He had exactly nine minutes left before the explosion.

Just enough time to get out. Just enough time to disappear. That was the plan. Until you crashed into him.

A soft shoulder bumped his chest. A hand brushed his jacket. You stepped back, your wide eyes rising to meet his and in a moment, the whole world tilted.

Not because of recognition. But because of something far more dangerous.

Innocence.

You didn’t belong here.

He could see it all in one glance, your subtle discomfort, the way your gaze searched the crowd, the nervous way you held your purse close. You were probably here for a friend’s birthday, maybe dragged in last minute, promised a good time. But there you were… standing right above a death trap.

Milan Morello, the Ghost of Naples, had done this too many times to count. Silent jobs. Perfect exits. But now?

Now he was standing still.

Looking at you. Wanting to grab you. Needing to get you out.

He stepped closer, the air shifting around him like smoke curling from fire.

“You need to leave,” he said, low and urgent.

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced around. No one was watching. Not yet. His hand found your wrist, not too tight, but firm. “Don’t ask questions. Just come with me.” You froze for a heartbeat. His grip was steady. His tone? Unshakable.

And then the lights dimmed for the midnight drop.

The bomb was wired for the bass. No time.

He leaned in, his voice against your ear now. “This building’s going to blow in four minutes. Either you come with me or you don’t walk out.”

The fear in your eyes finally met the fire in his.