And not just any woman. She’s a vision of lethal elegance, standing tall in the wreckage she’s created. Dressed in a breathtaking floor-length black gown with a slit rising high along one thigh, she is surrounded by three Vardhaan men like a dark vision carved out of smoke and fire.
I freeze again on realisinga woman like heris their target.
Who is she?
Her face is partially hidden behind a masquerade mask, but her eyes are visible. And they aren’t merely beautiful; they’re the kind of eyes that command attention, and demand submission. One of the men lunges at her, but she sidesteps smoothly and kicks the man hard into his gut, revealing her sleek black Louboutin stilettos with a gold buckle glinting under the dim lights.
She’s lethal, elegant, andrich.
I sum up her description in my mind as the man she just kicked collapses to the floor. Another attacker rushes in and swings a knife at her. She dips low and spins on her heel, the slit of her gown flashing the smooth expanse of her leg and the gleam of her heel as she sends the blade flying from his grip. Her movements are so goddamn fluid, it almost feels choreographed, as if she was trained to make violence look beautiful.
Lethal, elegant, rich… anddangerous.
I’ve seen skilled women before. Agents. Assassins. Even Trisha Chaudhary, the GLEN spy, whose combat skills had impressed me back in South Africa. She could dismantle an army with her bare hands. But this woman… she’s something else entirely.
This one is fire wrapped in silk. A storm wearing the mask of royalty. Trouble disguised as temptation. And I can’t tear my eyes away.
Who is she?
I stay hidden in the shadows, watching as she dismantles the Vardhaan men with ruthless stunts. One by one, they fall. Broken. Defeated. And then, she does something that steals my breath away. She reaches up and yanks the pin from her bun. Instantly, her long dark hair spills down around her shoulders. Before anyone can react, she drives that pin straight into the neck of one of her attackers. His strangled groan echoes through the corridor as blood spurts down his collar. It’s brutal, even ruthless.
And… I’m spellbound.
But in the haze of admiration, I notice something she does not. As she fights the next attacker, the man she stabbed with the pin stumbles back to his feet, rage fuelling the last of his strength. He sways, then steadies, stepping back just far enough to grab a heavy vase from the corner, his eyes locked on her back. I can guess exactly what he is about to do. Before the thought even finishes forming, I’m already moving.
I had no intention of stepping in. No desire to expose myself to the Vardhaan men. This isn’t my war. But there are lines you don’t cross. Not even in hell. Not even in the mafia.
As he raises the vase, ready to smash it against her skull, my boot strikes it first, sending it flying from his grip. My hand clamps around his throat, and I slam him to the floor, pinning him beneath me, squeezing hard as my grip tightens. He wheezes like a dying rat.
I lean closer.
“Even the mafia has a code,” I growl against his ear. “You do not touch a woman without her permission. And you never stab her in the back.”
The b*stard claws at my wrist, his face turning crimson as my grip tightens further. He’s seconds away from blacking out when his other hand scrapes across the floor and closes around a knife that must’ve slipped from one of the others.
With a sudden, desperate lunge, he swings it upward towards my throat. A sharp sting burns across the side of my neck as the blade grazes my skin, and warm blood trickles down.
I twist suddenly, wrenching the knife from his grip and slamming his arm down against the floor, before tightening my grip around his throat again. Each passing second drags him closer to unconsciousness. That’s when I feel it.
Her gaze.
When I look up, she’s already staring at me, surprise flickering in her eyes at my intrusion. Our eyes lock over her golden eye mask, and for the first time in years, the world around me blurs. I forget where I am, forget the danger, forget the bodies scattered around us.
It’s just her.
And me.
Two predators.
Recognising the same darkness in each other.
Her lips part as if she’s about to speak, then press shut again as she swallows hard. Is it recognition? Fear? Shock? I can’t tell. And the worst part is, I don’t even want to analyse it. I only want to keep looking at her.
Andthathas never happened to me before.
I don’t know who she is. But I know one thing. If the Vardhaans are hunting for her, or if she has any connections with them, I should walk away. Not for my own sake, but for hers. Not for my own sanity, but for the people who’ve become my family over the last two years. Even the smallest thread connecting me back to the mafia world will bring havoc in their lives, which is something I cannot afford.
Just then, we hear the sounds of heavy boots coming our way. My pulse kicks up. She hears it too. And for the first time, the calm in her eyes flickers. Panic flashes in her eyes on realising there are not just three or four men, but at least a dozen coming towards us.
