupants inside.
Selene sat beside her younger sister, Loraine, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
The silence between them was thick—almost suffocating—until Loraine, unable to hold back any longer, let out a frustrated huff.
"You were too harsh back there," she said, turning slightly to face Selene. "Rowan literally bled to keep me from getting hurt, and you still looked at him like he was some kind of criminal."
Selene remained quiet for a moment, her fingers drumming lightly against her arm. "I know," she admitted at last, her voice quieter than before.
Loraine blinked, caught off guard by the admission. "Then why—"
"Because it doesn't make sense," Selene interrupted, her sharp blue eyes narrowing. "Think about it. Three bastards target you in a club that belongs to Silas Moreau, of all people. Then, out of nowhere, a gang shows up? And who just happens to be there to stop everything? Rowan."
Loraine frowned. "So what? Are you saying he planned all this?"
Selene exhaled, tilting her head slightly. "Not necessarily. But this wasn't random. It couldn't have been. We are Morettis, Loraine. Everyone in this city knows that. No one is stupid enough to attack us in broad daylight—or in a club owned by someone like Silas—unless they have a reason. And that means one thing."
Loraine swallowed. "Another family is involved."
"Exactly."
Loraine leaned back in her seat, processing Selene's words. She didn't want to believe it, but her sister had a point. This wasn't some bar fight that got out of hand—this was planned. Coordinated.
"Even if that's true," She said hesitantly, "what does Rowan have to do with it?"
Selene's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's what I need to find out."
----
Across the city, the low hum of a roaring engine filled the air as Samir leaned back against the soft leather seats of his blood-red sports car. The city's neon lights streaked past in a blur, casting an electric glow inside the vehicle.
Beside him, his girlfriend, Monica, casually scrolled through her phone, her long legs crossed, while in the backseat, Natalie sighed, staring out the window.
"Well, that was one hell of a night," Natalie muttered, resting her chin on her palm.
Monica hummed in agreement. "Didn't think we'd witness an underground brawl starring our local bartender."
She glanced at Samir. "Did you see Rowan back there? That guy fought like a professional."
Samir chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Yeah, it was insane. Didn't know he had it in him."
Natalie smirked. "Selene didn't seem impressed."
Monica snorted. "When is Selene ever impressed?"
Samir let out a small laugh before shaking his head. "Nah, trust me. That look she gave Rowan? She's thinking about him."
Monica raised a brow. "Thinking about him, or thinking about how to bury him six feet under?"
Samir shrugged. "Could be both."
Natalie leaned forward, resting her arms on the front seats. "You think he's actually hiding something?"
Samir's smile faltered slightly. "Honestly? I don't know. But if he is, Selene's going to find out."
And when she did… Rowan's life would never be the same.
----
By the time Selene and Loraine arrived home, the grand estate loomed before them, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Tall iron gates slid open automatically as their car approached, and within moments, they were pulling into the circular driveway.
The black sedan glided smoothly through the towering iron gates of the Moretti estate, its tires crunching against the polished driveway. The mansion sprawled across acres of land, an architectural masterpiece that exuded power and prestige.
The estate was surrounded by high walls, laced with security cameras, and patrolled by armed guards stationed at measured distances.
As the car rolled to a stop near the grand entrance, Selene stepped out, followed closely by Loraine.
Loraine asked. "Are you really going to talk to Mother about this?"
Selene didn't hesitate. "Of course."
To their right, a group of young men—trainees of the family's private militia—were immersed in an intense martial arts session. A man in his sixties led them, his sharp eyes filled with unwavering authority.
Though his hair had turned silver with age, his body remained powerful, each movement a testament to decades of discipline. His voice was rough as he barked orders.
"Focus, you fools! Strength without discipline is weakness!" He turned to see the two young ladies walking past, their presence momentarily stealing the attention of the trainees. Their gazes lingered—captivated, admiring.
