Francesa’s POV

Later…

It's the weekend.

And I am at the club. The music was too loud. Like someone had handed a malfunctioning speaker system to a drunk DJ and told him to blast it until the walls cracked.

Strobe lights danced like frantic lightning across the bodies grinding on the floor. Perfume thick enough to choke a corpse.

And in the middle of it all, there is me.

Sitting in the darkest corner, a glass of something I wasn’t drinking resting in my hand. I twirled the stem with two fingers, watching the amber liquid swirl like it might offer me answers.

It didn’t. Nothing did.

Not when that instruction the chairman gave me with that folder still ringing in my head like a second heartbeat.

Her.

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, my jaw tightening.

Why the hell was I here? Because someone thought I needed to “blend in,” “recharge,” or whatever delusional excuse passed for getting us all drunk in one location with no target in sight.

I hated parties. Too many people pretending they’re not seconds away from dying if I got bored enough.

Someone plopped beside me like she had no survival instinct.

“God, Francesa.”

Ah. Claudia. Sweet but deadly.

She looked like she belonged in a goddamn bakery commercial. She has bright eyes, pink lips, the kind of softness that made grown men drop their guard and then their pulse.

Too bad I’d seen her shove a knitting needle through a diplomat’s jugular once. Never batted an eye.

She grinned at me.

“You’re such a party pooper,” she said, tossing her golden curls behind her shoulder like she wasn’t trying to get me killed by volume alone. “You could at least try to act like a normal human being. For once.”

I turned to her slowly. Not annoyed. Just... intrigued. “You want me,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the music, “to act like a normal human being?”

She blinked, beaming. “Exactly!”

I leaned in, letting my lips curl into a slow, razor-edged smile. “You mean lie, pretend to care about irrelevant social rituals, drink diluted alcohol while fantasizing about slitting the bartender’s throat, and giggle when men touch my waist uninvited?”

Claudia laughed, her nose scrunching like a little bunny. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“No, darling,” I purred, lifting the untouched glass to my lips, letting the scent burn my nose before setting it back down. “I’m just awake in a world full of sleepwalkers.”

Claudia rolled her eyes, leaning closer. “Well, the next time I might spend time with you might be never.”

I arched a brow.

She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger, her voice dropping. “I heard the next mission you have will take long. Months. You’ll be off-grid, won’t you?” I didn’t answer.

Claudia’s smile wavered for just a second, enough for me to catch the edge of worry. “So… just for tonight—can you, I don’t know, act normal? For me?”

I stared at her, deadpan. “You’re asking a predator to dress like a lamb.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You’d make a really cute lamb.” I groaned and tilted my head back, sighing toward the ceiling. “I genuinely don’t understand how we’re friends.”

Everyone else kept their respectful distance. They nodded, exchanged intel, avoided eye contact. The smart ones never lingered in my shadow. But Claudia danced straight into it like it was a sunbeam.

Was it because she reminded me of—

I stopped that thought. Slit its throat mid-sentence. I am not going to think about that.

I turned to her again, letting my eyes narrow to slits. “Stop making that face.” She blinked, all wide eyes and innocence. “What face?”

“The one that says, ‘if you don’t do what I want, I might start fake-crying in public.’”

She pressed her lips together, doing that obnoxiously exaggerated pout she knew drove me insane. “Is it working?”

“I wish,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Fine. I’ll try.” Claudia squealed. Actually squealed. “Yes! That’s the spirit!”

“I’m already regretting this.” She was already on her feet, practically skipping across the floor. She returned with a half-empty bottle of something gold and mean, holding it up like a prize.

“Step one,” she declared, unscrewing the cap. “You’re going to drink.” “Do I look suicidal?”

“Relax,” she said, pouring into two plastic cups. “It’s not poisoned.” I eyed her. “How sure are you?”

Claudia’s smile sparkled. “Only one way to find out.” She shoved a cup toward me and lifted hers high. “Cheers!” I stared at her, then the drink, then back to her. Her eyes danced.

