Chapter 1: Help From The Don.
The colossal, iron gates swung open like the jaws of a beast, the silver lion emblem gleaming under the cold rain. Pamela rushed through, the frantic, irregular click of her heels echoing like gunfire against the wet pavement.
"Andrei!" she screamed into the empty courtyard, her voice splintering.
"Boss! Andrei De Luca!"
The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary slammed open. Andrei stepped out into the storm. Immaculate. Ruthless. His charcoal suit fit like armor, but the sheer malice radiating from his posture was what made people bleed.
He descended the marble steps, his eyes narrowing into twin slits of ice. When he spoke, his voice was a low, vibrational growl that could stop a man's heart.
"You are either suicidal, or profoundly stupid to scream my name in this estate," Andrei hissed.
"Speak before I have my men remove your tongue."
Pamela collapsed. Her knees cracked against the concrete, hands locked in a desperate prayer as tears washed the blood from her face.
"Please," she choked out.
"Please help me."Andrei’s eyes flicked over her trembling frame.
The predator in him stilled. He strode forward, the silk of his coat cutting through the wind, and gripped her elbow with bruising force to yank her upward.
"Get up. The De Lucas don't talk to people on their knees," he commanded, his face inches from hers. "Who is hunting you?"
Pamela swayed, her vision blurred by the crimson pooling in her eyelashes.
"I... I didn't mean to. He wouldn't stop. It's his fault. It's all his fault."
Andrei’s grip tightened, anchoring her. "Tell me what you did. If it's a war, I’ll give you a permanent detail. If it’s a body, I need to know where to dig. What did you do?"
Pamela inhaled a ragged, suffocating breath. She looked away, her voice dropping to a horrific whisper.
"I murdered someone." The air around them turned glacial.
Andrei’s face completely emptied of humanity—a terrifying blank slate—before a dark, twisted satisfaction replaced it. He gestured toward the shadow of the veranda.
"Self-defense or execution? Tell me everything, because your pulse depends entirely on my next breath."
She sank into a wrought-iron chair, her bones vibrating with shock.
"I was walking past the East Side alleys," she stammered. "I heard her screaming. He had her pinned. He was tearing her clothes off. I'm a woman, Andrei. I couldn't just watch. She would have died."
Andrei leaned in, his shadow completely swallowing her. His eyes blazed with a terrifying, lethal fury, mixed with raw approval.
"You butchered a rapist. The law calls it homicide. I call it public service. Who was he? Scum, or does he wear a flag?"
"I don't know!" she wept, covering her face. "I just grabbed the brick and kept hitting him!"
"My cleaners are already en route. The alley will be sterile before the police even get the emergency services call," Andrei said, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr. "You’re under my skin now. But you have to testify to the DA. It’s the only way to clear the paperwork legally."
Pamela stiffened, her eyes darting toward the gates. "I... I can't."
Andrei’s hand shot out, his fingers cupping her jawline with terrifying gentleness, forcing her eyes back to his. "Testifying means absolute immunity. No running. Why are you hesitating?"
"I'm terrified!" she screamed, breaking down. "I don't belong in a cage!"
"You will never see a cell," Andrei promised, the sheer weight of his conviction hanging in the air. "I own the DA. I will dictate the terms of your freedom. Trust me."
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Suddenly, Pamela shook her head violently, breaking his grip, and bolted to her feet.
"No. This is wrong. Killing is a sin, no matter what he was. I have to go to the precinct. I have to turn myself in. Besides... my fiancé. Once he finds out, he’ll hand me over to the feds anyway."
Andrei froze. His eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated disgust at the mention of the man. Before she could take two steps, his hand wrapped around her wrist like a steel manacle.
He jerked her back so hard her chest slammed into his.
"You walk out those gates, and you walk into a body bag," Andrei roared, his voice rough with sudden, violent emotion.
"If my enemies think I let a woman under my protection walk into a police station, it's a declaration of weakness. If I forge you a new identity, will you stay?"
"Let me go!" she cried, pulling against his iron grip. "I deserve to be punished!"
"The monster is dead, and you want to lock yourself up for it?" Andrei’s voice dropped to a fierce, desperate hiss.
