Elena Russo is a master thief and assassin, driven by revenge. Her mission is to infiltrate the life of mafia billionaire Lorenzo Salvatore, whom she believes is responsible for her father’s murder. Under the guise of an art dealer, Elena enters his world, but the lines between duty and desire blur as she uncovers hidden truths, including Lorenzo’s vulnerability and complex relations. When sparks fly between them, Elena finds herself caught between duty and desire. As she uncovers his deepest secrets, including a hidden child and a dangerous rival bent on his destruction, Elena realizes that her enemy is not the man she thought he was. Torn between her lingering feelings for Ethan, the FBI informant with his own dark agenda, and her undeniable attraction to Lorenzo, Elena must decide: can she risk her heart to get her revenge, or will she lose everything in the heist of her life? In a world of betrayals, lies, and shattered loyalties, love may be the deadliest game of all.
View MoreThe study’s heavy doors shut with a muted finality as Nico entered, the silence thickened by the room’s golden-tinged light. His mouth twisted into a smirk, the venom in his gaze sharpening as he took in Lorenzo’s calm demeanor and Elena’s steady presence nearby.“Should I leave you two to it?” His words were laced with contempt. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your ‘heartfelt reunion.’”Lorenzo barely acknowledged Nico’s barb, his attention narrowing instead on the bruising across Nico’s jaw, the tense set of his shoulders, and the charred edges of his jacket, now a singed reminder of the recent blast. A flicker of concern passed over Lorenzo’s expression, one only a brother might catch.“Nico,” he said, his voice calm but direct, “are you intact?”Nico nodded sharply, the anger in his eyes smoldering, though he shifted uncomfortably under Lorenzo’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he replied, his tone tight, as if unwilling to accept any sympathy. Lorenzo took him in for another second before nodding
The drive to the Salvatore Estate was torturous. Elena’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, her jaw clenched as she navigated the mountain pass. She was squashed in the center of the convoy, boxed in, as though the guards—so eager to carry out Nico’s every word—had positioned her as an afterthought. Her car dipped into a rut, jostling her shoulder, and she rubbed at the ache that was forming in her temple. Beside her, a guard sat rigid, his hands folded and gaze fixed ahead. He was older, maybe mid-fifties, with graying hair and a scar slicing down his left cheek. His presence was silent and detached, a man carrying out orders with the efficiency of a well-trained shadow. She caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, and something in his gaze suggested he’d been in too many fights, seen too much blood. Her annoyance simmered beneath her scrutiny of him, but he gave no reaction, his focus on the dark road ahead.As the wind streamed through the
The road to the safe house twisted through the hills, narrow and shadowed. Elena’s car coasted quietly up the final stretch, the solitude around her broken only by the hum of her engine. Each turn brought her closer to the answers she’d been chasing—buried pieces of her father’s past she could no longer ignore.The safe house was hidden beneath dense layers of ivy and towering cypress trees, an old stone structure with worn shutters and a half-collapsed awning. She shut off the car and stepped out, shrugging deeper into her hoodie, her gaze flicking to the surrounding trees, already instinctively mapping her exits.She had just started toward the door when she heard a second car approaching. She turned, tension coiling in her stomach, as she watched the black SUV come to a slow stop behind her own vehicle. The door opened, and Nico stepped out, his gray eyes fixed on her with an expression that bordered on exasperation.“What are you doing here?” she deman
The morning sun cast a pale light over the sprawling terrace of Aurelia Hotel, a luxury hidden in the city’s quieter quarters. Elena leaned against a stone railing overlooking the cobblestone street below, her gaze distant. This place held a mix of opulence and old-world charm, a far cry from the shadowed corners she frequented. But today, she was here on a purpose.The terrace was a blend of quiet elegance, low chairs and tables set beneath white awnings flapping gently in the breeze. Waiters moved soundlessly, dressed in crisp black uniforms. Elena had chosen her spot purposefully—a table near the edge, partially shrouded in ivy, where she could observe without being noticed.The fitted black dress hugged her frame, accentuating her curves and complementing her olive skin. Her fingers brushed the edge of a coffee cup, the rich scent mingling with the faint trace of floral perfume lingering in the air. She hadn’t been here long, but the weight of anticipation made each passing second