I clinked my cup against hers with a long-suffering sigh. “To probable liver damage.”

She downed hers in one clean gulp like it was water.

I took mine in smaller sips. It was bitter, and it was biting my throat. It tasted like fermented regret.

My face contorted. “That tastes like pain.”

Claudia grinned, licking her lips. “It’s the sacrifice for a happy feeling.”

I gave her a long look. “You like pain.”

“So do you.”

Fair.

Claudia kept pouring.

One shot turned into two.

Two turned into “oh my god, just one more, you’re not even tipsy yet!”

The alcohol burned hotter with each swallow, slinking down my throat like fire with fangs.

I could feel it pooling in my stomach, slow and heavy, coiling like a serpent. My limbs got warmer.

My vision sharpened and blurred in the strangest way, like I could see the room clearer but care less about it.

“Claudia…” I muttered, wobbling slightly on the seat, “If I end up killing someone tonight, it’s your fault.”

She just laughed, then grabbed my arm. “Come on!” I didn’t get a say. She was already dragging me toward the dance floor.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

The music felt louder now. My head pulsed with the bass, each beat a dull throb behind my eyes. The lights flickered violently. Everything was disorienting. I could hear every lesson drilled into me when I was taught to be a ruthless killer. Don’t drink to the point of dull senses.

Don’t allow your awareness to fade in a crowd.

Control is survival.

Right now? Control was slipping through my fingers. Claudia danced like she didn’t have daggers hidden beneath that pretty little dress.

But more than that—

She danced like she was free.

Her arms above her head, hips swaying like sin wrapped in innocence. She turned to me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

“You’re the best friend I ever had,” she said breathlessly, her voice floating through the music. That… did something.

It cracked something.

Not that I’d ever admit it. Not even under torture.

I looked away, scanning the dance floor. Mostly just making sure Claudia didn’t bring too much attention to herself—

Too late.

Some idiotic men had already noticed her. Their eyes shameless. Their grins wide and oily.

But then they noticed me. My stare met theirs.

Just the slow lift of my head… and that look.

That look I’d perfected. The one that whispered: Come closer, and I’ll gut you where you stand. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.

They looked away. Smart little boys.

Claudia, of course, paid no mind to the chaos she summoned with her hair flips and breathless laughs.

She twirled and grabbed a random man’s arm—tall, tanned, built like a regret waiting to happen.

“I’m gonna get laid!” she called, already tugging him toward toward an hallway. “Claudia!” I called after her, eyes narrowing. “Are you insane?!”

She blew a kiss over her shoulder. “Love you! Bye!” I stared. Was she crazy? Yes. Always.

Could she defend herself? Absolutely. Probably better than anyone else in this room.

Still, she was mine to protect.

Even in this half-drunken haze, I couldn’t shake that. So I moved. My footwear were heavier than usual. My steps wobbled. I blamed the lights. And the drinks. And Claudia being an impulsive little hell-angel.

I weaved through the crowd, ready to trail her like the overprotective psychopath she’d turned me into.

Then I slammed into something solid.

A hard and solid chest.

Fuck. I stumbled back a step, my fingers brushing fabric, muscles.

And scent.

God.

He smelled like leather, smoke, and something dark I couldn’t name. Like danger bottled into cologne.

A voice followed. It curled down my spine. “You alright, beautiful?”

The voice did… things.

To my ears.

To the haze in my mind.

I blinked and looked up.

Holy shit.

His face.

Sharp jaw, shadowed stubble, deep-set eyes that looked like sin dipped in secrets. He looked handsome and deadly.

Sexy in a way that felt illegal to be near.

Okay. I was definitely drunk.

Because I never thought things like that.

Not out loud.

Not even in my head.

And yet… My hands swayed, unsteady and slow, landing over his chest like I needed something to hold onto. Something solid.

