ZAVIER

The explosion came without warning; the sound shook the building, turning the crystal chandeliers into a rain of glass.

The orchestra’s music died mid-note, and instantly, screams followed. For a moment the ballroom was in chaos, then it all detonated.

Shouts, gunfire, masked men. My building has been breached.

I didn't panic. I never did. In this world, fear was a tool and I'd learned to wield it better than most.

“Ricci! Get the guests out!"

“Luca lock down the north wing. Now!"

I barked orders at my men, as another blast rattled the floor beneath me. I watched them spring into action, the smell of cordite and dust hung in the air. People ran like startled sheep, their laughter from before had turned into shrieks.

I moved through them, calm and deliberate. My mind was already calculating every point of attack, formation, and possible betrayal inside the compound.

Someone had sold me out. But who?

And yet, amidst all this critical thinking and chaos, something nagged at the back of my mind, or should I say someone. Alessia.

She'd been right beside me before the first explosion, hands clinging to my arm, her smile perfect. A polished lie. Then she was gone.

It shouldn't matter, she was a pawn in this world. Beautiful, strategic, temporary. But something about her disappearance… felt wrong.

I caught flashes of red, the color of her dress, between bodies, disappearing into the eastern corridor. Not to safety. Not the exits. She was coming down towards the chaos.

My instincts sharpened.

I drew my pistol, scanning through the smoke and chaos as my men returned fire. If she were smart, she'd hide. If she wasn't… she'd end up dead.

“Luca!" I barked over the commotion.

“Boss?" He replied, eyes forward as he rained bullets at the masked men. We had the upper hand, obviously.

“Check the west corridor, guard the safe exit. No one gets through unless I say so”

He hesitated, “What about…”

" I said no one." I cut him off and turned towards the east hall, some of my men following closely behind me.

The corridor was darker there, thick with smoke. My shoes echoed over the marble as I moved, slow, silent. The weight of my gun in my hand and the faint sound of distant gunfire mixed with the rhythmic sound of my breath.

Then I saw her.

Through the haze, I saw a flicker of movement. Fast, precise, a man hidden behind the pillar, gun raised, aimed at me, she moved before I could.

Fast. Lethal.

She ducked low, grabbed him, twisted his arm like it wasn't attached to his body, disarmed him then drove her knee up his chest with a force that surprised me. He fell.

Then another one, a clean kill, dagger to the neck. I froze, not from shock, but from realization blooming in my chest.

That was not self-defense, that was training.

Every one of my instincts screamed that something about this woman was wrong. The way she stood. The calm on her face, her strikes. No hesitation or trembling.

She fought like she'd done it before. Like she belonged in the battlefield.

I had seen it before, in assassins, mercenaries. In spies.

The noise around us dimmed as I stepped closer through the smoke. My men were shouting orders behind me but my eyes were locked on her. She stood among the bodies, chest heaving, eyes fierce, blood dripping down her arm from a single cut.

For one unguarded moment, I saw her not as a pawn, an asset, or a bargaining chip. I saw her as something dangerous, something more real.

She turned, and our eyes finally met over the wreckage. I watched as her body stilled like a deer caught in a red light.

Then she moved, too quickly, hiding the knife behind her thigh, as if I would unsee what she just did.

I didn't aim my gun.

I didn't have to.

I crossed the hall in long controlled strides, grabbed her arm, and turned her to face me. My other hand caught her free arm, locking her in place. Her skin felt hot, slick as she trembled, but her eyes stayed sharp and steady.

“You shouldn't be here." She spoke, her voice low and breathless.

“Neither should you,” I replied, low and dangerous. “Unless of course… You planned it.”

Her brows creased, “Planned—?”

I yanked her closer, until her knife clattered to the floor. Her pulse jumped under my thumb. “You fight like a soldier.” I said, "Not like someone raised in satin."

“Maybe it's because you underestimate women," she replied, defiant even now.

I almost laughed. Almost, instead I leaned in, my voice a quiet rasp near her ear.

“Underestimation gets men killed. Deception gets women buried.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly. Proof that she wasn't immune to fear. She's just good at hiding it.

The light from the flames tinted her cheeks, and for a split second, I saw something else behind her defiance. Guilt maybe? Or regret. Whatever it was, I was sure as hell it wasn't innocent.

Behind me, the gunfire resumed in the background, and my men were regaining ground. The attack was collapsing but my focus remained on her.

Her hands were shaking now, but not from weakness but from restraint. Like a predator being held back.

“Who are you?" I asked, my voice cut through the tension. When she didn't say a word, I tightened my hold, “ Who sent you? Petrov? Someone else?"

She swallowed, her eyes flickering over my shoulders. Calculating exits, not escape. Strategy

That's when I knew. She wasn't running because she was scared; she was running because she had a purpose.

The silence between us thickened, alive with something. Not with attraction… not yet. Just curiosity, folded in suspicion.

Then I spoke, finally breaking the spell.

“Who the hell are you, Alessia?”

The question hung between us, heavy and final. Until heavy footsteps broke through. Luca's voice echoed down the hall.

“Boss! We've secured the perimeter—”

Too late.

She looked up at me then, her lips curving into the faintest smile. And for the first time that night, I realized something truly dangerous.

I wasn't sure if I wanted her answer…

Or if I was afraid to hear it.