After a steam bath, she stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped loosely around her chest. “Honeysuckle Rose” by Anita O’Day, an old vintage and mellifluous tune, was playing in the background.It was 5:40 pm now. If Stefan, or rather Stefano, kept to time, then she had exactly 1 hour and 20 minutes to prepare for the ‘dinner.’ She hummed along to the sweet tune as she swayed her hips to the bass, sauntering to the closet.Despite her self-disgust at falling for the devil she'd been sent to slay, Serena was intrigued to see how his intricate game of cat and mouse would unfold. She relished the opportunity to play the role of the unsuspecting pawn, to pretend to be the vulnerable prey. But beneath the surface, she would be a cunning adversary, a sly fox, eager to outmaneuver him. Serena was determined to play his game, but with a twist – she'd emerge as the mastermind, outsmarting him at every turn. She would make him fall for her, then she'd learn his secrets, and in the
Still at the restaurant.The waitress appeared to take their order, greeting them with a cheerful "Buon giorno, signori, signorina.” She nodded curtly at Stefano then Serena. "Cosa desidera la dea per antipasto?" In translation: What would the goddess like for an appetizer? She asked, her eyes sparkling with warmth.Serena's eyes widened slightly as she processed the question and the unexpected term of endearment – goddess. A gentle smile spread across her face as she refocused on the menu, her gaze scanning the black and gold-embossed card. Stefano remained silent, allowing her to make her selection.With over 20 appetizer options to choose from, Serena opted for the "Carpaccio di Manzo" (thinly sliced raw beef), a dish she had seen in a movie and heard rave reviews about. Stefano's smile grew as she made her choice."E il vino?” (And wine ?”) The waitress enquired.Serena scanned the menu again, looking for which wine to choose. There she found the De Rico wine. Perfect! She though
Still at the restaurant.Serena laughed, a hint of mockery in her voice. "No, let's not. I'm a terrible dancer," she replied, trying to deflect his interest.Stefano's response was unexpected. "Something tells me that's not true," he said, his eyes locked on hers as if challenging her claim.Serena's smile grew, and she shot back, "Well, that ‘something’ is lying." She tried to keep her tone light, but her words were laced with a hint of defiance.Stefano stood up, and with a subtle gesture, the soft hum of jazz music filled the air, replaced by the sultry rhythms of salsa. He began to dance, his movements unabashedly sensual and sophisticated. The way he moved was almost hypnotic, and Serena found herself giggling, captivated by the fluidity of his steps. For a moment, she forgot her vendetta, and her eyes were drawn to the captivating sight of Stefano dancing."What are you doing?" she laughed, her eyes shining with mirth, her voice barely audible over the pulsating music.Stefano
Still at the restaurant. The silence that followed the man's departure was oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocated the room. Stefano's eyes lingered on the door, his expression unreadable. The music had stopped, and the only sound was the soft hum of the restaurant's background noise.Finally, Stefano turned to Serena, his eyes now softer and loving as they locked onto hers. Serena's rapid heartbeat slowed. The comfort in his eyes did that."I'm sorry, but I have to cut our evening short," she heard him say, his voice low and smooth but with an undercurrent of tension.Serena's face fell —contrivedly. “Is there a problem?” She asked, her expression seeming more concerned than suspicious.“Yes, actually there is.” Stefano rested a hand on his hip and rubbed his temple with the other. “But I assure you, it's nothing that concerns you. We're perfect.” He assured, his tone a little faint of honesty. Or maybe that was all Serena.She hesitated, her eyes subtly fixed scrutinizingly on
Once Stefano's car left her curb, Serena sluggishly took off her heels, the soft thud of the shoes hitting the floor a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside her. Flinging them into her cluttered closet, she strode to her dresser mirror, where her reflection glared back at her like a specter. She stared for minutes, motionless, her mind replaying the moments that had left her feeling so unsettled —The Dinner and dance with the Devil, ‘Stefano.’ The memories swirled like a toxic storm, refusing to dissipate. Shaking off the lingering emotions had become another mission for her. Mission impossible.She had tried to deny it, but the truth was, she had enjoyed Stefano's company. His words, his touch, his smiles, his soft gaze that still pierced through her Kryptonian shields. The way he had danced, the way he had made her feel like she was the only woman that mattered in the world. It had all felt completely genuine. She found no lust in his eyes as he stared at her. She would