His voice slid between the music.

“Did a beautiful woman like you… come here alone?”

God.

The bass in his voice could bring down the heavens.

Or bring someone to their knees.

I tilted my head, my lips curling as I peered up at him through lowered lashes. “Yes,” I said, letting the word roll off my tongue. “Why? You planning to kill me?” He chuckled.

And fuck—

Even that sounded like sin. Deep and rich, like it came from somewhere buried in his chest. Somewhere warm and wicked. He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my cheek, his eyes smoldering with something that felt too deliberate.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m planning something much better.”

I raised a brow “Better?”

A pause. Then his voice dropped.

“I’m going to claim you.” My thighs pressed together instinctively.

It was faint. But the heat that bloomed there wasn’t alcohol.

It wasn’t imagined.

And it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

Shit.

Matteo's POV

The only reason I came to this circus of flashing lights and sweating bodies was to see the owner of the club. One of my best friends, unfortunately.

He’d been pestering me to show up for weeks..

So I showed up reluctantly.

Half-expecting to be bored out of my goddamn mind.

Then she ran into me.

Correction, she slammed into my chest like the universe had just tripped and fallen into my arms.

My first reaction?

Annoyance. Obviously.

People don’t bump into me. Not unless they want to lose something important—like teeth. Or lungs.

But her scent.

Fuck.

It hit me like a blade pressed against skin. It was so unexpected and sharp, beautiful in the way poisons are beautiful.

A subtle blend of danger and sweetness. Spice and smoke and something feral beneath it all.

I looked down, and hell opened a door.

Shoulder-length hair, slightly mussed from dancing.

Light caramel skin kissed by the chaos of neon strobes.

And unnatural and haunting violet eyes.

They pinned me before I could even think of blinking.

The music felt like it’d dipped below the surface of the world. Muted. Distant.

Like time itself was smart enough to pause.

What the fuck are you?

She looked up at me, swaying slightly, her hands pressed to my chest like I was the only thing keeping her upright.

She was drunk.

Trying not to look it. Failing in the most fascinating way possible.

My lips curved and I leaned in.

Close enough for only her to hear.

“I’m going to claim you.”

And there it was.

That beautiful, involuntary reaction.

Her legs shifted. She felt it. And she hated that she felt it.

God, I loved that. I didn’t give her time to form a sentence.

I swept her off her feet in one smooth motion—one arm under her knees, the other behind her back.

She gasped, trying to protest. Her hands clutched my shoulders.

But she didn’t fight me.

I cut through the crowd like a shadow through fog. Up the stairs.

Down a quiet hallway pulsing with distant bass.

Click.

I opened the door to my private room. A dark and sleek room.

Just dim lighting, velvet couches, glass and steel.

I stepped inside, kicked the door shut with my footwear, and placed her gently on the leather couch like she was made of glass. But glass I wanted to shatter.

I stood over her, unhurried, letting my eyes rake over her from head to toe

Violet eyes. Stubborn jaw.

Full lips that looked like they’d curse me out mid-kiss.

I grinned.

Not the kind that says I like you.

The kind that says I know exactly how you’ll break, and I want front row seats.

She looked like sin wrapped in silk.

Violet eyes that didn’t blink. A mouth made to make men kneel and bleed. And not a single trace of fear.

Intriguing.

I leaned in, slow and deliberate, inhaling the scent of her like she was already mine.

She smelled like trouble. Like gunpowder and temptation in a dress.

My hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown, fingers trailing up smooth skin, hungry for more.

And then, like a trap snapping shut, she caught my wrist.

“Clothes stay on,” her voice purred. She didn’t sound nervous or shy.

I blinked once, slowly. Then let out a low chuckle.

“Pity,” I murmured. “But I’m a generous man.”

Lie.

But she didn’t need to know that yet.

I adjusted. No pressure.

I was here for the game. So I kissed her.

And—

God have mercy on my soul.

