Chapter 19
ZEUS’S POV
I lost count of how many times Zoraya climbed into my lap, dressed in silk and desperation.
She tried everything–wine on her breath, fingers down my chest, those fucking rehearsed moans like a porn script. I let her. I fucked her. Hard. Fast. Emotionless.
And the moment it ended?
I got up. Tossed on my pants. Locked myself in the goddamn private study like a man with ghosts screaming behind his ribs.
The lights stayed dim.
The door? Bolted.
Only thing that moved was my hand scrolling through pictures.
Her picture. Savannah,
I stared at her smile in that old photo like it was a crime scene. Kept zooming in, looking for the things I missed. The softness in her eyes. The curve of her lips when she said my name like it
was hers to own.
And then the sonogram.
The grainy black–and–white image of the baby we never got to meet. My fucking hand shook. holding it. I kept whispering to it like it could hear me through the paper.
“I should’ve been there.”
I gripped the desk until my knuckles cracked.
Private investigator called at 2 AM.
Voice flat. Business–like. “Confirmation. She miscarried. Medical scans show no cancer remains. She had surgery. The file’s signed by Luca Moretti.”
“And the Moretti connection?” I growled, already knowing the answer.
“Legit. Birth certificate. Blood. She’s his half sister. She is Don. Moritti’s daughter. Only child.”
I hung up and just sat there in the silence and let it punch me in the fucking gut. She was always. fire. Always too good for this world. And now she had her empire. A name sharp enough to slit throats. A family that wouldn’t let me within reach.
But I didn’t care. I wasn’t afraid of Moretti.
Hell, I respected the bastard now.
Savannah was alive. She’d survived the worst. Carved herself into someone untouchable. And
me?
I wanted her back. Didn’t matter how long it took. Didn’t matter if I had to crawl through hell on broken glass. So I started slow. Silent.
No names. No letters.
Just gifts.
1:53 pm G DDD
Lavish, tailored, intentional.
I sent a vintage copy of that old Sicilian poetry book she used to read on the balcony in nothing. but one of my shirts. I still remembered the page she loved. Folded the corner myself.
Sent it to o
one of the Moretti safehouses in Naples.
Returned. Unopened.
I sent her a box of fresh lilies–the kind she used to pick from that abandoned garden she found on our second trip to Tuscany.
She always said they smelled like second chances,
Came back wilted. Tied with a black ribbon.
Then the big one. A sapphire necklace. Custom–made. I was supposed to give it to her the night. she…
Well.
Before the fire. Before the lies. Before the ashes.
I sent it. No note. Just her name–Savannah Moretti.
Two days later, it returned with a note tucked inside. Paper was thick. Expensive. Folded once.
No perfume. No handwriting.
Just printed words:
“Ghosts don’t accept apologies.”
I laughed.
Bitter. Tired. Ran a hand through my hair and poured a drink. Then another. That’s how she wanted to play it?
Fine.
But ghosts don’t get to haunt me without consequence. And I don’t believe in endings–not until I say they’re over. Savannah could slam every door she wanted.
And then that night…
Zoraya crawling back into my bed like she belonged there. Like fucking was a glue that could keep us from cracking apart.
Her nails scratched my chest. Her breath hot against my neck. She moaned like a siren–loud, scripted, fake.
gave her what she wanted.
Thrusts. Groans. Sweat.
But love? Connection? That shit stayed locked behind my ribs, where Savannah still lived.
The second I came, I rolled out from under her, grabbed my pants, and headed for the door. No kiss. No words. No looking back.
‘You’re not even gonna look at me?” Zoraya’s voice cut through the dark like a knife laced with poison.
I paused. Should’ve kept walking.
1:53 pm
“Zeus,” she snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you? This is the third night in a row. You use
me like a goddamn hole and then run off like some tortured fucking poor in a row. You use
I turned the knob. Didn’t answer.
“I see
you, you know. I see what you do in that study. Staring at her. Savannah. Th My jaw clenched.
dead bitch.”
“You think I don’t notice?” she spat. “You think I don’t hear the staff whisper her name? You think
I don’t know what those packages were you sent that came back?”
She sat up, the sheets slipping off her, baring everything. She didn’t care.
“You’re obsessed. With a ghost who return. You have a family, Zeus. A son. Me.”
I looked over my shoulder. “You trapped me with that boy.”
“You wanted it!” she screamed, standing now, rage dripping off her like perfume. “You said you loved me. You made promises.”
“No,” I said finally. Calm. Cold. “I made excuses.”
Zoraya flinched like I hit her.
“You–son of a-” She grabbed the lamp from the side table and threw it. Missed my head by an inch. It shattered against the wall behind me.
“You think you can punish me by disappearing into your fucking cave like some mafia monk?” she spat, stomping after me as I opened the door to my study. “I’ll burn that room down! I swear to God, I will!”
I didn’t flinch.
“You think she’s better than me?” Her voice cracked now, fury morphing into something more dangerous. “You think she’ll forgive you? After what you did?”
I stepped into the study.
“You think I’ll just sit here while you moon over some dead bitch who faked her own death and left you for rot? You think I won’t fight for what’s mine?”
I turned slowly. Our eyes locked.
And then she hissed, low and venomous-“If you even think of leaving me… if you try to bring her back into your life… I’ll take our son and disappear. You’ll never see him again. Never hear his laugh. His voice. Never watch him grow.”
I stared at her. Silent. Unshaken.
“And if that doesn’t scare you….” she leaned in, eyes wild, pupils blown, “Then hear this–if I ever see her again… I will fucking kill her.”
I stepped inside the study and shut the door in her face.
Didn’t lock it.
Didn’t need to
Because Zoraya could scream, could threaten, could throw every dish in this goddamn mansion
But I was already gone.
Chapter 19
1:54 pm G D D D
My heart had bled out years ago on a cold slab beside a woman I thought I buried.
And now that I knew she was alive?
There wasn’t a single lie… threat… or bullet in this world that could keep me from getting her back.
Even if I had to destroy everything else in the process.
1 wasn’t supposed to be there
Hell, none of this was part of the plan.