"Did saving that girl's life mean absolutely nothing to you?"The raw power of his words broke her defiance.
Her muscles went slack, and she sank back into the chair, utterly defeated. "I should have called the police. Not killed him. And my fiancé... he'll hunt me."
"Let him try," Andrei whispered, a deadly smile touching his lips. "If he breathes a word against you, he answers to my executioner. You stay in my penthouse tonight. Do I put a bullet in him now, or do we keep your location a secret?"
Pamela stared at the marble floor, her mind racing. "Keep it secret. If he knows I'm here, he'll bring the police to your doorstep."
Andrei nodded, a flash of genuine respect crossing his dark features. "Sharper than my top lieutenant. I’ll send my niece to your apartment disguised as a courier. She’ll clean out your safe and your clothes before anyone realizes you're gone."
A fractured, relieved smile broke through Pamela's tears. "Thank you. God, thank you." Andrei looked down at her, a dark sense of possessive pride swelling in his chest.
"The alley is clean. The evidence is gone. You’ve vanished from the earth, and you are safe under my roof." He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "What is the name of the woman I just bought from the devil?"
She met his gaze, her eyes shimmering under the veranda lights. "Pamela. Pamela Smith." Andrei closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as if tasting the name.
"Pamela..."When he opened them, his lips curved into a slow, devastatingly beautiful smile that promised both absolute protection and total ruin."
"You've been through hell tonight, Pamela. Rest. My staff will take you upstairs. We will map out the rest of your life tomorrow morning."
Pamela nodded numbly as the head maid guided her up the grand winding staircase. Behind her, the doors to the penthouse shut, locking out the world, leaving her in a sanctuary of crackling firelight, soft jazz, and the suffocating protection of the city's most dangerous man.
Chapter 2: The Execution Plan
The smell of sizzling thick-cut bacon and rich espresso didn't just wake Pamela—it dragged her out of the deep, dreamless sleep of the traumatised.
She opened her eyes to a bedroom bathed in morning gold. At that exact moment, the door clicked open. A maid stepped in, her posture stiff, head bowed in a mask of perfect, submissive professionalism.
"Good morning, ma'am. I am Louisa," the maid said, her voice sharp and efficient. "The Don sent me to ensure you have everything required. The closet has been stocked with your exact measurements. Lotions, imported perfumes, and creams are on the vanity. He also commanded me to deliver a specific message: 'Nothing in this world is free.'"
Pamela bolted upright, the silk sheets pooling at her waist. A cold spike of dread hit her stomach. "What? What does that mean?"
Louisa’s expression remained an unreadable stone wall. "I am merely the messenger, ma'am. You must dress quickly. You are scheduled to be sent back to your residence immediately following breakfast."
Without another word, Louisa turned on her heel and exited, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.
Pamela scrambled out of bed, a deep sense of unease urging her forward. After a breathless shower, she dressed in a sleek designer outfit left for her and hurried downstairs.
As she approached the dining room, the low, chilling rumble of Andrei’s voice cut through the hallway, mapping out territory lines to a subordinate. The absolute authority in his tone made her freeze for a second before she stepped into the room.
She took her seat at the massive mahogany table. Louisa instantly appeared, pouring her coffee with practiced silence. Pamela cleared her throat, trying to anchor her nerves.
"Good morning, Andrei."Andrei looked up from his tablet. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips, his voice dropping to a low, husky purr.
"Good morning, Pamela. I trust my message was delivered intact?"Pamela picked up her fork, her hands shaking slightly as she nodded and took a bite.
"Excellent," Andrei murmured, leaning back, his dark eyes locking onto hers like a laser. "Because nothing in my world comes without a price tag. I kept you out of a cell last night, Pamela. Now, I require a favor."
Pamela stopped chewing, her heart hammering against her ribs. She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Okay... What is it?"
Andrei’s eyes danced with a mischievous, lethal glint. "You complete one operation with me tonight, and you receive the permanent protection of the De Luca empire. Your fiancé will never find out about the butchered meat in the alleyway. If you refuse... well, I imagine a police tip-off would signify a rather catastrophic end to your relationship."
Blackmail. Clean, brutal, and flawlessly executed. Pamela felt the trap snap shut around her. She looked away, staring at the pooling coffee in her cup, calculating her choices. She had none.