It was like kissing fire. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was Devouring.

Like she wanted to eat the chaos out of me before I could do the same to her.

Her arms looped around my neck, dragging me closer. Her tongue fought mine like it had something to prove.

Which was adorable, considering I had every intention of winning.

Suddenly, the world flipped.

There was no warning or visible effort.

One second I was over her, the next I was the one laid out on the leather couch, breath knocked clean from my lungs.

What the—?

She stood over me, cool as nightfall, packing her hair back into a loose twist with a few precise fingers.

Like rearranging me had been an afterthought. Like I was the appetizer, not the threat. My heart thudded hard.

Not from surprise.

From arousal.

There was a pressure building in my pants, thick and pulsing and impossible to ignore.

All from a kiss.

A fucking kiss.

What the hell was she made of?

Then she tilted her head down and smiled—slow, dark, and amused.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, voice slick and quiet like oil spreading over water. “Unless you think I’m about to kill you.”

That smile said she could. That voice said she might. And fuck me, that only made me harder.

I closed my eyes.

Not because I trusted her.

But because I didn’t.

And that made it so much more fun.

Then I felt her hands, cradling my face like she was handling a loaded gun. She felt delicate yet dangerous.

Her hips found the rigid line of my cock, pressing down in a slow, maddening grind that pulled a groan straight from my chest.

And then her mouth found mine again.

Hot. Starving.

She kissed like she was trying to set a precedent—I’m in control.

But if that was the case, she shouldn’t have let me grab her ass.

Because once my hands landed there, I pulled her tighter. Forced the rhythm faster.

We ground against each other like we were trying to carve out something new with our bodies and our mouths.

My shirt didn’t survive the next minute.

She slipped it off with an efficiency that made me suspicious and aroused.

And then she finally peeled herself out of that dress.

It hit the floor with a whisper.

And fuck me. She was art.

Carved curves and wicked thighs I would’ve gladly died between.

But she was more than beautiful. She was lethal.

And I didn’t want to look.

I wanted to consume.

I yanked her forward by the waist and snapped her bra loose, not caring how it tore.

One of her perfect breasts filled my mouth a heartbeat later, and the sound that followed, I don’t know if it was her moan or my groan.

Might’ve been both. Might’ve been neither.

All I knew was this:

I wanted to unravel her. With my tongue, with my teeth.

I licked. Bit. Sucked.

Her nipple peaked harder in my mouth, and the noise she made—Christ.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw. Like pleasure dragged straight from the back of her throat.

Her hips didn’t pause. She kept riding the ache between my legs like she wanted to break me, grinding down over my cock with increasing force, pace building like a storm about to hit.

And fuck, I felt it.

Every rub. Every drag of heat against the bulge.

My dick throbbed like it was going to split through the seams and finish this for both of us.

I groaned again, deep and hoarse, grabbing a handful of her ass to pull her harder against me, grinding her into my lap until friction wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t fucking close to enough.

I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to be buried inside her, to be lost. To be gone.

But I didn’t stop her. Didn’t take control.

Because I didn’t want to.

She had me on my back. Hands full of curves and heat and a mouth like ecstasy.

And I was loving every goddamn second of it.

What kind of woman flips a man like me onto his back and makes him feel like he's about to come just from dry grinding and a taste of her skin?

A dangerous one.

A different one.

The kind you don’t just fuck and leave.

The kind that wrecks you, and somehow, you thank her for it.

I looked up at her—lips parted, hair loose now, violet eyes locked onto mine like she could see every unhinged, broken part of me and wanted to play with it.

It was beautiful and wicked.

And completely unknown. What’s even her name?

I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I’d ask tomorrow.

If she didn’t kill me in my sleep. But something told me this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Francesa’s POV

Two weeks later

I adjusted the collar of my crisp black shirt, rolling my shoulders as I took in my reflection. The brown contacts dulled the intensity of my usual violet eyes, and the short, tousled wig completed the disguise.