Elena had barely closed the door of her house when she sensed she wasn’t alone. The room was dim, but a faint glow spilled through the curtains, illuminating the figure leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. Ethan’s presence filled the space, and her pulse quickened involuntarily.“Ethan,” she said, her voice steady, though her insides tightened. "How are you here so soon?"Her thoughts went to the bursted tire she'd experienced on the highway, she faintly wondered if he had anything to do with it and what he hoped to achieve by slashing her tire.He stepped forward, his expression shadowed but intense, a controlled calm in his posture. He was dressed in the same slate-gray shirt from earlier.The rolled up sleeves, accentuated his lean, muscular build, especially paired with the dark jeans that gave him an edge of ruggedness.“You sure seem to be making yourself comfortable with Lorenzo.” The words held a trace of disdain, and he crossed his arms tighter as he studied h
Elena took a steadying breath as she stepped into the lounge, her eyes adjusting to the warm, amber glow that softened each line and deepened every shadow. Chandeliers cast a dim, conspiratorial light over velvet seats and polished tables, the faint but familiar scent of bourbon and leather grounded her as she prepared for this meeting—a meeting she wasn’t sure she could trust.Her gaze settled on Lorenzo in a secluded corner, one arm draped casually over his seat, his posture composed, almost commanding, even as his eyes tracked her movement, eliciting an awareness that felt too keen, too intimate. His suit, a deep, muted blue, set off the striking intensity of his gaze, and as she approached, she couldn’t ignore the way his lips curved ever so slightly, as though he could read her every thought before she’d spoken a word.“Elena,” he greeted, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. He gestured to the seat across from him, his eyes r
The day slipped by in a blur of half-formed plans and hollow silence, the weight of Elena’s discovery pressing on her like an iron vice. Every detail on the flash drive had unraveled a thread she hadn’t even known existed—Vincent’s connection to her father, the history he had hidden. She’d combed through the drive twice, her mind working in relentless loops, but answers remained elusive. And the questions only multiplied.By late evening, her frustration had crystallized into a fierce, icy resolve. She was going to confront Vincent. Whether he liked it or not, he owed her the truth, and she was done waiting.Elena pulled on a dark leather jacket, slipping a small knife into her pocket with a practiced motion. She glanced in the mirror, her blue eyes steely, shadowed by the weight of the secrets she’d just unveiled. She was prepared to do whatever it took to get answers.***The bar was buried on a quiet street in New Jersey’s oldest district, a pl
The city was still cloaked in the haze of early morning as Elena sat alone in her loft, her gaze fixed on the laptop screen. The faint glow of the screen was the only light in the room, casting shadows that stretched across the walls, curling around her like ghosts. She’d barely slept; every bruise and strain from last night’s fight seemed to flare in the stillness, a dull, persistent ache that pulsed with each heartbeat. She shifted uncomfortably, the bruises on her ribs making even small movements a test of endurance.She leaned forward, fingers steady as she inserted the flash drive into the laptop. The drive’s label—*Romano*—flashed across the screen, a cold reminder of the name she’d spent years chasing, a name that had become the bedrock of her vengeance. A name that was, even now, still a mystery.With a quick series of keystrokes, she bypassed the security encryption, the thrill of the hack familiar, almost comforting. This drive had been relatively easy to
Elena adjusted her hoodie, every muscle tensed, ready for any surprises. The near-abandoned plaza on the city’s edge, notorious for shady dealings, made her skin crawl.“Get in, get out.” She muttered, willing herself to keep going. This was no place to linger. The intel had brought her here to Rome, with clear directives to meet a contact who held critical insight into her father and the mystery surrounding his death. As she approached, a flicker of anger prickled beneath her focus. The place chosen—a dilapidated courtyard with broken benches and crumbling statues—had no safeguards, no cover. She couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at her instincts; there was an odd vacancy to the air, an unnatural quietness that sent her senses on high alert. A figure stood by a rusted bench, his posture guarded, a brown trench coat pulled tightly around him, obscuring much of his face. She slipped her phone into her pocket, clenching her hands to steady herself before stepping closer. She took a ca
Elena Romano understood firsthand that in the world of thieves, everything had a price—except resurrecting dead men. If that had been on the table, her father would still be alive, and Lorenzo Salvatore wouldn't be on her hit list.Her olive-toned skin blended with the darkness, making her almost invisible. For the right price, anything could be bought on the thriving black market of the underworld—maps, blueprints, access codes. Her underworld connections yielded the blueprints to the Salvatore estate. It was pretty easy to kill someone in their own home, no matter how secure they thought they were. The Mafia bosses weren't immune to secrets sold on the black market, though it was pricier to gain information on them; a slip-up could mean a dead body turning up the next day. She instinctively rubbed the faint scar below her collarbone, a thin line etched from a heist gone wrong—a constant reminder that she was no stranger to danger.A low chuckle escaped her lips. Lorenzo probably tho
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