The storm outside was nothing compared to the one unraveling in Aaryan Mehra’s chest.

Rain slammed against the towering glass windows of his penthouse suite, lightning carving veins of fury across the sky. But it was the file on his desk—not the storm—that had left him trembling. Not from fear. From betrayal.

Alina Moretti.

Daughter of Lorenzo Moretti.

The man who had once ordered a bloodbath in Naples. A name that echoed through every dark alley of Europe. A legacy soaked in violence. A legacy that had killed his father.

And she—his Alina—was the heir to it.

The door creaked open softly behind him.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

He knew her presence like he knew the rhythm of his own breath.

“Aaryan?” Her voice was a whisper, soft and unaware. “Why did you call me so suddenly?”

He turned.

Gone was the warmth in his eyes.

Gone was the man who once looked at her like she held the sun.

What stood now was a storm in a tailored suit.

“Tell me the truth, Alina.” His voice was cold. Controlled. Deadly.

“Who are you?”

She blinked, confused. “What do you mean? I—”

“Don’t. Lie. To me.” The thunder outside punctuated his words.

His fist slammed the folder onto the coffee table, its contents spilling—photographs, documents, surveillance.

She froze. Her heart thudded violently in her chest.

He had found out.

“I wanted to tell you—”

“When? After I proposed? After I brought you into my world, while yours was the one that destroyed mine?” His voice broke, bitterness seeping through.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I never chose this life, Aaryan. I’m not them. I swear—”

“But you hid it from me.” He stepped closer, eyes wild with grief. “You let me pour my heart out to you. I told you how my father died—gunned down like an animal in front of me—and you stood there, pretending to be someone else.”

“I was scared!” she cried, voice cracking. “I was terrified that if you knew, you’d stop loving me. And I was right.”

Silence.

Pain flickered in his gaze. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to undo every memory that now felt poisoned.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” he whispered.

She stepped forward. “But you do. I’m still the woman you laughed with, held, loved. Nothing changes that.”

He looked at her like he was staring at a stranger. A beautiful, heart-wrenching stranger.

“Everything changes, Alina.”

And then—he walked past her.

The door slammed behind him, loud enough to silence even the storm.

She stood there, trembling.

A mafia daughter.

A broken heart.

And the man she loved, slipping away into the night.