Dressed in a fitted suit with a masculine cut, I could pass for a man without question because of my athletic build.

They won’t suspect a thing.

And I couldn’t afford any more distractions.

Especially not after that night.

God.

That stupid, reckless night.

I told myself I’d never go to a party again.

Never again let Claudia’s chaotic energy pull me into some glittering hellhole packed with sweat and lust and too many drunk souls with no sense of danger.

And yet, I was getting drunk.

Letting my guard down like a fucking idiot.

But what really kept me up afterward…

Was him.

Some stranger with a voice so deep and a touch that fried my brain like static on wet skin.

I didn’t even bother to ask his name.

Didn’t care. Just bodies colliding in the dark, hot and unhinged.

The kind of contact that burned its way under the skin and whispered things no assassin should ever feel.

How the hell did I do something so erotic, so mindless, with someone I didn’t even know?

I hated it.

And I loved it.

And I hated that I loved it.

The morning after, I woke up in some sleek, unfamiliar room.

My gown was crumpled on the floor like the remnants of my common sense.

Thank the stars I’d removed my hidden weapon before my brain decided to melt under his touch.

Because one wrong grip of my thigh and his hand would’ve met steel.

That would've ruined the moment, wouldn't it?

I don’t remember much else.

Just flashes. About his hand, his scent, his voice.

Never again.

I reminded myself that there’s no room for indulgence in my line of work.

Desire makes you hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.

Now I had to focus. Because the mission Mr. Edwards gave me two weeks ago wasn’t just important.

It was personal.

My chance to avenge my sister.

***

Flashback- a week ago

“No.” His voice lost its amusement, turning cold. “This time… it’s about her.”

I froze.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the folder, the paper crinkling under my grip.

I lifted my gaze, my purple eyes burning into his. “Go on.”

“The document you hold is an application to be a bodyguard in the Syndicate”

Edwards leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. "The De Luca Syndicate is looking for new bodyguards," he said. "And you’re going to be one of them."

I scoffed, flipping the folder open. My gaze skimmed over the official documents, the requirements, the fine print. The De Luca crest stamped in the corner sent a sick thrill down my spine.

"Only men allowed," I murmured.

Edwards nodded. "That won’t be a problem for you. You will be in disguise.” He leaned closer. "Now you have the chance to avenge your sister after all these years.”

I had felt my pulse thrum in my ears. My fingers pressed harder into the paper, threatening to tear it. After all these years.

I lifted my chin, forcing my expression into something neutral. “And the target?”

Edwards smirked, tilting his head slightly. “The heir to the Syndicate.”

A slow, cold smile crept into my lips. Killing two birds with one stone. I finally had a way in, and now the Syndicate was practically opening the door for me.

"Why do they want him dead?" I asked, keeping my tone casual, but my grip on the folder betrayed me.

Edwards shrugged, his sharp eyes watching me too closely. "Power struggles, internal betrayals, typical underworld nonsense." He waved a dismissive hand. "But that’s not your concern, is it?"

I met his gaze, holding back the storm brewing inside me. "No," I admitted. "I don’t care why they want him dead."

What mattered was who he was.

The son of the man that killed my sister.

Then we’re in agreement."

I snapped the folder shut. "When do I start?"

"In two week. You’ll need to prepare."

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back. “Disguising as a man won’t be an issue. But they’ll be testing all applicants. What kind of tests?”

Edwards smirked. "Physical endurance, firearms proficiency, hand-to-hand combat. All the things you excel at." His eyes gleamed with something like amusement. "Honestly, they should be worried about you more than the other way around."

I tapped the folder against my palm, considering the challenge. "And my cover?"

"We have documents, ID, and a fabricated background for you. As far as the Syndicate is concerned, you’re just another mercenary looking for work."

I exhaled through my nose, a slow, steady breath. The memory of my sister’s scream echoed in the back of my mind. I pushed it down. Locked it away.