If Pablo Fibonacci was alive, and still work on the Der Rico's case, then he was one of theirs and they needed to work together. So she proceeded to go pick up her phone when the instructions on her mission document came flooding her mind like a warning. “ASSIGNED AGENT MUST ON NO CIRCUMSTANCES CONTACT THE HEADQUARTERS WITHOUT SUCCESSFUL CONTACT WITH THE TARGET, OR CLOSURE OF THE MISSION.”Right now, that rule made no sense. I mean, why? Serena's mind reeled.Regardless, she picked up her phone, her fingers flew across the keypad as she dialed the headquarters, but the call disconnected abruptly. Two more attempts yielded the same result – a swift disconnection.Her brows drew close, staring at her phone. She tried one more time, yet she heard that abrupt frustrating beeps. Exasperated but undeterred, she dialed another number, this one for her boss, Chief Director Sylvester Peckham. He picked up on the third ring."Hello, Chief? What's going on?" she asked, her tone laced with conce
An unknown location, Milan, Italy.10:15 pm.Stefano stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Milanese manor, gazing out into the rain-soaked night. The droplets slid down the glass like tears, their rhythmic patter a soothing melody that couldn't calm the storm in his mind. Repeatedly, constantly, obsessively, his thoughts were consumed by her —Serena. Her beautiful sage green eyes, her wavy black hair, her fragrance —a scent he couldn't get enough of.He obsessed thought deeply about her smile, the sound of her laughter, her sultry voice and the way she moved in his arms when they danced.The memory of their evening replayed on repeat, and Stefano couldn't shake off the feeling that something had shifted within him. He was so lost in the haze of his thoughts that he couldn't even hear the approaching walking steps. Marco gently pushed open the grand door. He entered the sitting room, where Stefano stood by the window in a dark tailored suit.The room's neutral tones were
As the elevator descended eight feet beneath the manor, Stefano and Marco stepped out into the dimly lit room, his eyes locking onto the three bound men. But unlike his usual victims, these men were laughing hysterically, their battered and bruised bodies a stark contrast to their mirth. Blood pooled from their mouths, cut and burn marks smeared all over their skin.The torture party has already started before him —not like he cared.However, his eyes lingering on them for a moment, he began. "You lot have to be the first brave ones to end up in my dungeon," His voice dripped with sarcasm. And somehow the men found it funny. They laughed even louder."I think they're high," one of Stefano's men suggested. “I found this in one of the Gringo's pockets.” Stefano's eye met the object he was waving in the hair. It was a white powdery substance in a transparent satchet. Had to be narcotics.His gaze narrowed. “How were they caught?”“The FBI mole surrendered and told us where to find th
Serena. She had to act like everything was fine—perfect even. Her smile was light, her posture poised, and her voice delicately threaded with warmth. But beneath the charm, Serena’s pulse fluttered like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.Stefano’s eyes were sharp, watching her every expression.“But why do you look so worried?” she asked, her voice laced with gentle curiosity as she crossed the room toward him.“I had some intense business matters, that's all.” He brushed it off with practiced ease, a ghost of tension still shadowing his words. It was a lie—she could see it in the flicker behind his dark gaze. But he was also… afraid. Not of her. Of something else. Something that might have happened to her. The idea lingered between them unspoken.But just when she thought she had escaped his scrutinizing gaze, she heard him ask. “Your lips… what happened?” Fuck! That bastard, Marco, had bit me. She shrugged it off, “I dunno… probably brushed too hard or bit too hard, I don't remembe
Marco.Through the hidden door he had installed during the latest round of upgrades to the house, Marco slipped out of her room like a shadow fleeing daylight. His breath caught in his throat, each exhale shaky, his pulse thudding like a war drum in his ears. The hallway was quiet—too quiet—but he didn’t dare slow down. Guilt clawed at his chest with every step as he moved swiftly toward the east wing of the manor, to his private suite tucked far from hers.When he finally pushed open the glass doors to his veranda, the cool night air slapped against his face, awakening his senses with a jolt. He leaned over the railing, gripping it until his knuckles turned white once again, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts.What the hell are you doing, Marco?His reflection in the glass door behind him stared back at him like a silent accusation. This wasn’t just a lapse in judgment—it was betrayal. Not just in thought, but in action… He had touched her, kissed her with a roughn
Stefano.The morning heat clung to the Milanese countryside like a shroud. It was thick with tension and the smell of gunpowder enveloped the field. Stefano stood over the body, his jaw tight, his pistol still raised. Smoke curled from the barrel, disappearing into the warm breeze.The man’s blood darkened the dirt beneath him.He had been one of Stefano's own. Trusted. Loyal. Or so he thought.“Selling our weapons to our enemies?” Stefano muttered to himself, fury darkening his features. “And skimming off the top for your own pocket?”The betrayal sliced deep.This wasn’t the first. And wouldn’t be the last.“I’ve buried more of my men this year than I can count,” he said bitterly, addressing the two soldiers standing behind him, both pale, both silent. “Every time I look into one of their eyes, I wonder who’s next.”He stared down at the corpse for a long moment before glancing up. “Clear this mess.”“Yes, Don De Ricco,” they said in unison, dragging the body away without question.
