SARAHI jolted awake, my heart skipping a beat as I blinked against the dim light of my room.A headache pulsed lightly at my temples, and I groaned, rubbing my forehead. I had no idea when or how I even fell asleep. The last thing I remembered was Marco telling me to get some rest—Marco.The party.I shot up, eyes darting to the clock on the nightstand. 7:45 PM.Shit.I had a little over an hour before the party started at nine. That was fine—I still had time. But it wasn’t just any party. It was a night that meant more than just music, drinks, and fancy outfits. It was a new beginning.A fresh start. For me and Marco.With a deep breath, I pushed off the bed and headed straight to the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I turned on the warm water. Stepping under the shower, I let the heat sink into my skin, easing the slight tension in my shoulders.But my mind wasn’t at ease.Marco’s parents were coming.I leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, inhaling deeply. Marco had just tol
SARAH Marco’s hand tightened around mine as we stepped forward, his grip steady, reassuring. “You ready?” he murmured, his voice low, just for me. No. Not even close. But I nodded anyway. My heart pounded as we approached his parents. This wasn’t just any introduction—this was Alessandro and Vittoria De Luca. People whose names carried weight, respect, and fear in equal measure. They weren’t just influential; they were legends in their own right. And I was about to meet them. Marco’s father, Alessandro, stood tall with an air of effortless power. He didn’t need to command attention—it just happened. He had that presence, the kind that made you straighten your posture without realizing it. His silver-streaked dark hair was neatly combed back, his sharp features unreadable. Beside him, Vittoria De Luca was just as intimidating in her own way. Elegant, poised, with piercing dark eyes that assessed me the moment we came into view. Her expression gave away nothing, but I could
AISHAI stood in front of the mirror, my heart hammering against my ribs. My hands hovered over the rack of dresses I had laid out, my fingers brushing over each fabric as I tried to decide. This had to be perfect—tonight had to be perfect. Or at least, it had to look perfect.I swallowed hard, exhaling shakily as I reached for a sleek black dress. It was tight, hugging every curve, the neckline plunging just enough to be enticing but not desperate. I needed Marco to look at me. I needed him to want me—just enough for the camera to capture it.I tugged the dress on, smoothing it over my hips, my stomach twisting in knots. Could I even pull this off? Could I really do this?You have to.I grabbed my makeup brush, dusting powder across my face as I stared at my own reflection. My eyes looked too wide, my lips too tight. I needed to calm down. But how could I? This wasn’t just some party—I was setting a trap.A dangerous one.I reached for my lipstick, twisting it up with shaky fingers.
SARAHI stood next to Marco, my fingers curled lightly around my glass as my eyes kept drifting toward his mother. No matter how much I tried to focus on the party, my mind kept looping back to our conversation, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I remembered the way Marco had spoken about her, the tension in his voice, the unspoken things hanging between them. I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.This wasn’t the time to get lost in thoughts.Marco’s hand rested at the small of my back, grounding me as we moved through the party. The atmosphere was loud and lively, the clinking of glasses mixing with laughter and music. The expensive liquor was flowing freely, and the guests—some familiar, some new—were clearly enjoying themselves.Marco introduced me to one of his business associates, a sharply dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair and an easy grin. “Sarah, this is Alessandro Moretti,” Marco said. “We’ve been doing business for years.”Moretti extended his hand, smiling. “So,
SARAHI watched them.My grip on my glass was tight, my fingers curling around the delicate stem as if it was the only thing keeping me tethered. The cool condensation seeped against my skin, but I barely registered it. My eyes were locked on them—Marco and that woman.She was too close. Too comfortable.Her laugh was light, airy, laced with familiarity. Every few seconds, she touched his arm, her manicured fingers gliding over the fabric of his suit like she had every right. A brush of her hand against his shoulder. A playful tap against his chest. And Marco—he wasn’t pulling away.My jaw tightened.The murmurs around me weren’t helping.“Who is she?”“She looks like she knows him well.”“She’s stunning. No wonder she walked in like she owned the place.”I exhaled sharply through my nose, willing myself to stay composed. I knew exactly what they were thinking because I was thinking it too. And I hated it.My husband, standing there with some woman draped all over him like she had eve
