Chapter 14
Three years later
The press conference was held at the Palazzo Imperiale in Rome. Gold ceilings, velvet drapes, bodyguards lined against marble walls.
Behind me hung the emblem of House Versace—a golden phoenix with a serpent curled protectively around it.
Symbol of rebirth. Of fire and venom.
The crowd roared as I stepped up to the podium, but I didn't flinch. I leaned in, perfectly composed in a sculpted black pantsuit with golden embroidery curling around the cuffs.
I stopped. Adjusted the mic. No notes.
"Good morning," I said smoothly. "I know we're all busy people, so let's not waste time."
The murmurs settled into silence.
"I'm proud to confirm the successful signing of a multi-billion-euro partnership between House of Versace and the Khan Empire. The largest deal of its kind in our sector, negotiated and finalised by me."
A flick of a smile.
There was no applause. Just shock. Good.
"This isn't just business. It's evolution. We don't chase trends. We set them. That will be all."
I turned and walked off. Of course, the room erupted.
"Miss Versace, who backed the deal?""Is it true your father—""How did you secure Khan Holdings without a board vote?
""Rumours of internal restructuring—care to comment?
""Are you planning a move into arms manufacturing?
""Is it true your return marks the rise of a new syndicate between the Versace family and the Khan empire?
""They said no one could bring the Eastern syndicates to the table. How did you do it?"
I paused just at the edge. Looked over my shoulder. "I suggest you watch the numbers," I said. "They'll tell you everything."
And then I was gone.
Backstage was quieter. Kind of.
My mother stood by the floor-length mirror, arms folded, watching the livestream replay from her tablet like she was scouting a rival.
"You do enjoy setting the world on fire, don't you?"
I shrugged off my blazer, tossed it onto the chair. "You taught me well."
She arched her brow. "You're twenty-five, Versace. It's time to stop dodging suitors."
I sighed, loudly. "Not this again."
"Yes. This again."
I turned to face her. "You literally sent me on a blind date last week with someone who couldn't even speak Italian. He kept using Google Translate and calling me 'baby boss.'"
She didn't flinch. "He was wealthy."
"He thought Milan was a type of pasta."
She clicked her tongue and looked back at her screen. "Well, this one's different. Just one more. Dinner. Tomorrow."
"Mother—"
"Last one," she repeated, walking past me and smoothing a wrinkle from my shoulder like I was still her little girl. "Then you can return to building your empire in peace."
I narrowed my eyes. "You say that every time."
"And yet here you are. Still single. Still dodging fate."
"I'm not dodging fate," I muttered. "I'm just not interested in being anyone's arm candy."
She smirked. "You wouldn't be the candy, Versace. You'd be the poison in the wrapper."
"I want to be like you, Mother. Single and boss lady."
"I wasn't always single, Ver. My lover died on our wedding day," she said, patting my head as I sighed, rolling my eyes.
"He better speak good English or I swear, Mother—"
"He does, trust me."
I grumbled as we stepped into our separate vehicles and headed home. Why separate vehicles? It was just something Mother instilled in me.
I never really liked the idea.
'Separate vehicles so that in case there's an accident, hopefully I lose my life and not you.'
Bullshit.
The car came to a stop, and I didn't even wait for it to park. I went all the way to my room and slammed the door.
I sat by the door for thirty good minutes, listening.
Silence.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
The house was too quiet.
Even with the city lights filtering through the curtains, my room felt like a cage—too neat, too clean, too…still. I didn't even bother changing out of my joggers.
Yes, I owned joggers.
I threw on a hoodie, shoved my AirPods in, and slipped out through the side entrance.
The night air hit sharply. A welcome slap.
Music low. Steps steady. No guards. No heels. No expectations. Just me and the pavement, moving through the city like a shadow.
I didn't plan where I was going, but my feet always knew where to take me, past the never-ending forest and trees that separated the huge estate from the public.
Past the closed florist shop, across from the 24-hour gas station with that sketchy motel beside it.
The one with the flickering 'O' in the "Rooms Available" sign. Charming.
I stopped in front of it to catch my breath, rolling my neck, stretching my arms.
Then—vroom.
A roar tore through the night.
Headlights exploded in my face.
I barely had time to jump back before a motorcycle swerved dangerously close, tires screeching as it skidded to a halt beside the pumps. The wind knocked me flat on my ass.
Pain shot up my spine. Ugh!
"What the actual fuck?" I snapped, already on my feet, brushing dirt from my thighs. My heart was beating faster than it was two minutes ago.
The biker didn't even flinch.
He sat there, engine humming low, helmet still on, like he didn't nearly send me to the ER.
That would make the news.
I stalked toward him. "You know," I said, voice sharp, "normal people apologize when they almost commit vehicular manslaughter."No response.
He turned off the engine, came off and reached for the fuel nozzle. The bastard.
I narrowed my eyes. "What? Cat got your tongue? Or do you suck at riding and think silence makes you mysterious?"
Still nothing.
Alright. Bet.
I swung a leg over the back of his bike, settling into the seat like I owned it. My fingers found the handle. I arched my back enough to make a point.
