Jenny sent a long sigh of relief when he took out his vape from his pocket and turned to her "do you smoke?" She denied
Then, out of nowhere—he moved.
His hand cupped the side of her neck, not hard, not gentle either. His thumb pressed lightly at her pulse. Her heart thudded against it, betraying every emotion she fought to hide.
She felt fear take over her.
"I could break you, Tara," San said softly, darkly. "I could destroy everything you're hiding and still want more."
Jenny didn't flinch. "Then maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Their faces were inches apart now. One wrong move and this entire mission could collapse. One kiss—and she wasn't sure she'd stop herself.
But San didn't kiss her.
He leaned close to her ear, his breath hot. "You've got one chance to prove you're worth the risk."
"And if I'm not?" she asked.
San pulled back, slowly, eyes gleaming.
"Then you die." he said with a smirk and then a serious face.
The night air clung to Jenny like silk and smoke as she stepped out of the unmarked black car, her heels hitting the pavement in slow, precise clicks. The city never really slept, not when men like San Moretti were wide awake, while pulling strings and collecting souls.
Tonight wasn't Club Averno.
It was personal.
An invitation.
No guards.
No crowd.
Just her and the devil in his den.
The estate loomed ahead like something from another world—stone, wrought iron, and wealth buried in blood. It sat at the edge of the city like a predator waiting for prey to walk right in.
She walked in anyway.
The doors opened before she could knock. A butler greeted her with a nod, then wordlessly led her through a grand hallway lit by crystal chandeliers and shadows.
And then—there he was.
San Moretti, dressed in black from head to toe, a glass of whiskey in his hand and danger stitched into every line of his body. He stood by a fireplace that burned low but steady, its glow dancing across his sharp cheekbones and unreadable eyes.
"You came," he said.
"You asked," she replied.
He studied her in silence for a beat. Then asked, "Drink?"
"No."
His brow lifted. "Control or trust issues?"
Jenny stepped closer, stopping just short of his reach. "Survival instinct."
That made him smile. Not wide—just enough to let her know she was amusing him. Enough to make her skin tingle.
"Tell me, Tara," he said, sipping his drink, "why are you really here?"
"You invited me."
"I did," he nodded. "But you didn't have to come."
Jenny's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe I wanted to see if the legend lived up to the name."
San tilted his head. "And?"
"You're not what I expected."
"Disappointed?"
"Not yet."
He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "You know, most women try to impress me."
"Maybe you need someone who doesn't."
That stopped him for a second. His smirk faded just enough to show something else.
Interest.
Or curiosity.
Maybe even respect.
"I think I like you," he said slowly.
"You don't know me."
"Not yet."
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't awkward. It was thick with tension. With something unspoken that hovered between flirtation and a challenge.
"Come," he said, turning away.
Jenny followed him down a hall lined with bookshelves and old paintings. He led her to a private study—dim, warm, intimate.
"This is where I think," he said, gesturing to the room. "Where I plan. Where I decide who lives and who doesn't."
She stepped in, pulse quickening and heart racing.
"Do you bring all your girls here?" she asked.
"I don't bring anyone here."
Jenny turned to look at him surprised. "Then why me?"
San stepped closer, his voice a shade lower. "Because you don't flinch when I speak about death. Because you lie with your eyes, but your pulse gives you away."
Her throat tightened.
He could hear the fear in her heartbeat. He could feel it.
"I don't scare easy," she whispered again.
San raised a hand—not to touch her, but to brush a strand of hair away from her face. The motion was so careful it sent a shiver down her spine.
"You're a storm wrapped in silk," he said. "Beautiful. But dangerous."
Jenny swallowed hard. "You have no idea."
He admired her body from her hair, to her dress, to her curvy body, down to her feet and her shoes.
Her eyes locked with his.
She was lost in thoughts while admiring his very unique body.
San had eyes which made him look dangerous but at the same time very charming and irresistible.
She began to wonder if he truly was the dangerous, ruthless San Moretti of the Moretti empire .
And in the blink of an eye,
He kissed her.
No warning. No hesitation.
His mouth was heat and fire, and his hands slid to her waist like he'd been there before in another life. She kissed him back—just for a second—before she pulled away, breathless.
"That wasn't smart," she whispered.
"No," he agreed, voice husky. "But it felt inevitable."
Her heart raced. This was wrong. Reckless. And yet—
She couldn't walk away.
"Why me?" she asked again, voice quieter now. Real.
San looked at her like he was seeing straight through every wall she'd ever built. "Because you don't belong in this world, Elle. And yet here you are, dancing with devils."
And then his phone buzzed.
He looked down.
The expression that crossed his face was swift—and cold.
"Problem?" she asked.
San didn't answer. He just looked up at her.
"I have to go," he said. "Business."
Jenny stepped back, letting the distance return. "Will I see you again?"
San studied her. "If I don't find out who you really are first."
Then he left.
And Jenny was alone in the heart of the lion's den—with her lips still burning from t
he kiss of a man she was supposed to destroy.
Was her hatred slowly turning into something else and was the mission being compromised or was she going to fight every feeling?