I am stronger now.

I turned, heading for the door.

"Francesa."

I paused, glancing over my shoulder.

Edwards’ expression was unreadable, but his voice was smooth. "Make it count."

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. "I always do."

***

Present day

A week of preparation, of adjusting my stance, my voice, the way I moved. All for this moment. I grabbed my car keys from the dresser. Time to drive into the lion’s den. And set it on fire from the inside.

————

The towering iron gates of the De Luca estate loomed ahead, a silent warning that I was about to step into the belly of the beast. The guards flanking the entrance were dressed in black, their hands resting on the weapons at their sides, eyes sharp with suspicion.

I slowed the car to a stop, rolling down the window as one of them approached. His gaze flickered over me, taking in the sharp lines of my disguise-short hair, masculine features, the slight stubble I had carefully applied.

“ID,” he demanded.

I pulled out the forged identification card, passing it to him without hesitation.

“Franco Moretti,” I said, my voice dropping into the rougher, deeper tone I had practiced for days. “Here for the bodyguard application.”

The guard took his time examining the ID, his eyes narrowing slightly before he gestured for another man to check the system. I kept my expression neutral, steady. This was routine. They wouldn’t find anything out of place.

“You armed?” the first guard asked, nodding toward the car.

I shook my head. “Didn’t bring anything but myself.” A calculated lie. I knew they’d search the car anyway.

He motioned for me to step out, and I obeyed, standing still as they conducted a quick pat-down. Finding nothing, they turned to the vehicle, opening the trunk, checking beneath the seats. I waited, my posture relaxed, like I had nothing to hide.

Finally, the second guard returned, giving the first a nod. “He’s clear.”

The first guard handed back my ID, his expression still unreadable. “Drive through. Park in the designated lot. Someone will escort you inside.”

I gave a curt nod, rolling up the window as I eased the car past the gate.

The estate stretched ahead, a fortress of wealth and power. Every inch of it screamed control, arrogance. They thought they were untouchable.

They had no idea that death had just walked through their front door.

I pulled into the designated parking area, shutting off the engine with a steady hand.

I stepped out of the car, the faint click of the door echoing against the stillness of the estate grounds. A suited escort was already waiting. His expression was blank, but he moved efficiently.

“Follow me,” he said, without even glancing twice.

I adjusted the collar of my jacket, making sure everything was still in place.

We moved through pristine halls that reeked of old money and blood-covered secrets. Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath our feet, and polished portraits of De Luca ancestors lined the walls like silent judges.

Eventually, I was led into a wide lounge area. Several applicants of different build were already seated, dressed in varying degrees of professionalism and arrogance.

I blended in easily. And waited.

Minutes dragged by.

The room smelled of cologne, cheap ambition, and nerves. My fingers tapped once against my thigh—an old habit I buried as quickly as it surfaced.

Then a man approached us. He had the air of someone used to being obeyed, shoulders squared like the military had once been home. He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod.

“It’s time,” he said. “But before we begin the interviews… the Heir of the De Luca Syndicate wants to see you all.”

The heir?

We were taken into a different room that is deeper inside the estate. The walls here were darker. Velvet drapes and polished wood swallowed the lights.

He stood near the window, his back to us. One hand tucked in his pocket. The other held a glass of dark liquor.

He had a board shoulder and a sharp waist.

Casual command in the way he stood. Something about that back…

That’s too much of a coincidence.

It couldn’t be.

I shoved the thought aside.

Then he turned.

My breath caught. Just for a second.

There he was.

The man from two weeks ago.

The stranger who touched me like he owned my skin. The man whose mouth turned my thoughts to static.

The man I let in, stupid and drunk and burning with something I never should’ve allowed to surface.

I’d run my hands down those abs. Bit into that collarbone. Felt him groan into my neck like he wanted to drown in me.

And now here he was.

The Heir of the fucking De Luca Syndicate.

You’ve got to be kidding me.