The DeRossi estate stood like a fortress carved from arrogance and old money.
Steel gates. Armed guards. Cameras that never blinked.
And inside it—
ruled without mercy.
The black SUV rolled through the gates just past midnight.
Luca DeRossi stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs as if he had just returned from dinner instead of surviving an assassination attempt.
He opened the rear door himself.
Not out of courtesy.
Out of control.
Amara Volkov stepped out gracefully, despite the thin line of blood staining her arm.
She glanced at the mansion.
"Compensating for something?" she asked lightly.
Luca shut the door.
"For enemies."
Guards surrounded them instantly.
Amara noticed.
Counted them.
Eight visible.
Likely more hidden.
Her eyes lifted toward the second-floor balconies.
Sniper positions.
Good.
She liked thorough men.
Inside, the mansion was cold marble and silence.
No family portraits.
No warmth.
Just wealth.
Luca turned to one of his men. "Call the doctor."
"I don't need one," Amara said.
"You're bleeding."
"It's superficial."
He stepped closer, gripping her injured arm before she could react.
She inhaled sharply—not from pain.
From proximity.
His thumb brushed the cut.
Testing.
"You don't even flinch," he observed.
"I was trained not to."
Their eyes locked.
There it was again.
Recognition.
Not attraction.
Something more dangerous.
Equality.
He released her abruptly.
"Put her in the east wing guest suite," he ordered.
Two guards moved forward.
Amara arched a brow. "Guest suite? That's generous."
"It locks from the outside."
Her lips curved faintly.
"Ah. There it is."
She allowed herself to be escorted upstairs.
No struggle.
No protest.
That unsettled Luca more than resistance would have.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click.
Amara walked slowly around the room.
Large windows.
Bulletproof.
Camera in the upper corner.
Motion sensor near the door.
She smiled.
Cute.
She walked into the bathroom and turned on the sink.
From inside her heel, she removed a tiny micro-blade.
Then from her bracelet—
A pin-sized transmitter.
She pressed it beneath the sink counter.
Activated.
A soft vibration confirmed connection.
"Phase two," she murmured.
She wasn't trapped.
She was inside.
Downstairs
Luca stood in his office, staring at security footage of the gala attack.
Matteo paced.
"The sniper wasn't ours," Matteo said. "We checked."
"I know."
"You think it was Volkov?"
Luca's jaw tightened.
"If Sergei wanted to send a message, he wouldn't miss."
Matteo hesitated. "Then who benefits from hitting her?"
Silence.
Luca leaned back slowly.
"Someone who wants us at war."
A knock interrupted them.
One of Luca's senior captains entered.
Viktor.
Trusted for years.
"Boss," Viktor said. "Security sweep is clean."
Luca studied him carefully.
Too carefully.
Viktor shifted slightly.
"You suspect me?" he asked, almost offended.
Luca walked toward him slowly.
"I suspect everyone."
Viktor forced a chuckle. "You've always been paranoid."
Luca stopped inches away.
"And it's kept me alive."
A heavy pause.
Then Luca stepped back.
"Double the guards," he ordered. "No one goes near her without my approval."
Viktor nodded and left.
But Luca's eyes lingered on the closed door.
Something was off.
And instincts never lied.
Upstairs – 2:17 AM
Amara lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Footsteps approached.
Stopped outside her door.
She didn't move.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Luca stepped inside alone.
The guards remained outside.
He closed the door behind him.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked lazily.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked toward her slowly.
Predatory.
Controlled.
She sat up.
Unintimidated.
"You're either very brave," he said quietly, "or very foolish."
"Or very prepared."
His eyes darkened.
"For what?"
"For you."
Silence fell thick between them.
He reached down suddenly, grabbing her chin—not harsh, but firm enough to demand attention.
"If I find out you're playing me—"
"You'll kill me?" she finished softly.
He didn't blink.
"Yes."
Her pulse jumped.
But her voice didn't.
"Then you'd better find out quickly."
Because the longer you keep me here…"
She leaned closer.
"…the more dangerous I become."
Their faces were inches apart now.
Breath mingling.
Tension razor-sharp.
And neither of them heard—
The faint buzz of a signal activating beneath the sink.
Someone else now knew exactly where she was.
And they were coming.