She looked back at him, her jaw hardening."Deal," she said, her voice steadying. "I'll do it."A sharp, dangerous grin cut across Andrei's face. He nodded in genuine approval.
"Fierce, and beautiful. We are going to make exceptional partners."
Ten minutes later, the breakfast plates were cleared, and they were locked inside Andrei’s private office—a room heavy with the scent of old leather, cigar smoke, and dark mahogany.
Andrei’s playful demeanor vanished. His face turned into a mask of pure, unadulterated gravity as he unrolled a blueprints map on the desk."Victor Conti," Andrei growled, the name dripping with venom.
"Our target tonight. He executed my father, Giovanni De Luca. Tonight, the debt is collected in blood."Pamela stared at the photo of a stern, silver-haired mafia boss pinned to the map.
She nodded slowly. "So, what's the plan?" A cold, calculating smile spread across Andrei’s lips. "You are going to disguise yourself as Sophia Conti—his long-lost wife. The man has spent half a decade burning down Europe trying to find her. Using her ghost ensures our entry is fast, clean, and fatal. I will personally instruct you on how to mimic her movements."
Pamela swallowed hard, looking away to process the sheer insanity of the play, before locking eyes with him again. "Okay. What's the first lesson?"
Andrei stepped closer, his presence utterly overwhelming. "You will approach him at his nightclub. You will wear a devastating red dress to shatter his focus. When you are close enough to breathe his air, you will say these exact words: 'Ti ho aspettato.'
It means, 'I have been waiting for you.' The moment those words leave your lips, Victor Conti belongs to us."
Pamela pulled a small notepad from her purse, her pen flying across the paper as she nodded.
"And how do you finish him?" A low, husky laugh vibrated in Andrei’s chest. "While you have him paralyzed with shock and lust, I will materialize from the shadows behind him and strike."
A strange, adrenaline-fueled smile broke through Pamela's fear. "Okay. Got it. Tonight, right?"
"Tonight," Andrei confirmed, his eyes tracking the movement of her lips. "Now, you return to your fiancé. My driver is waiting out front to drop you at your doorstep."
Pamela’s eyes sparked with relief at the prospect of temporary normalcy. "Thank you. I'll leave now. See you tonight."
Andrei’s smile mirrored hers, but his eyes held something far more possessive. "Until tonight, amore."
The two-hour limousine ride back to her suburban life felt like a fever dream. When the sleek black car dropped her off a block away from her house, Pamela took a deep breath, wiped the exhaustion from her face, and unlocked her front door.
"Honey, I'm home!" she called out, her voice straining for normalcy. Footsteps thundered down the hall. Antonio rushed into the foyer, his face pale, his voice thick with frantic worry. He grabbed her shoulders, scanning her face.
"My god, Pamela! You're okay! I've been losing my mind. I called your parents, I filed a missing person report with the precinct! I tried your cell twenty times and it went straight to voicemail. Where the hell were you?"
Pamela forced a nervous, high-pitched laugh, gently removing his hands. "I am so, so sorry, Tony. I was over at Sarah's. My battery died on the kitchen counter and we completely lost track of time. It totally slipped my mind to check it."
Antonio’s chest heaved with relief. The panic drained from his face, replaced by warmth as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck.
"It's okay, my love. It's okay. Nothing else matters as long as you're safe under this roof." She squeezed him back, a sickening wave of guilt washing over her. She pulled away gently, slipping toward the kitchen.
"I'm going to whip us up some lunch."A slow, appreciative smile crept onto Antonio's face. He followed her into the kitchen, leaning heavily against the marble counter, his eyes locking onto her body as she reached for a floral apron.
"You know, your rear view is easily my favorite scenery in this house," he teased, his voice low and husky.Pamela giggled softly, tying the apron strings around her waist.
"Oh, really?" "Absolutely," he laughed softly, stepping up behind her to kiss her shoulder. "You cooking for me, wearing nothing but that apron... you already make me the happiest man alive."
Pamela smiled, though her eyes were vacant as she started chopping vegetables. She took a deep breath. "Tony... can we talk for a second?"