AISHASarah doesn’t like me. That much was obvious.I could see it in her eyes—the way she shook my hand, the way her fingers tensed just slightly, the way her lips curled into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was polite, controlled, but I wasn’t stupid.She didn’t trust me.Not that I blamed her.Women like Sarah had instincts. And mine was telling me that hers were screaming at her that I was a problem.Which, of course, I was. But she couldn’t know that. At least, not yet.I needed to be careful. I needed to move slowly, smartly, if I wanted to get close to Marco without raising too many alarms. If she thought I was just a secretary, an employee who happened to be a little friendly, she might let her guard down.I could work with that.I sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear as I made my way toward the bar, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The party was elegant, the music low and sophisticated, the lighting dim and warm. Everything about the atmos
AISHAMarco took a seat beside me, stretching his arms across the back of the barstool, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just thrown a man out of his own party. His eyes flickered toward me, then to his drink, then back to me again.“You okay?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something unreadable.I exhaled through my nose, picking up my glass and taking a slow sip. “I’m fine.”Marco hummed, not entirely convinced. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”I let out a small laugh. “What, one punch wasn’t enough?”He smirked. “You think he deserved more?”“I think men like that deserve worse.” I took another sip before setting my glass down. “But he’s not worth it.”Marco nodded slightly, rubbing his jaw as he glanced toward the bartender. “What are you drinking?”“Whiskey.”His brows lifted slightly. “Didn’t take you for a whiskey person.”“I’m full of surprises.”Marco chuckled under his breath, then signaled for the bartender. “I’ll ta
AISHAMarco took a seat beside me, stretching his arms across the back of the barstool, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just thrown a man out of his own party. His eyes flickered toward me, then to his drink, then back to me again.“You okay?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something unreadable.I exhaled through my nose, picking up my glass and taking a slow sip. “I’m fine.”Marco hummed, not entirely convinced. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”I let out a small laugh. “What, one punch wasn’t enough?”He smirked. “You think he deserved more?”“I think men like that deserve worse.” I took another sip before setting my glass down. “But he’s not worth it.”Marco nodded slightly, rubbing his jaw as he glanced toward the bartender. “What are you drinking?”“Whiskey.”His brows lifted slightly. “Didn’t take you for a whiskey person.”“I’m full of surprises.”Marco chuckled under his breath, then signaled for the bartender. “I’ll ta
MARCOThe knife gleamed under the low light of my office, smooth and polished, stripped of the blood it had worn just few days ago. I turned it in my hand, inspecting the flawless steel. Clean now, harmless too but that would change soon. It always did.I reached for another, picking up the cloth beside me, running it slowly along the blade’s edge. There was something satisfying about it to me, the way a weapon could look so calm until the moment it was used. It was a deception I admired. A blade never needed to look dangerous. It only needed to be.La Paloma had been a massacre. The blood had dried fast, crusting against the ridges of the handle, settling in the fine lines of the steel. It took effort to wipe it away completely. A kill wasn’t finished until the weapon was ready for its next one.I moved to the next knife, then the next, until each one sat before me, shining like they had never been used. That was when I reached for the sharpening stone.A clean blade was one thing. A
SARAHI tried to focus on the yarn in my hands, but my fingers trembled too much to knit. The needles clicked together uselessly, slipping from my grasp, the pattern I’d started completely forgotten. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning, tangled in the mess of Aisha’s confession, each word cutting deeper than the last.Marco never cheated.The pictures were fake.Isabella was behind it all.I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The truth slammed into me over and over, breaking apart everything I thought I knew. Everything I let myself believe.I should have known.After Isabella was caught lying about her pregnancy, after she was humiliated and exposed, I should have realized she wasn’t the type to let things go. That woman didn’t lose. She didn’t forget. She was like a viper, coiling in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to sink her fangs into my life and tear it apart.And I let her.I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry, aching with the weight of my own stupidity.Every
ISABELLAThe morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private suite, casting golden light over the silk sheets of my king-sized bed. I stretched lazily, savoring the coolness of the fabric against my skin before reaching for the remote on my nightstand. With a press of a button, soft classical music filled the room, the kind that played in the background of the world’s most expensive penthouses. The kind that reminded me of power. Of control. Of exactly who I was.I slid out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush white carpet as I made my way toward the bathroom. Marble countertops, a freestanding tub, gold fixtures—everything hand-selected, everything perfect. I twisted the faucet, letting warm water spill into the sink before splashing my face gently. A morning cleanse, followed by an ice-cold jade roller against my skin. Every inch of my routine was precise, curated.Next came the serum. The kind infused with gold flecks, a favorite of European royalty.
