009. Double Identity Disaster...

NOTE: Please accept my quick apology, but this chapter will include a few POV changes to better show the different narratives, so please bear with me.

—

ALEX’S POV

My phone buzzed on the dashboard.

Pearl: Are you back from work? You should be getting ready for your date with my mom.

I smirked. “Date,” I muttered to no one. It had been an unexpected request, but Ava had reached out to me if we could have dinner, and well… I didn’t say no. 

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I took the next turn. “God, if only she knew.”

Another buzz.

Pearl: Don’t make her wait. I like you and want you as my new dad, so… don’t ruin this.

Alex: I will try my best…

I didn’t add the rest: to crash this deal and return just in time for the dinner date.

I tossed the phone into the passenger seat and pulled onto the overpass, slowing as my contact’s text came through.

Rico: Warehouse 12, dockside. Twenty minutes. The La Rosa shipment is moving. Word is that the Godmother herself is coming in.

I leaned back in the seat, heart ticking faster. If that was true—if she was really going to be there—this could be more than just a surveillance run.

This could be everything.

The GodMother. Leader of the La Rosa Syndicate. The woman no one ever saw twice unless she wanted them to.

And tonight, the devil was supposed to show up wearing red.

I checked my glove compartment. Two pistols, clean. Backup earpiece. I slid a blade into the ankle holster and pulled a black cap low over my face.

“Dinner can wait.”

—

AVA’S POV

The heels came off first.

The earrings followed.

By the time I stepped into the walk-in closet hidden behind the bath in my office, Dr. Ava Reed was gone. And the GodMother—the woman the underworld still whispered about—stood in her place.

Hair pinned up. Red lipstick. Black gloves.

I stared at myself in the mirror. Sharp eyes. Sharper edges.

The dress I chose was matte black, slashed at the thigh and stitched for movement, not seduction. I strapped on the holster under the silk shawl and slid the knife behind my spine.

“We’re running late,” Rafael said as I stepped into the waiting SUV.

“They’ll wait,” I replied. “They always do.”

He didn’t argue. 

The drive to Dock 12 was quiet, filled only with the purr of the engine and the buzz of a city that never slept, only turned darker after hours. I glanced at my phone once. 

Pearl had sent a text. 

Pearl: Good luck on your date, Mummy. Lock it in and have some fun too.

I smiled for half a second, then shut the phone off.

I couldn’t afford distractions tonight.

This shipment contained everything—clean weapons and untouched inventory—meant for an ally in Prague who’d pay double if we delivered or triple if we could deliver a day earlier and protect the shipment until he got it.

Which meant speed mattered.

And silence.

—

ALEX’S POV

The warehouse smelt like oil, salt, and lies.

I moved through the shadows quietly. I knew these docks better than I knew my own apartment. My men were positioned around the perimeter—loose enough not to draw attention, but tight enough that no one left without my say-so.

Then I saw her.

Or rather—I thought I saw her.

A woman stepped out of the black SUV with an air of confidence that seemed to defy gravity. Her presence made everything around her feel charged and electric.

No guards. Just one man behind her.

Bold.

Cocky.

Definitely her.

I stayed in the dark, slipping closer to the stacked containers. Just close enough to hear snippets of the conversation—clean numbers, Czech accents, trigger words.

Then it happened.

Gunfire.

—

AVA’S POV

The deal had just begun. The crates were being inspected. I'd shaken hands with the Prague man—Petrov, something, I barely cared—when the sound cracked the air.

Not the clean sound of a silencer.

Louder. Sloppier.

Like a warning shot.

I didn’t wait for confirmation. I ducked, yanking Rafael with me, already signalling the driver to reverse the SUV.

Then came the chaos—shouts in Czech and Spanish, the whistle of bullets, the sick, wet sound of impact.

Someone was bleeding behind me.

I didn’t look.

I moved ahead cautiously, going through the containers with my gun ready, my heart pounding in my throat. I looked carefully into the shadows.

There—movement. 

Not one of mine.

Too clean.

Too practiced.

It wasn’t the Prague men.

So who? Another gang? Independent? Or working for someone?

ALEX’S POV

I recognised the ambush a second too late.

This wasn’t La Rosa’s plan. And it sure as hell wasn’t mine.

“Shit,” I hissed, ducking behind a container as bullets sparked against the steel.

The woman in black—GodMother—was gone from sight.

I caught glimpses—her shawl flickering like smoke, as she moved. She returned fire, clipped a man in the leg, and dropped another with a clean shot to the chest.

I moved parallel, slipping through crates toward the exit. The deal was dead. This was just damage control now.

But I wanted one more look at her. One more confirmation.

A shadow crossed my path. And the next thing, she was moving like a skilled assassin. We were just ten feet apart, each of us pointing our guns in different directions, our backs almost touching.

I immediately turned around to try to get a clear view of her, and then there was a flashbang behind us—a white light—and screams.

We scattered.

—

AVA’S POV

Rafael pulled me into the back alley as I gasped for air. My arm burned—grazed by a bullet or a shard of metal, I couldn’t tell.

“What the hell was that?” he growled.

“An ambush,” I panted. “Not the Moretti gang’s style. So it’s someone else.”

“You think they’re coming for you?”

“No,” I said grimly, pulling the knife from my belt. “They were coming for the guns.”

He tossed me a clean jacket. “You’re bleeding.”

I pressed the fabric to my arm and checked the time. 9:27 PM.

Dinner was at nine.

“Fuck.”

“Are you still going?”

“I have to.”

I couldn’t afford for him to think I was bailing.

I pulled my hair down, wiped the smudged mascara from my cheek, and climbed into the SUV like the night hadn’t happened.

—

ALEX’S POV

By the time I got to the restaurant, I’d wrapped my ribs in gauze and covered the bruises with cologne and charm.

As I walked in, the hostess looked at me curiously. “Mr. Ramos?”

I nodded. “Table for two.”

Ava was already there.

Perfectly poised.

Elegant.

She looked up as I sat down. Her eyes scanned me quickly—too quickly. A flicker of something passed between us.

Recognition? No. Couldn’t be.

Just exhaustion.

“Rough day?” she asked.

“You could say that,” I said, forcing a smile. “You?”

She lifted her wine glass. “I’ve had worse.”

I laughed softly.

Just beneath the tablecloth, my fingers twitched toward the bruise on my thigh—still bleeding.

But I ignored that and smiled at her. “Ready to start the night?”