Chapter 3

Vanessa doesn't wait.

As soon as the target says her name again, she moves, striking fast and sharp like a viper. She aims the butt of the stolen gun at his head, but he ducks, his reflexes impossibly quick. She follows with a knee aimed for his ribs, but he twists, grabbing her leg before it connects.

"Impatient, aren't we?" he says, his tone calm, almost teasing as he keeps his hand on her bare thigh.

Vanessa yanks her leg free, stepping back to put space between them. Her grey eyes narrow, locked on his every move. "If you know who I am, then you know how this ends..."

The target smirks, rolling his shoulders as if warming up. "I know who you are, Vanessa," he says, his voice dipping low. "And I know Victor Santoro. It was only a matter of time before he sent someone like you after me..."

Her stomach tightens, but she forces her expression to remain blank. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" His gaze sharpens, the amusement fading from his face. He steps forward, his posture coiled and ready, a predator closing in.

"You've been working for Victor for years, haven't you? Did he tell you why he wants me dead? Or are you just another one of his obedient little weapons, doing what you're told without asking questions?"

Vanessa's jaw tightens as she grows angry, hating the truth behind his words. "Victor doesn't need to explain himself to me."

The target lets out a short laugh, the sound dark and bitter. "Of course he doesn't. Why would he tell you that I—"

He pauses, deliberately holding her gaze as he finishes, "—amn't just some loose end? I'm the heir to everything your boss wants."

The world tilts.

Vanessa blinks, her breath catching in her throat as his words settle in her chest. Castellano. The name ricochets through her skull, splintering her focus. She knows the name—everyone in Victor's circle knows it... Castellano is power. Castellano is territory, wealth, and bloody legacy. Castellano is the enemy.

Her hand instinctively reaches for the knife strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath the slit of her dress. "You're lying."

He tilts his head, his dark eyes glinting. "You don't believe me? That's fine. But I think you're smart enough to know when you've been lied to or at least I thought…”

"Shut up."

"You didn't even know my last name when Victor sent you here, did you?" he presses, stepping closer. "You're too good for a sloppy job like this, Vanessa. He sent you blind—because he knows if you knew the truth, you'd—"

She doesn't let him finish.

Vanessa lunges, her knife flashing in the low light. He barely sidesteps the blade, his hand snapping up to grip her wrist. He twists it, forcing her arm away, but Vanessa spins, throwing her weight into her other elbow and slamming it into his ribs.

He grunts, stumbling back just enough for Vanessa to follow up with a kick aimed at his chest. But he catches her ankle mid-strike, twisting her leg just enough to knock her off balance.

"Feisty," he mutters, letting her leg go as she stumbles back.

Vanessa recovers quickly, dropping low and sweeping her leg out. This time, he doesn't dodge fast enough, and his knee buckles. He falls to one knee, but before she can move in for another strike, he surges upward, his palm slamming against the blade in her hand. The knife goes skittering across the floor, and he steps forward, crowding her space.

She doesn't falter. She ducks low, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard, her other fist slamming into his stomach. He lets out a sharp exhale but doesn't back down.

"Not bad," he says, his tone strained but still infuriatingly calm. "Victor taught you well."

Vanessa growls, aiming another punch at his jaw, but he blocks it, catching her fist in his hand.

"I'm not here to talk about Victor," she snaps.

He smirks faintly. "No, but maybe you should be. He's been lying to you, Vanessa. Don't you want to know why?"

Her lips curl into a snarl, and she jerks her hand free, slamming her palm into his chest and forcing him back a step. "The only thing I want is you dead."

He doesn't flinch. Instead, he shifts, his body lowering slightly, his stance shifting into something more deliberate, more controlled.

"Funny," he murmurs. "I could say the same about Victor."

Vanessa doesn't have time to process the words before he moves.

He's faster this time—too fast. He steps inside her guard, his hands catching hers mid-swing and twisting them behind her back. She snarls, struggling against his grip, but he's stronger, his body pressing hers against the wall.

"Stop," he says, his voice low but firm.

"Go to hell," she snaps, twisting her shoulders in an attempt to free herself.

He leans closer, his breath brushing against her ear. "I'm not your enemy, Vanessa."

Her head slams back, catching him in the jaw. He curses, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free. She spins, aiming another punch at his face, but he sidesteps, grabbing her arm and twisting it again.

This time, he doesn't let go.

"You're good," he says, his breath coming fast now, his voice still maddeningly calm. "But you're distracted."

Vanessa bares her teeth, pulling against his grip. "I said, shut up…”

He tightens his hold, stepping closer again. His dark eyes burn into hers, sharp and cold. "Victor doesn't care about you. You're just a tool to him. Why do you think he never told you who I really am?"

His words are like acid, burning through her anger, her focus.

"Stop fucking talking," she spits, though the doubt creeps into her voice.

His grip on her arm softens slightly, his tone dropping low. "Why? Is it 'cause deep down, you know I’m right?"

The flash of hesitation is all he needs. He shifts, pulling her off balance and twisting her arm behind her back again. This time, he sweeps her legs out, bringing her down hard against the floor.

Vanessa groans, trying to twist free, but her vision blurs as he leans over her, one hand pressing her wrists to the floor.

"Enough," he says softly, his voice almost gentle. "Stop fighting me love..."

Vanessa glares up at him, her body trembling with effort, her mind spinning. She doesn't stop—not yet. She shifts, trying to twist free, but the darkness creeps in at the edges of her vision, her strength draining away. No, not now. She hit her head too hard… and now she’s losing consciousness…

"Bastard," she mutters, the word slurring as her body goes slack.

His grip softens slightly, his dark eyes still locked on hers, watching her quietly as she slowly slips into unconsciousness...