Chapter Three
Sabrina
My return flight to L.A. was in a couple of hours, which meant I had time to kill and nowhere I particularly wanted to be. So I called Valeria, the only friend I had in New York and the only person I trusted enough to spend those hours with.
Her long black hair fell down her back in thick waves, usually left loose or tied into a messy braid because she rarely seemed to have the patience to do anything else with it.
She dressed for movement rather than attention – worn boots, comfortable clothes and nothing that could slow her down.
Streetwise, blunt and completely allergic to bullshit, Valeria had survived New York by refusing to let the city intimidate her.
If anyone here had my back without asking questions, it was her.
Her Porsche was as loud as she was.
We drove for a few blocks in comfortable silence before Valeria glanced at me, her fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel.
“You know the underground's talking about you, right?”
I looked over. “About Morana?”
Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Nervous. Curious. A little scared. Your appearance in New York set off alarms. People thought you were a myth again. Turns out, you're very real.”
The name settled in my chest with the same weight it always carried. Morana. I'd chosen it because it represented both death and rebirth – the end of one thing and the beginning of another.
Once, I'd been someone else, and Ivan Volkov had made sure I never forgot it. I was eleven when he took me, stripping away my name, my past and everything that had once made me Sabrina. He called me Diabola – his weapon, his creation.
For years, he believed he owned me.
He was wrong.
When I finally killed him, I disappeared. The world buried Diabola with the girl she'd once been, and when I returned, I did so as Morana. I wasn't his weapon anymore, and I wasn't anyone else's.
I'd spent years turning everything he'd done to me into something useful. Every Russian who had hurt me, trained me or tried to control me was living on borrowed time. Then they tried to take Dario.
That was their second mistake.
I don't forget. I don't forgive. And I don't stop until the past has finished bleeding.
“Sabrina?”
Valeria's voice pulled me back. I blinked, the city coming into focus beyond the windscreen.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I met her glance. For once, I actually meant it.
Because Morana wasn't running anymore. She was coming back for revenge.
The restaurant was warm and softly lit, filled with the clink of plates and the scrape of cutlery against wood. Real food sat between us, steam curling into the air, and I hadn't realised how hungry I was until I took the first bite.
For a few minutes, we simply ate, pretending we were normal people. Then I heard voices from the table behind us.
“I'm telling you,” a man murmured. “Morana's in New York. People are saying she took someone out last night. Clean. No trace except for that symbol she leaves. Same one every time.”
The woman beside him sucked in a sharp breath. “That's not good. My cousin said the underground's panicking. No one wants to be on her radar.”
I continued eating, focusing on the warmth of the food rather than the fact that they were discussing me from six feet away.
Valeria slowly turned towards me, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“If only they knew they were being overheard by Morana herself.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
“Careful. You'll blow my cover.”
She grinned. “This is fantastic.”
“You're enjoying this way too much.”
“Oh, absolutely.” She took a sip of her drink before adding, “They've put extra security on the island this week.”
I looked up. “Seriously?”
“More guards. More checkpoints. Like that's going to stop you. Everyone's paranoid.”
Valeria's home wasn't simply on an island.
It was the island, a place hidden from the rest of the world and absent from maps and satellites.
Six mafia families had once built it together as neutral ground, though the Russians had eventually been erased from the agreement, leaving the Italians, Spanish, Mexicans, French and Greeks to maintain it.
Getting there required permission from one of the families. Without it, you didn't get in.
“The best part?” Valeria asked, a smirk spreading across her face.
I raised an eyebrow.
“My family has no idea I know who Morana is. They sit around talking about you like you're some kind of legend – how dangerous you are, how important it is to stay on your good side.”
She shook her head, laughing. “I just nod along like, 'Yes, very scary,' while texting you memes.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You're evil.”
“Runs in the family.”
We left the restaurant a few minutes later, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we headed towards her Porsche.
That's when instinct kicked in.
A familiar prickle crept up the back of my neck. Someone was watching me, and I knew the difference between paranoia and instinct. I stopped walking.
Valeria took another step before realising I wasn't beside her.
“Sabrina?”
I turned slowly.
Across the street, half-hidden beneath a flickering streetlight, stood Rafael Moretti. He stared at me as though he'd seen something impossible. The colour had drained from his face, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my stomach twist.
He looked shaken.
Movement beside him drew my attention. Matteo Moretti stepped forward, his expression tight as he studied me with the same unsettling focus he'd had in the convenience store. Unlike Rafael, he didn't look shocked. He looked like he was solving something.
Behind them stood Dante Moretti, taller and broader than his brothers, his gaze already sweeping the street as he assessed exits and distances.
The memory from the convenience store came rushing back.
Have we met before? You look... familiar.
I'd brushed it off then, but Matteo clearly hadn't. Now he was looking at me as though he'd finally found the answer he'd been searching for.
I wasn't sticking around to find out what that answer was.
I grabbed Valeria's wrist.
“In the car. Now.”
She didn't ask questions. She trusted me enough not to.
We sprinted towards the Porsche, and by the time she unlocked the driver's door, I was already climbing into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and the tyres squealed against the tarmac as she pulled away from the kerb.
I twisted around just in time to see the Morettis heading towards their own car.
“Drive,” I said. “Lose them.”
Valeria buried her foot on the accelerator, the Porsche surging into traffic.
“What the hell was that?” she asked, flicking her gaze between the road and the mirrors.
“The Morettis.”
She muttered a curse. “They recognised you.”
“I don't know.” My pulse hammered against my ribs. “But they didn't look at me like strangers.”
She glanced at me before returning her attention to the road.
“You think they know who you are?”
I hesitated. Matteo's stare from the convenience store flashed through my mind, followed by Rafael's expression just now and the fact that none of them had reached for a weapon.
“I think they saw something they weren't expecting,” I said quietly. “I just don't know what they think it means.”
Valeria took a hard turn onto a side street.
“The airport?”
“Yeah. And don't take the direct route.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Please. I was raised on paranoia.”
Valeria took another sharp turn, the Porsche surging forward as traffic blurred around us. I twisted in my seat, watching the mirrors.
Headlights appeared behind us, too close for comfort.
A dark car pushed through the traffic, taking the same turn we'd just made. It stayed close enough to make its intentions obvious.
“They're following,” Valeria said, sounding almost amused.
“Yeah. I see them.”
She pressed harder on the accelerator, sending us down a narrower street. The car behind us stayed with us, weaving through traffic without falling far enough back for me to believe we'd lost them.
Valeria laughed quietly. “Cute.”
Without warning, she jerked the wheel and cut between two taxis with barely enough room to fit. Horns blared as the Porsche squeezed through the gap.
I caught one last glimpse of the pursuing car in the mirror: dark windows, bright headlights, still following.
Then Valeria threw the car around another corner, disappearing into the maze of city streets. Buildings swallowed us as we tore through traffic, every turn taking us farther from the route anyone would expect us to take.
Whatever the Morettis thought they'd seen, they weren't ready to let it go. And the worst part was that I had no idea why they were looking at me like they'd found someone they'd lost.