Antonio’s playful look vanished, replaced by an attentive, caring gaze. "Of course, my love. What's on your mind?"Pamela turned around, stepping close and taking both of his hands in hers.
"Honey, I know I stayed out last night without your approval. And I really want to apologize for making you worry." Antonio chuckled softly, squeezing her hands with absolute tenderness.
"Pamela, look at me. Asking for my forgiveness isn't necessary. I don't care about rules or permission. The only thing that carries any weight to me is that you are safe, okay?"
Pamela’s heart ached at his kindness. Her face softened, and she buried her face in his chest, hugging him fiercely. "You are the best. Seriously. And, um... there's one more thing." Antonio pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers.
"What did you forget, my love?" Pamela bit her lip, looking away to hide the lie screaming in her eyes. "My bestie asked if I could come back over tonight for a dinner date—a proper girls' night to make up for the chaos. Can I go?"
Antonio laughed softly, tapping the tip of her nose. "Of course you can. Just promise me you won't stay out past midnight, okay?" Pamela’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and profound sadness. She hugged him tight.
"Thank you, honey." As the sun dipped below the horizon, darkness choked the city, signaling that the hour of execution had arrived. Pamela showered, slipped out of the house under the guise of a girls' night, and arrived at Andrei’s penthouse.
When she stepped into the lounge, Andrei turned around. His jaw literally dropped." Amore..." he breathed, his eyes traveling up her frame, completely transfixed.
"You are killing me before we even reach the venue. I had no idea you possessed this level of lethal elegance."Pamela stood under the chandelier wearing a violently red, skin-tight, knee-length dress with structured cap sleeves that accentuated every curve of her silhouette.
On her feet were six-inch black stilettos. She felt a blush creep up her neck but forced a soft giggle, smoothing down the fabric. "Let's keep our focus on the hit, Don De Luca, not my wardrobe."
Andrei smiled, extending his hand, palm up, like a devil offering a pact. "Let us pay a visit to our midnight guest and present him with a permanent surprise."
They descended to the garage, climbed into Andrei’s matte-black Lamborghini, and tore through the city streets toward Elysium Noir.
The nightclub was a multi-tiered temple of sin. As Pamela walked through the main entrance, her red dress cutting through the dark like a blade, she took in the layout. The main floor was a pulsing mass of bodies moving under state-of-the-art lasers and a deafening sound system.
To the left, a sleek, backlit quartz bar served high-end mixology; above it all sat the ultra-exclusive VIP lounge lined with plush velvet booths.While Andrei slipped through the secure back alley entrance with his extraction team, Pamela moved like a phantom toward the heavily guarded executive suite on the top floor.
She bypassed the distracted guards, turned the brass handle, and stepped into Victor Conti’s private office—a space defined by minimalist glass, black leather, and a heavy, ominous allure.
Victor Conti was sitting behind a massive desk. He looked up, irritated—but the moment his eyes landed on her, he froze. His pupils dilated. He stood up slowly, his knees visibly trembling as he moved toward her as if seeing a resurrection.
"Victor, mi amor," Pamela purred, her voice dripping with honeyed deception."My everything..." Victor gasped, tears instantly welling in his hardened eyes.
"Sophia..." She stepped into his space, wrapping her arms around his neck. Victor gripped her waist, holding her so fiercely her ribs cracked, burying his face in her hair.
Pamela leaned in close to his ear, her voice dropping to a seductive, pitch-perfect whisper. "Ti ho aspettato, bell'uomo, sei finalmente mio. Mi sei mancato, Victor." (I've been waiting for you, handsome man, you are finally mine. I missed you, Victor.)
In the shadows near the velvet curtains, Andrei’s eyes widened in profound shock. The woman's Italian wasn't just accurate—it was flawlessly fluent, carrying the exact regional dialect of a high-born syndicate wife. Andrei stepped out of the darkness, a heavily suppressed tactical pistol raised in his steady hand.
"Payback time, pazzo (madman)."Victor’s body went rigid. He pulled back slowly, tearing his eyes from Pamela to spin around. His face drained of color as he locked eyes with the young Don.
"You... De Luca. What is the meaning of this?" Andrei’s smile was a terrifying display of teeth. He pressed the cold steel of the silencer directly against Victor’s forehead. "Retribution, obviously. Courtesies of the lovely 'Sophia' here."