"I'll take the bike," I said coolly. "As compensation for the emotional damage."
That got him.
He froze. His gloved hand stilled mid-pump.
Then—click.
The helmet came off.
And damn.
Sharp jaw. Storm-grey eyes. Tousled hair like he rode through a battlefield and won. A face carved from war and whiskey and problems I didn't need, but suddenly wanted.
It's been a while since I found a man attractive. Except this wasn't a man, this was an aspiring criminal.
That explained the attraction: mafia heiress x aspiring criminal.
Perfect headlines.
"Look, miss—" he started, clearly annoyed.
I tilted my head and smiled. "I am looking. And the view is quite pleasant."
A beat of silence.
His eyes locked on mine. No fear. Just challenge.
And that was when I knew he wasn't scared of me. Not yet.
"Get off the bike," he said, voice low and sharp like a blade sliding free.
I leaned back slightly, letting the smirk stretch slowly across my lips. "Make me."
It was refreshing.
That was the only word that came to mind.
Speaking to someone who didn't flinch at my name. Who didn't speak like I owned the room just by being in it?
He didn't know who I was.
Or maybe—
Maybe he did.
And simply didn't care.
That would be even more dangerous.
BIKER GUY
The words left her mouth like a goddamn challenge.
She was sitting on my bike.
Wearing my smirk.
Fingers teasing the throttle like she'd been riding her whole damn life.
I froze.
No one talked to me like that. No one touched my bike. And definitely no one looked that good doing both.
I stepped forward, fingers twitching near her thigh, ready to drag her off—
VROOOOM.
The engine howled.
Tires screamed.
And she was gone.
I scoffed in shock, blinking twice in hopes that, miraculously, my bike would reappear.
A streak of movement and audacity, leaving behind nothing but the echo of her laugh and the unmistakable scent of lavender.
I stood there for a full ten seconds, blinking at the empty space where my bike—and pride—used to be.
"What the actual fuck?"
I shook my head, jaw tightening as I turned toward the gas station.
The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
I glared. "Yeah. My bike just got hijacked by a hoodie-wearing demon with a death wish."
"You want me to call the cops?"
I considered it. Then I pictured her grin, with her legs on either side of the bike.
The way she didn't flinch when I stepped close. Like she wanted me to.
"No. She'll bring it back."
"You sure?"
I didn't answer.
"Bro," the clerk whistled. "Did she just—?"
"Shut up."
I pulled out my phone, unlocking the GPS tracker I'd installed after the last idiot tried their luck.
I wasn't calling the cops.
I wasn't panicking.
I was going to get my bike back.
And when I did? She was going to regret thinking she could ride off into the night like that.
Thirty minutes.
One hour.
One hour forty-five minutes.
Two hours.
And then—
The purr of my engine.
I whipped around, bursting out of the shop and toward my bike.
There it was.
Parked like it never left.
Key gone. Gas tank full.
And taped to the mirror?
A jet-black sticky note with white ink. I never knew those existed.
"You ride amateur. I ride better.—The girl you nearly sent to the ER."
I picked it off, read it twice.
A low chuckle slipped out.
Bold. Cocky.
Trouble wrapped in soft lips and sarcasm.
I crumpled the note in my hand. Frustrated. I didn't even know her name.
But now? I needed to. At least I was good at remembering faces.
I should have known she was crazy right from the start. Jogging at 3 a.m.? Ultimate 'send me to a mental asylum' red flag.
VERSACE
The sound of the curtains being pulled apart made my eyes peel open.
"Rise and shine, sweetie!"
Oh, God no.
I literally just went to bed.
"No, mother. Not today." I grumbled, fluffing my pillow as I turned my head to the other side and slept.
"No, no, no, Ver. You promised. And it's a day date too, I followed your choices."
My mind drifted to the last night date I went on—that left me assaulted and almost raped.Now I only went on dates during the day, with enough bodyguards and enough weapons on me.
Who knew what demon my mother made a deal with.
"This is the last one, I swear."
She said it while pulling my arm, and I snapped my eyes open.
If swearing was a taboo, my mother would be well on her way to exile.
Her voice echoed in my skull as I stared at myself in the mirror, while she pushed the doors of my walk-in closet open.
"He must really be amazing if you're going to make me wear the unreleased designs."
My mother had her way with designers, always buying outfits before they were even on runways or in stores.
Gold satin, cinched at the waist, sleeves like they were dipped in molten wealth.Of course, she had to go all out, for a blind date, no less.
"You're twenty-five," she said again, arms crossed, that same regal disappointment in her tone. "You should stop avoiding suitors. This one is different. Real estate heir. Speaks five languages. Owns a vineyard."
Sure, Mom. I'm sure he also walks on water.
She spun me over to face her. "Versace, do not ruin this. Give him a chance."
If only she knew what the last guy I gave a chance did to me.
I slid into the restaurant with minimal effort, heels whispering across marble, dress catching light like a threat.
Blind dates have been a string of humiliating disasters, and I didn't expect this one to be any different.
Still, I promised. One last time.
Then I saw him.
Hopefully, he wasn’t an ambassador of Google or something.