Next Day. The morning sun cast golden warmth across the marble floor of Serena’s room, chasing shadows from the corners and kissing the silk sheets that no longer smelled like him. Her fingers reached over instinctively, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. But he wasn't right next to her.A quiet ache vibrated in her chest, one she tried to ignore. But when she saw a written note resting neatly on the nightstand, she eagerly reached for it. It read: ~ Morning, tésoro mio. Had to leave for urgent business. But I’ve made plans for us today. Wear something you’ll want to remember. —S ~Her lips curved into a faint smile despite herself. He always knew how to tug at her. She held the note against her chest for a second before tossing back the covers and padding to the bathroom.The steam of the hot shower fogged the mirror, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. But inside her head, it wasn’t peaceful. Marco's voice echoed faintly in her thoughts—his promise to see her soon. That cr
The night had enveloped the entire city.And the room was dimly lit, punctuated by the shimmering light of the chandelier and the fluorescent bedside lamp.Stefano’s eyes burned into her like fire meeting silk. She lay there, bare, her legs spread wide, her gaze seductive and commanding—and still, he was the one completely undone.His breathing deepened as he pulled off his shirt, every slow motion revealing more of his defined torso. Shadows danced over the hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, and Serena’s breath hitched, her body already aching for him.He climbed onto the bed like a predator, slow and deliberate, every inch of his movement a silent promise.He didn’t touch her immediately. He just knelt between her legs and stared.Serena’s body shivered under his gaze. No man had ever looked at her like that. Like she was something sacred. Something dangerous. Something his.Then Stefano leaned down.His tongue slid out, warm and wet, and traced a slow line up the inside of her t
Into the manor they went.Serena’s eyes roamed the expansive interior, tracing the grandeur of it all—the high vaulted ceilings, the gold-framed paintings, the polished marble floor that gleamed under warm lighting. It was opulent but not ostentatious, and it carried a masculine elegance—dark woods, stone, and steel softened by curated pieces that whispered wealth and power.Even Stefano looked around, mildly surprised. Marco had taken initiative, and it showed. The broken ornaments had been restored, the antique frames replaced or repaired. Every corner gleamed with intention. Stefano didn’t know how Marco had pulled it off so quickly, but he silently appreciated it.“My…” Serena’s voice trailed as she gazed around in awe. “It’s... huge.”“It is,” Stefano replied with a faint smile, watching her reaction closely.He led her down a long corridor until they reached a wing adjacent to his. He opened the door to a spacious suite, stepping aside so she could enter first.“I had it furnish
Later that day. Serena moved through her condo with quiet purpose, the soft zip of luggage and the shuffle of items breaking the stillness. She was packing light—only a single bag—despite Stefano’s insistence that she wouldn’t need anything. He had promised to buy her an entirely new wardrobe once they arrived. “Something that suits your elegance,” he had said with that unreadable glint in his eyes.But this wasn’t just about clothing. She slipped her mission files—well-disguised among blank notebooks. These were incriminating things that could ruin the entire mission once he found them, yet she was taking the risk of taking them. She stared for a long moment at the concealed compartment under her nightstand. Inside it sat her metal detector-proof handgun, slim and matte black, resting like a secret. Her fingers hovered over it, but before she could make a decision, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.“Need any help?” came Stefano’s voice.Her heart jumped against her ribs.She cl
The early afternoon sun bled through the linen curtains, casting a warm hue over the living room as Stefano slipped his arms into his jacket. He looked effortlessly sharp, even though he hadn’t changed his outfit in days. A quick smirk played on his lips when he caught Serena eyeing him from the couch.“Stay in. Rest,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour. Groceries, supplies… and maybe a change of clothes. God knows I need one.”Serena chuckled delightfully. The thought of him restocking for her marveled her. But she liked it a lot, leaning into his touch before he pulled away and headed for the door. The condo felt oddly silent once it closed behind him. For a few moments, she simply sat there, staring at the space he had just left.She hadn’t realized how much safer she felt with him around.Ten minutes hadn’t passed before the silence was broken—by the unmistakable hum of a car engine outside. She peered out the window, assuming it was Stefano
The soft clink of cutlery had long faded into the silence that followed her question—How many have you killed?—and the weight of his answer still lingered in the air between them.I don’t keep count.It should have terrified her. Instead, it made him real.They remained in bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, their bodies close but not touching now. The golden morning light had warmed the room, but a chill had returned, the kind that comes from speaking the kinds of truths most people die with.“So,” she said after a long silence, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “You kill a lot of people.”He gave a quiet laugh—humorless. “They all deserved it, I can assure you.”“I’m not judging,” she said calmly, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.Stefano turned his head toward her, skeptical. “Why?”She met his eyes. “Because I’ve killed too.”His gaze held hers, unreadable at first, then something flickered behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Respect. Maybe something da