Victor’s head snapped back to Pamela, his heart breaking in real-time. "My everything... you aren't Sophia? Tell me he's playing a game... tell me it's you..."Pamela’s warm, affectionate smile mutated into something cold and mocking.
She took a deliberate, slow step backward, smoothing down her red dress. "How insulting that you think so little of your wife's memory, Victor. Of course I am not Sophia."Victor's eyes went wide with absolute horror.
Before he could scream, Andrei squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed gunshot was nothing more than a wet sneeze. The bullet tore through Victor's skull, and his lifeless body collapsed hard onto the hardwood floor, dark crimson pooling rapidly outward across the expensive rugs.Andrei lowered the weapon, looking at Pamela with a new, dangerous level of respect.
"The ledger is balanced, amore. My clean-up crew will dissolve the scene within the hour."Pamela let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, the tension draining from her shoulders as she looked away from the corpse.
"Thank god. I was getting a massive headache trying to maintain that accent." Andrei let out a low, deeply amused laugh. He stepped over the body, took her hand in his, and led her out into the midnight.
Chapter 4: Suspicious Fiancé
Andrei De Luca didn't navigate the world. He dictated it.
He lived three moves ahead of his enemies and a lifetime ahead of his allies.
In the sterile, glass-walled confines of his penthouse office, the air was suffocating. Andrei sat behind his desk, projecting the quiet, absolute malice of a monarch presiding over an execution.
Across from him, Darian LaRosa stood rigid. Even after a decade of navigating the mafia's bloody hierarchy alongside Andrei, the consigliere felt the air turn to ice.
A slow, humorless curve touched Andrei's lips. A smile born of calculated chaos.
The war he was about to orchestrate between Pamela and Antonio wasn't just business. It was personal. It was the dismantling of an obstacle to claim his oldest, darkest obsession.
If his father, Giovanni, were alive to see this distraction, he would have demanded Andrei's head. But Andrei bowed to no man, living or dead. Not even the ghost of the Don.
"Evaporate Antonio," Andrei murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly purr that carried more weight than a gunshot. "Dig up every sin, every debt, every whispered secret. I want him ruined."
Darian swallowed hard. His posture fractured just an inch.
"But, Don... the fallout with the other families—"
"Did I stutter?"
The roar shattered the silence like glass. Darian flinched.
Andrei leaned forward, his eyes locking onto his consigliere with predatory focus. The mask of the modern businessman evaporated, leaving only the monster beneath.
"I don't care if you have to invent his crimes," he hissed, the volatile rage hardening back into lethal calm. "Pamela belongs to me. Antonio is a dead man breathing; he just doesn't know it yet."
A pause. The silence stretched until it bled.
"And Darian? If you think you can use my father's old leverage to slow my hand... think very carefully about how much you value your tongue, fratello."
Antonio didn't blink. Propped on his elbow, his gaze was anchored to Pamela’s face, heavy and unreadable. His thumb traced the dark, bruised mark he had left on her neck the night before, pressing just hard enough to remind her of his possession.
When Pamela’s eyes fluttered open, she didn’t flinch. Finding Antonio staring at her in the dead silence of the dawn had become a routine occurrence, yet the sheer weight of his attention still made a cold knot twist in her stomach.
"Finally awake," he grated out. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, entirely stripped of its usual warmth.
"I see you had fun last night. You even brought back proof on your dress."
Pamela bolted upright, shoving herself against the headboard, her defenses instantly flaring.
"Excuse me?"
Antonio let out a dark, humorless bark of a laugh. It didn't reach his eyes.
"You heard me. Gunpowder, Pamela. The stench of it is practically radiating off the fabric. Care to explain why you smell like a firing range?"
"Aren't you being a little paranoid?" She forced a scoff, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
"It was a girls' night. We were packed into a crowded lounge. Anyone could have brushed past me."
Throwing the sheets aside, she swung her legs out of bed. She marched toward the bathroom, throwing a sharp, venomous glare over her shoulder to mask the sudden spike of adrenaline.
"You're a cop, Antonio. Start chasing actual criminals instead of interrogating me over a scent."