MARCOSarah appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes scanning the room, and the moment she took in the sight before her, confusion flashed across her face. Then something else. Something unreadable. Her gaze drifted from the blood pooling on the floor to the doctor hunched over Aisha’s body, his hands moving fast, his jaw tight with focus. My men stood around, tense, waiting, their shoulders stiff with the weight of what had just gone down. The air was thick, the kind that pressed against your chest. But I barely noticed any of it.All I saw was Sarah.I moved toward the staircase, instinct taking over, ready to guide her down, but before I could reach for her, she stopped me with a small shake of her head.“I’m fine,” she murmured. “I can walk.”I hesitated for half a second before stepping back, watching her carefully as she descended. Her hands gripped the railing a little tighter than usual, and I could see the way her breath hitched as she got a closer look at the scene. The b
MARCOBlood was everywhere. Thick, dark, warm against my skin. It soaked through my fingers, through Aisha’s torn clothes, pooling on the leather seat beneath her. The metallic stench filled the SUV, mixing with the acrid scent of gunpowder and burnt rubber. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, eyelids fluttering, skin sickly pale.“Stay awake,” I muttered, pressing my hand harder against the wound. “Don’t fucking pass out.”Her head lolled slightly, lips parting. “Can’t…”“You can,” I snapped. “You don’t get to bleed out here.”The Rossis were still on us, their engines snarling, the air filled with the rapid cracks of gunfire. Another window shattered. Glass sprayed across my arm, cutting into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. My focus was locked on Aisha and the goddamn blood leaking out of her too fast.Petrov yanked the wheel hard to the left, barely dodging a parked car. The SUV fishtailed, tires screeching, but he kept control, pushing forward.Tony was still hanging out the window, c
MARCOBang!Blood hit my face, warm and thick. The sound of Anton’s body slamming against the floor echoed in the room, his lifeless eyes still open, staring up at nothing. His mouth, which had been running nonstop just seconds ago, was frozen in shock. The pool of blood beneath him spread fast, the deep red spilling across the cracked tiles. The smell—sharp, metallic—filled the air, mixing with the lingering scent of gunpowder.I didn’t move. My chest was still tight, my breath locked in my throat. That bullet should’ve been for me.Tony stepped in, gun still raised, his eyes sweeping the room. He took one glance at Anton’s corpse, then at me. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Damn. Came in just in time, huh?”I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension still coiled in my muscles. My hand flexed involuntarily, the ghost of a gun still lingering in my grip. “Yeah… that was too fucking close.”Tony chuckled, sliding his gun back into its holster. “Close? Marco, you were done for.”I ran a hand ov
MARCOThe cold steel at the back of my head sent a sharp wave of irritation down my spine. Not fear. Irritation. Because I had checked. I had swept this place. I had been so sure I was alone in this room with Aisha. So where the fuck did this guy come from? How hadn’t I heard him move? No footsteps, no breath, no shift in the air. Nothing.I was still caught in that thought when the gun pressed harder against my skull.“What, you deaf?” The voice was deep, smooth, almost amused. “I said drop the gun.”Slow. Careful. I lowered my arm, fingers unwrapping from my weapon before I let it hit the ground. The second it did, the guy let out a short laugh.“That’s good,” he said, then I heard the scrape of his boot as he kicked my gun far out of reach.I clenched my jaw, but I didn’t move. My mind was already working, already cycling through every option, every opening, every mistake I had made to end up in this position.The man behind me let out another small chuckle, stepping closer.“Marco
MARCOThe second the lights cut out, my hand went straight for the knife. My fingers curled around the handle tight, the weight fitting into my palm like it was born there. I didn’t reach for the gun. Not yet. Guns made noise. Guns were for men who didn’t know how to move. I wasn’t here to spray bullets aimlessly and paint the whole place in blood unless I really had to.I moved low, sticking close to the wall. My breath steady. My heartbeat calm. The whole building was stirring into chaos — voices barking out orders, footsteps stomping around blindly in the dark. They didn’t know what hit them yet. The picture in my head stayed sharp. Every guard I clocked when I walked in. Every position. Every lazy hand resting too far from a trigger. I carried that image with me now as I crept through the shadows.The first two were exactly where I left them. By the columns. Flashlights flicking left and right, trying to cut through the darkness. Russian accents. I could hear the nervous edge in
ISABELLAThe room was drowning in silence — the kind that made your own thoughts feel louder than they should. The only sound cutting through was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.I paced from one end of the room to the other, heels clicking against the marble floor. My cigarette had burned out in the ashtray a long time ago, smoke still faintly curling from the filter. I hadn’t even realized I’d left it there.My eyes kept flicking to the phone on the table — screen black, still no calls. Every second that passed without a word from La Paloma only twisted the knife deeper in my chest.They should’ve called by now.I could feel it… that tight pull in my stomach. Something was happening.Marco was out there.Looking for her.I poured myself a glass of wine, but it barely made it halfway to my lips before I set it back down. My fingers tapped restlessly against the glass, my mind circling the same dark corner over and over again.If Marco found Aisha… if he got to her before w