Page 20 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

I shouldn’t be touching her or thinking about the way she came apart on my fingers like her body had been waiting for that total breaking of the floodgates.

That reaction wasn’t something you fake. I’ve been with women who opened their legs for powerful men because they thought submission earned safety. Elena didn’t submit; she unraveled. The difference matters more than I’d like.

Her lingering heat shouldn’t stay on my skin. Elena Rossi is the enemy’s daughter. And yet, I keep ending up with my hands between her legs instead of on a gun to her head, or around one of these traitors’ necks.

Now here I am, replaying the way her body strained against that leather belt, arched high in desperate surrender. Like a perfect little slut.

I strip out of my jacket, toss it over the chair in my room, and head straight for the sink. Cold water runs over my hands as if it can wash her off me. It doesn’t. Her scent lingers, a mix of vanilla and pure defiance.

That scent doesn’t belong in my world. It’s too soft. I scrub harder, knuckles scraping porcelain, jaw locked. The water numbs my fingers but doesn’t erase the memory I’m trying to kill.

I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. This ends soon, I tell myself. It has to. Sex clouds judgment, that’s rule number one. My father drilled it into me before he ever taught me how to pull a trigger.

“Never fuck what you can’t kill.”

Those words have guided every choice I’ve ever made. Kept me alive where others slipped.

Elena Rossi should be untouchable if this were a clean war, but this isn’t clean. And nothing can ever make it so.

Wars are filth; they rot everything they touch, and the innocent are the first casualty. You win by surviving long enough to watch the other side bleed out.

An idea clicks into place with absolute ease, and once it does, my body relaxes. Fucking her isn’t a mistake. It’s a tactic.

It might be a cruel one, but cruelty gets results. I’ve seen men crumble faster when you ruin what they think is protected. Elena is Enzo Marcini’s pride wrapped in silk and stubbornness. If I touch her, if I pull her into my orbit, this empire will suffer intense damage.

That’s exactly what I’m going for. Irreparable ruin.

Everyone must suffer, and being a Rossi should make you suffer more than anyone. If touching her twists the knife a little deeper into that empire, and pulling her close makes her drop her guard, then I’ll do it without blinking. I must.

There’s no mercy in this game, only leverage. I dry my hands, already calm.

Elena believes she’s fighting me every second she’s near me. That belief will be her undoing. She thinks she is the one who has control. That illusion will cost her family everything.

For now, I have a very important meeting I can’t afford to miss. Two nights ago, I snuck out of the mansion after overhearing a couple of the guards talk about a deal at one of the Rossi warehouses.

The Rossis have been expanding westward quietly. They’ve been able to secure broader supply lines and new buyers. Good for me, expansion means confidence, and confidence breeds vulnerability.

Information is currency. And tonight, I’m going there to devalue their entire investment.

Grabbing my jacket and baseball cap, I walk out the back door, careful to stay unseen by Elena or the other guards. I wonder if she’s managed to gather herself and leave the car yet.

The thought comes unbidden and unwelcome. I push it aside; sentiment has no place on the battlefield.

My phone beeps with a text from my source. Target confirmed. Meeting in thirty.

Efficiency never fails to soothe me.

I type a quick response on my phone screen. I’ll be there.

***

The warehouse sits on the edge of the district, making it easy for me to slip inside undetected, timing the guards by both instinct and observation. This kind of movement is already second nature to me.

I don’t have to be so meticulous, but I didn’t come here to shed blood today. It’ll only jeopardize my mission.

Enzo didn’t officially assign me to this operation, which is exactly why I’m here.

Unofficial jobs are where wars are actually won.