In the bathroom, the air instantly turned heavy. She reached for the sink, but the sudden prickle of heat on the back of her neck stopped her cold. Someone was there.
She whirled around, heart hammering, to find Antonio blocking the doorway. He lounged against the frame in sweatpants, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking her every move."
Is my tiny fiancée getting defensive?" he teased, though his voice carried a sharp, testing edge.
"Tch. Defensive of what? Telling the truth?" She snapped, aggressively grabbing her toothbrush.
Before she could spit, Antonio closed the distance. He cornered her against the porcelain, his heavy arms locking around her waist like a vice.
"Fine. Let's drop it..." he whispered, his voice dangerously low, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her earlobe.
"Can't a person brush their teeth without dealing with your suffocating clinginess?" Pamela spat out, shoving against his chest.
The venom in her voice hit Antonio like a physical blow. The playful tension shattered. She had never thrown his affection back in his face like this—never called it a trap. Stunned, his grip went slack. Instead of fighting a losing battle, he stepped back, his expression hardening into stone as he turned and slammed the bathroom door behind him
Pamela didn't flinch. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and proceeded with brushing her teeth
--------------------
Lunch was suffocated by a deafening silence. Usually, Pamela would be chatting Antonio's ear off, her voice filling every corner of the room.
Instead, she sat rigid, chewing with a terrifying, mechanical precision.
"Love..." Antonio finally broke, his fork clattering against the ceramic.
"Not now." The words cut through the air like a blade.
She didn't even lift her gaze from her plate. Antonio’s fist slammed into the table. The sudden crack echoed like a gunshot, sending the plates rattling and silverware airborne.
"Dammit, Pamela!" he roared, his last shred of patience snapping. "
Is this about what happened this morning?"
Slowly, her eyes lifted, locking onto his with freezing intensity.
A heavy silence settled over the table, thick with the realization that she had ignited this fuse.
"Look, I'm sorry," Pamela muttered, the words tasting like ash. "I don’t know what’s gotten into me."
A lie. A calculated, bitter lie. She knew exactly what was rotting her disposition: Andrei.
He had colonised her thoughts since last night, a vivid, intoxicating presence that made looking at anyone else—especially the man sitting across from her—feel like an intolerable chore.
Antonio’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze.
"You’ve been prickly all morning. What is really going on? Are you sick?"
The raw, bleeding concern in his voice pierced right through his frustration, despite his desperate attempt to mask it.
That was his fatal flaw, and it made Pamela’s stomach twist with hot guilt. She knew she was destructive. But in the dark theatre of her mind, Andrei’s worshipful touch made Antonio’s steady devotion look pale and hollow.
Maybe that was the trap that ensnared her in the first place.
"Forgive me," she whispered, dropping her chin to shield the deceit burning in her eyes.Antonio recognized the posture instantly. It was her universal white flag, always signaling a deeper fracture.
But instead of tearing at the wound, he chose to bleed for her. He forced a tight, forgiving smile.
"It’s okay, darling. Just eat."
Pamela nodded, her throat tight. She picked up her fork and forced her stiff, mechanical limbs to soften, performing the grotesque choreography of a loving partner just to keep the peace.
A sharp chime sliced through the quiet room. The screen flashed. One name burned into the glass: The Don.Panic locked her joints. Pamela lunged, her fingers fumbling against the smooth metal casing.
The phone nearly slipped, tumbling toward the floor as she scrambled to smother the glowing display before Antonio could look up.
"Everything okay?"The words were casual, but they hit her like an accusation.
Pamela forced her lips into a rigid, fragile smile. Her eyes flicked uncontrollably back to the darkened screen.
"Um... yeah... definitely. Why wouldn't they? I mean... uhm... nevermind."
Antonio’s gaze lingered. He nodded with agonizing slowness, his silence heavy with unspoken suspicion. He didn't push. Not yet.
"Okay... What's it about?"
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she risked a glance at the notification. Meet me at our usual spot. In an hour.
The penthouse. The exact place where their dangerous, forbidden affair had started. She couldn't ignore it. She knew Andrei; if she didn't show up, he wouldn't hesitate to drag her out of her own home.
Pamela threw her chair back. It screeched against the floor. Her lunch was entirely forgotten.
It's Sarah."
