Chapter 1
"Shanaya! Wake up, we're going to the mall!" an excited voice squealed as little hands tugged at her blanket.
Shanaya groaned softly, squinting at the morning light streaming through the curtains. Her 8-year-old nephew, Matteo, was already dressed in his favorite superhero T-shirt, his bright brown eyes sparkling with impatience.
“Matteo, it’s Sunday... I thought we could sleep in,” she murmured, burying her face in the pillow.
“But Zia, you promised gelato!” he insisted, climbing onto the bed and bouncing slightly. “Remember? Pistachio for you, strawberry for me!”
She let out a soft chuckle, her heart warming at the sight of his grin. “Alright, alright, you win. Give me ten minutes.”
As Matteo sprinted off to tell his parents she was up, Shanaya sat up slowly, brushing her dark hair back. A sigh escaped her lips as she stared out the window at the olive trees swaying in the wind.
How did I end up here? she wondered, not for the first time.
Just a year ago, she had been in a very different world — a world shadowed by grief and hardship. She had lost both her parents in a car accident when she was just seventeen. An only child, she had learned to survive on her own — balancing work and studies, holding her head high through every storm life hurled her way.
Despite the pain, she had never lost her drive. Her dream had always been to study abroad, to do something meaningful. And finally, after years of hard work, she got accepted into her dream university in Italy for her postgraduate studies in music therapy.
Her father’s elder brother, Uncle Raffaele, and Aunt Lucia had opened their home in Florence to her. They treated her like their own daughter, and Matteo, their only son, had quickly become the light of her life.
She also took up a part-time job as a violin instructor at a local conservatory. Teaching came naturally to her — especially to children. The soft notes of the violin had always brought her peace.
But peace, as she was about to learn, was only temporary.
That afternoon, after an hour of shopping and three scoops of gelato later, Shanaya found herself walking alone down a quiet street — her violin case slung over one shoulder, humming softly to herself. She was on her way to her part-time class when she reached a crossing.
The traffic light blinked red, and as she stepped onto the pedestrian lane, a screech echoed in the distance.
A black Maserati came speeding down the road.
She froze.
Time slowed. Her heart leaped into her throat. She shut her eyes, bracing for impact.
But it never came.
Tires screeched. The car stopped — inches from her.
She opened her eyes, trembling.
Through the windshield, piercing gray eyes stared back at her. The man behind the wheel didn’t look angry — just... intrigued.
Christian Moretti, the youngest son of the infamous Moretti crime family, was not a man who slowed down for anyone — until now.
“Who the hell is she?” he muttered under his breath.
From the passenger seat, his sharply dressed secretary, Dario, leaned forward. “Shall I find out, sir?”
Christian’s eyes never left her.
“Yes,” he said. “Find out everything.”
Shanaya, unaware of the danger now trailing her like a shadow, walked away — clutching her violin case tighter.
