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
Still trapped underground.The elevator groaned in protest, stalling mid-ascent as dust and smoke seeped through the cracks of the doors. The red emergency light flickered, casting ominous shadows over their faces. Without thinking twice, Marco who was still panting from the sprint and explosion effect pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and dialed the emergency number assigned to their underground tech team.“We need extraction. Now!” he barked, voice low but urgent. “Bomb. Explosion. Elevator’s stuck! Stefano’s with us!” He ended the call, his thumb slick with sweat.Across from him, Stefano stood rigid, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the blinking red light overhead. Rage simmered beneath his skin like molten lead. But beneath the rage, something more insidious writhed —fear. He wouldn't show it, not in front of his men. Never.His thoughts churned like a storm.Pablo had outplayed him. He had trusted the mole just long enough to get burned, and the sting of betrayal seared de
Serena.Sunlight danced on cobbled streets, weaving through arches and glass-paneled rooftops. Milan’s heart beat loud and beautiful, its pulse hidden in alleyways draped with ivy and piazzas that whispered secrets in foreign tongues.Serena walked beside Nadia, her tour guide and the first real friend she’d made in the city. Nadia’s navy hijab caught the wind, her honey-toned skin glowing under the midday sun as she gestured animatedly toward yet another ancient building.“That’s the Santa Maria delle Grazie,” Nadia explained. “It houses The Last Supper. Da Vinci himself painted it.”Serena took it in, eyes scanning the old brickwork, the eternal reverence that seemed to cling to the place. She scribbled something small in her notebook.They had already been to the Duomo Cathedral, the Sforza Castle, the Pinacoteca di Brera gallery, and at least two hidden underground subway murals that looked like something out of a dream. Every turn brought a new layer to the city, a new wonder tha
Stefano. Back at the manor. Many hours later.The smoke hadn't even settled when the rescue team arrived.Flames licked the walls beneath the manor like the tongues of hell itself, choking the air with burning metal and seared concrete. The explosion had torn through the lower chamber, warping steel, shattering ancient tiles, and triggering the alarm system across the entire estate.The elevator groaned under the pressure, its inner walls scorched black. Inside, Stefano and his men were trapped — battered, choking, eyes red from smoke. The steel cage had jammed mid-ascent, suspended like a coffin in limbo.“Cut the shaft!” one of the rescuers shouted.“They're still alive!” another barked back, his gloved hand pressed against the outer wall of the elevator. “I hear movement!”An emergency generator kicked in, flickering lights sparking on. Sparks sizzled. The backup system tried to jerk the elevator upward, but instead it dropped—six inches—then another foot."Hold it steady!" someon
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