Antonio bolted upright. His eyes narrowed into slits as he began to circle the table, closing the distance between them like a predator tracking a shift in the wind.
"What about her?"
"She said it's urgent. I need to go." Pamela bolted toward the front door, her fingers blindly snatching her car keys off the kitchen counter.
"Text me when you get there!" Antonio called out. The front door slammed, cutting him off. Inside, Antonio shook his head with a faint, amused sigh, dismissing the chaos as just another one of her erratic moods.
Outside, the illusion shattered. Pamela fired the ignition, the engine roaring to life with a desperate whine as she slammed on the gas and tore down the street.
A dark memory sparked in his mind, colliding violently with the present. The sheer terror in her eyes just now perfectly mirrored the panic that had seized her when he mentioned the gunpowder.
Time was officially up. He ripped his phone from his pocket and punched in the number.
"Blackwood. It's Smith. Ping my wife's GPS right now. Details incoming."
He killed the call and fired off the coordinates. His mind raced, untangling the sudden dread.
Was Pamela running? Or was she being hunted? If she was in danger, him being a cop might be the exact reason she stayed silent.
"No," he muttered into the empty room. "She's out of time." He snatched his coat, rammed his service weapon into its holster, and grabbed his keys. He threw open the door and broke into a run.
The office door banged shut. The Don stormed into the penthouse, each stride toward the bar radiating raw fury. Darian’s intel on Antonio burned in his mind—more than enough to dismantle that bastard's pathetic, cool-guy facade forever.
He splashed scotch into a glass, his knuckles white around the crystal. A car shrieked to a halt outside. Seconds later, the heavy oak doors swung open.
Pamela. She glided into the room, draped in her usual, infuriating confidence. A dark, predatory smile slashed across his face.
"Mine," he growled under his breath.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Pamela demanded, halting directly in his space, her eyes flashing fire.
"You knew exactly who I was with when you sent that message."
He didn't blink. "Ah. So today he’s Antonio. No longer 'Tony.'"
Pamela sneered, ripping the glass right out of his hand. She threw back a heavy gulp, the amber liquid searing her throat, but she never broke eye contact. She dismissed his bait entirely.
"Never do that again," she warned, slamming the glass onto the marble counter.
"I don't take orders," he whispered, closing the distance until the heat between them was suffocating. "Least from pretty little things like you."
Pamela didn't flinch. She leaned in, matching his lethal stance note for note.
"Then we have a massive problem. Because I don't swallow whatever bullshit you throw at me."
A low rumble vibrated in his chest—a dangerous, dark chuckle.
"That's my girl," he murmured. He grabbed her jaw, pulling her in to press a bruising, fiercely possessive kiss against her forehead.
The violent screech of tires tore through the quiet outside, followed instantly by the explosive crack of the front door splintering open.
Antonio filled the frame. His towering silhouette radiated pure, lethal stillness as his gaze locked onto the sight before him: Andrei’s lips pressed firmly against Pamela’s forehead.
Antonio had tracked the GPS ping of Pamela's car straight to this location. Yet, nothing could prepare him for this gut-punch of reality. Her recent coldness, her sharp defensiveness—it wasn’t stress. It was betrayal.
His face was a mask of unreadable stone, but a dangerous, low-frequency tremor rippled beneath his skin. The fuse was lit.
"So," Antonio murmured, his voice a drop of liquid ice in the burning room. "This is the infamous 'Sarah' you were meeting?"
Pamela froze, the color draining from her face as the trap snapped shut. Andrei, completely unfazed, let a slow, predatory smirk spread across his face.
Defiantly, he coiled his arm tighter around Pamela’s waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
"We meet again, Smith," Andrei purred, practically tasting the amusement in the air.
Antonio’s eyes shifted, locking onto Andrei like a targeted missile. "I see you have the guts to commit federal crimes and steal other men's fiancées."
Andrei let out a soft, mocking laugh that echoed off the walls. "Even if she belonged to you, Smith, you’re not man enough to take her back."
Antonio didn't look at him. Instead, his burning gaze dropped to Pamela, his chest heaving with a lethal mix of heartbreak and disgust.
"Pamela..." Antonio whispered, the word cutting through the silence like a blade. "Why?"