"You think staring at them will make you stronger?" The old man's voice was laced with irritation. "If you don't train properly, you will never be worthy of protecting them! Eyes forward, fists up!"
The reprimand jolted the young men back to reality, and they resumed their training with renewed determination.
Selene and Loraine paused briefly in front of the elder. He was no mere instructor—he was one of the oldest and most trusted members of the Moretti family. His loyalty ran deeper than blood.
"Good evening, Master Zhou," Selene greeted, her voice smooth and respectful.
The old man's stern expression softened as he looked at them.
"You two are growing up too fast," He said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Be careful. The world outside is not kind."
Loraine smiled warmly, but Selene's expression remained distant. "We know, Master Zhou. That's why we must be prepared."
Master Zhou nodded approvingly. "That is the right mindset."
With that, the two young women walked up the grand steps of the mansion, entering the living room where an imposing figure awaited them...
Adrianne lounged gracefully on an opulent chaise, her long legs crossed, her piercing ember eyes locking onto Selene the moment she stepped inside. The air shifted with her presence—she was a woman who commanded attention without uttering a single word.
Her silver-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering like liquid moonlight, complementing the golden undertones of her smooth, flawless skin. Her curves were dangerous—full and sculpted in a way that defied time, a body honed by discipline yet blessed with natural allure. Her bust, accentuated by the snug fit of her black satin top, rose with each slow breath, and her toned waist tapered into hips that swayed with a calculated elegance.
The tightness of her short dress only added to her allure, revealing just enough to stir the imagination but leaving much to be desired. Every movement, every glance, was deliberate—sensual yet deadly, like a viper poised to strike.
Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she observed her daughter's furrowed brows.
"Selene," She drawled, her voice like honey laced with poison, "what's bothering you?"
Selene hesitated only for a second before she stepped forward, her gaze steady.
"There was an attack," She stated plainly. "And it was… too precise to be a coincidence."
Adrianne's smirk faded, replaced by a look of deep contemplation. She gestured for Selene to continue.
"Rowan saved me," Selene admitted, crossing her arms.
"Rowan?" Adrianne asked curiously.
"He was our bartender tonight but he didn't seem like one... especially his vibe..." Selene explained slowly. "He grabbed the knife with his bare hand before it could stab me. If not for him, I would be injured… or worse."
Adrianne arched a delicate brow. "And yet you don't trust him."
Selene exhaled, her frustration evident. "It's not that simple, Mother. The attack happened despite our name—despite being a Moretti. That alone makes me think that another family is involved."
Before Adrianne could respond, the door to the living room swung open.
The presence that filled the room was different—sharper, heavier. It was the kind of aura that made people straighten their spines instinctively.
Isabella Moretti stepped inside, her sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room like a hawk surveying its territory. Her silk-black hair was neatly tied back, emphasizing the sharpness of her jawline and the quiet authority she carried.
Unlike Adrianne's sensual allure, Isabella's beauty was one of power—of a woman who had spent decades at the top and had no intention of stepping down. She wore a fitted black suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, its sophistication only enhancing the raw magnetism she exuded.
There was nothing soft about her—her presence was calculated, her movements precise, her words always carrying weight.
Her piercing gaze landed on Loraine, who instinctively stiffened.
"Where have you been?" Isabella's voice was smooth, yet it held the undercurrent of a storm.
Loraine swallowed hard. "We went out for a drive."
Isabella's gaze sharpened. "And got yourselves into trouble."
Before Loraine could stammer a response, Adrianne leaned back on the couch, stretching like a lazy cat.
"Oh, don't be so harsh, Isabella," She purred. "It was my idea. The kids deserve a little fun."
Isabella's eyes flicked toward Adrianne, unimpressed. "Fun, you say? Or recklessness?"
She crossed her arms. "We cannot afford unnecessary exposure. And now there was an attack. Tell me, Adrianne, how do you plan to explain that?"
Adrianne merely smirked, unfazed. "Well, we survived, didn't we?"