The first time I saw her, the world went silent.
Not quieter—silent. Like someone had cut the sound from reality itself.
She stood at the top of the marble staircase, wrapped in a blood-red dress that clung to her like sin. The lights above cast a glow on her skin, soft and dangerous, like something meant to lure men to their deaths. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, framing a face that didn't belong in a world like this.
Too beautiful. Too untouchable.
Too much trouble.
Valentina Moretti.
I didn't know her name then. Didn't need to. One look was enough to tell me exactly what she was—power, chaos, and a problem I wanted nothing to do with.
And yet… I couldn't look away.
"Careful," a voice muttered beside me. "That one ruins men."
I didn't respond. I didn't need warnings.
I was the warning.
---
Three days earlier.
"You're taking the job."
The statement wasn't a suggestion. It never was.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on the man across from me. Lorenzo DeLuca didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. Men like him didn't ask—they decided.
"I don't babysit," I said flatly.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "You're not babysitting. You're protecting an asset."
"Same difference."
He slid a file across the table. It stopped right in front of me, like it already knew I wouldn't walk away.
I didn't touch it.
"Open it, Dante."
I exhaled slowly, irritation crawling under my skin. I didn't like being cornered. Didn't like jobs I couldn't control.
And this? This already felt like a mess.
Still, I opened the file.
The moment I saw her face, something shifted.
Dark eyes. Sharp. Unapologetic. The kind of gaze that didn't just look at you—it challenged you. Like she dared the world to try and break her.
Full lips set in a line that spoke of defiance. Strength. Trouble.
Yeah. Definitely trouble.
"Valentina Moretti," Lorenzo said. "Daughter of Marco Moretti."
That got my attention.
Marco Moretti wasn't just a name. He was power. The kind that turned governments nervous and enemies into corpses.
"And?" I asked, though I already knew where this was going.
"She's being targeted."
Of course she was.
I closed the file. "Then tighten security. You've got an army for that."
"She's already burned through two teams."
I paused.
"That wasn't in the file."
"It is now."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "So what—you want me to clean up your mess?"
Lorenzo's eyes hardened slightly. "I want you to do what you do best."
What I did best wasn't protection.
It was survival.
There was a difference.
"I don't take unstable assignments," I said. "And from what I'm hearing, she's the definition of unstable."
"She's alive," he corrected. "That's all that matters."
"Not to me."
Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Calculated.
Then Lorenzo leaned back, studying me like he already knew how this would end.
"You owe me, Dante."
There it was.
I clenched my jaw.
I hated debts. Hated the way they wrapped around your throat and tightened when you least expected it.
"And this is you collecting?" I asked.
"This is me giving you a chance to pay it."
I laughed once, humorless. "By throwing me into a situation that's already compromised?"
"She needs someone she can't break."
My eyes narrowed. "You think I'm unbreakable?"
"I think," he said calmly, "you're the only one who won't fall for her."
That almost made me walk out.
Almost.
Instead, I grabbed the file again, flipping it open. Studying her face like I could figure out the problem just by looking.
But something about her didn't make sense.
Girls like her—rich, powerful, untouchable—they usually hid behind walls.
She didn't look like she hid.
She looked like she walked straight into danger and dared it to try.
Bad habit.
Deadly habit.
"And if I say no?" I asked.
Lorenzo didn't hesitate. "You won't."
I met his gaze, cold and steady. "That confident?"
"Yes."
I held his stare for a long second.
Then I closed the file.
"…When do I start?"
---
Present.
The mansion was exactly what you'd expect—massive, cold, and crawling with security.
Men in suits. Eyes everywhere. Guns hidden, but not really.
Paranoia lived in places like this.
And it should.
I stepped inside, my presence barely acknowledged. That was fine. I preferred it that way.
Invisible.
Until I wasn't.
"Mr. Russo."
I turned slightly as one of the guards approached. Young. Nervous. Probably new.
"She's upstairs," he said. "But—uh—good luck."
I didn't ask what that meant.
I was about to find out.
---
And then I saw her.
Standing at the top of the stairs like she owned the world.
Like nothing could touch her.
Like she didn't already have a target on her back.
Our eyes met.
And everything in me stilled.
There was no fear in her gaze. No hesitation.
Just curiosity… and something sharper.
Assessment.
She was studying me.
Judging me.
Deciding something.
Interesting.
I took a step forward.
She didn't move.
Another step.
Still nothing.
Most people shifted under pressure. Broke eye contact. Showed something.
Not her.
She held my gaze like she was daring me to look away first.
I didn't.
"New bodyguard?" she called down, her voice smooth, laced with something dangerous.
I stopped at the base of the stairs. "Something like that."
Her lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile.
"Let me guess," she said, descending slowly, each step deliberate. "They sent you because the others failed."
"They sent me," I replied, "because you're still alive."
That got a reaction.
Small. Quick. But I saw it.
Her eyes flickered.
Then she smiled.
This time, it was real.
And it was trouble.
"Confidence," she murmured, stepping closer. "I like that."
I didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't give her anything.
She stopped just a few feet away now. Close enough that I could see the details—faint shadows under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping. A tension in her shoulders she tried to hide.
Yeah. Not as untouchable as she looked.
"Tell me something," she said softly. "How long do you think you'll last?"
I met her gaze, steady.
"As long as it takes."
She tilted her head slightly. "They all say that."
"And they all failed," I said.
Silence.
Then—
A gunshot echoed outside.
Loud. Sharp. Too close.
Her body tensed instantly.
Mine didn't.
Instinct kicked in.
I grabbed her, pulling her down just as glass shattered behind us.
Another shot.
And another.
Chaos erupted.
"Stay down!" I snapped, already scanning the room, tracking angles, exits, threats.
This wasn't random.
This was planned.
And it was happening fast.
Too fast.
Her fingers gripped my arm—not in fear, but in something else.
Control.
She wasn't panicking.
She was thinking.
Good.
"Three shooters," she said quickly. "East wing. They breached the outer gate."
I glanced at her, surprised.
She noticed.
"Did you think I was helpless?" she shot back.
Another bullet slammed into the wall above us.
Close.
Too close.
I made a decision.
Fast.
"Move," I ordered, pulling her toward the hallway.
She didn't argue.
Didn't hesitate.
She kept up.
Also interesting.
We moved through the corridor, alarms blaring now, guards shouting, footsteps pounding.
But something was wrong.
The response was slow.
Disorganized.
Compromised.
Which meant—
"They're already inside," I muttered.
Valentina's expression darkened. "No. That's not possible."
"It is if someone let them in."
Her steps faltered for just a second.
Then she recovered.
But I saw it.
Doubt.
Betrayal.
Before either of us could say more—
A figure stepped out in front of us.
Gun raised.
Familiar face.
One of the guards.
Only now… he wasn't on our side.
Valentina froze.
"…You?" she whispered.
The man smiled.
Cold. Empty.
"Sorry, princess."
I moved.
Fast.
But not fast enough.
The gun fired—
And everything went black.