Chapter 2

Vanessa feels every nerve in her body humming. She stays perfectly still, masking the storm inside her. She’s handled worse—she’s been face to face with monsters who wouldn’t think twice about pulling a trigger or sliding a knife between her ribs. This target is no different.

And yet...

She can’t deny the strange electricity sparking through her veins as he approaches, his dark gaze locked on her like she’s the only person in the room.

Pull it together.

Her heart beats steady now—she forces it to be steady. She tilts her chin just slightly, raising her glass to her lips, her red lipstick leaving the faintest mark on the rim as she takes a sip. She sets the glass down with deliberate slowness, her grey eyes cool and curious when her target finally stops in front of her.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just looks at her, being much taller than her despite her being in heels, and close enough now for her to catch the scent of his cologne—spicy, rich, and distracting. Up close, he’s trouble wrapped in black silk, every detail about him too precise to be unintentional.

“You’re not from around here...” He says finally, his voice low, smooth. A faint smile tugs at his lips, like he’s amused by some private joke.

Vanessa smirks, holding his gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” His head tilts, and for a moment, something sharp flashes in his eyes. Too sharp.

She doesn’t like it. He’s reading her—really reading her—and she doesn’t enjoy being on the wrong end of someone else’s scrutiny...

“I’ve never seen you before,” he continues, leaning one arm lazily against the bar, his body too close to hers but not quite touching. “And a woman like you doesn’t just stumble into La Bella Notte for a quiet drink...”

Vanessa shrugs, forcing an easy smile. “Maybe I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

His eyes flicker, amusement dancing there as though he’s letting her play along—for now. “And? What’s the verdict?”

She leans closer, close enough for her words to be just for him. “Underwhelming.”

He laughs softly, low in his throat. It’s the kind of laugh that comes from a man who’s used to getting his way—and used to women falling all over him.

“I must say, I'm a little offended, I put a lot of effort into this place..." he says and Vanessa puts two and two together.

He owns the place. But the question is... who is he?

"Then let me make it more interesting.” He then says, intrigue filling his voice.

Vanessa stiffens. Here it comes.

He straightens, nodding toward the far end of the room where a hallway, guarded by velvet ropes and two armed men, leads to somewhere more private.

“Come with me,” he says. It’s not a question.

Vanessa narrows her eyes just slightly, enough to let him know she’s not someone who takes orders lightly. “Why would I do that?”

His smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes darken just a shade. “Because I’m asking nicely...”

Something in his tone makes her stomach twist, her instincts screaming tra*. But she knows how to play this game. She’s played it before—get close, get comfortable, and get the job done. This is what she wanted, so she has to play along.

“Fine,” she says, trying not to be too cold with him. “Lead the way.”

. . . .

The hallway is quiet, the music and chatter of the club fading behind them as the targrt leads Vanessa toward a private lounge. She walks beside him, heels clicking on the marble floor, the tension between them sharp and dangerous. His bodyguards follow a few paces behind, silent but present.

She feels him glance at her more than once, and she fights to ignore the strange heat prickling the back of her neck. He’s watching her like he already knows everything he needs to—and like he’s just waiting for her to catch up.

The lounge is dimly lit with red, yellow and orange lights, all leather couches and dark wood. He then gestures toward one of the chairs. “Sit.”

Vanessa doesn’t. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

He smirks faintly, his dark eyes glinting as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the couch. The black shirt underneath stretches perfectly over his broad shoulders and muscles, the sleeves rolled just slightly at his forearms. He’s relaxed, but there’s something coiled about him now—something... possibly sinister...

“Suit yourself,” he says. He steps to the side, leaning casually against the edge of a small table, his gaze still fixed on her.

Vanessa crosses her arms, the slit in her dress falling open just slightly as she shifts her weight. She doesn’t move an inch otherwise. “Are we going to talk, or are we just going to stare at each other?”

His smile fades. The warmth in his expression disappears, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

“You know,” he says softly, “I like a woman with fire. You’ve got that. But you’ve also got something else...”

Vanessa’s muscles tighten. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He holds her gaze for a beat longer, letting the tension stretch like a taut wire. Then he says it.

“Your name... Vanessa.”

Her blood runs cold.

He knows.

Before she can think, one of his bodyguards shifts, reaching for the weapon at his waist.

Vanessa moves.

She ducks low, her leg sweeping out in a sharp arc. The bodyguard stumbles as his knee buckles, and she rips the gun from his grip in one clean motion. The second guard lunges, but Vanessa’s already turning, slamming the first man’s weapon into the second’s temple. He drops with a groan, his gun clattering to the floor.

It all happens in seconds—so fast the target hasn’t moved, hasn’t flinched.

Now, it’s just the two of them.

Vanessa stands tall, breathing hard as she flicks her gaze to the man she is. He’s still leaning against the table, calm as ever, watching her with something like admiration.

“Impressive,” he says quietly.

Vanessa points the stolen gun at him, her aim steady. “Sit down.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he raises his hands slowly, his dark eyes never leaving hers as he slides off the table.

“Easy there love... I didn't realise you'd like telling me what to do so much...” he murmurs. His voice is low, coaxing, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“You don’t know that.”

He steps closer, carefully. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it by now... like on the rooftop...”

Vanessa’s pulse pounds, the tension in the room sharp enough to slice. How does he know that...

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.

He stops just a foot away, his hands still raised, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smirk. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a murmur, “you don’t want me dead. Not yet...”

Vanessa’s finger twitches on the trigger.

“Try me,” she says.

His gaze burns into hers, cold and steady. He takes another half-step closer, his voice a whisper now.

“I know why you’re here, Vanessa...”

And for the first time in a long time, she feels it: uncertainty. Uncertainty about being successful on this mission...