CHAPTER 1 #3
I look down. The folder is already open.
Staring back at me in high-resolution gloss is my official FBI academy graduation photo.
Right beside the picture is my real name.
My federal rank. My highly classified psychological profile.
Beneath that is a meticulously detailed log of every single field report I have filed on Leon Falk since day one of this operation.
Nothing is redacted. Every page, every lie, every tactical note, printed out in stark black ink.
My own signature sits at the bottom of the top page.
"Agent Heller."
Leon leans his massive frame over the table, bringing his face mere inches from mine.
"Thirty-six months of lies, and this is all you have to show for it?"
He sold me out. That motherfucker Trenton actually sold me out. I stare at my file, my mind violently spinning as the total destruction of my carefully constructed identity hits me. Everything I sacrificed, every protocol I followed, handed over as a weapon.
"He sold you for five million and a clean slate."
Leon reaches out, his bruised, scarred finger landing heavily right on my academy photo, turning the file toward me. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating.
"Alessia Heller. Born in Virginia. Top of her class at Quantico."
He says my name with a dark, terrifying sort of reverence, rolling the syllables around in his mouth like he’s finally tasting a meal he’s been waiting three years to eat.
"You were so good, Alessia. I almost believed you." His voice is a low rumble deep in his chest. "But the FBI is a very predictable master."
The game is over. If he wanted to put a bullet in my head, he would have done it the second I stepped off the elevator. He doesn't want me dead.
I let out a single, sharp breath. I drop the frantic civilian act completely.
The soft, terrified eyes harden into clinical ice.
I roll my shoulders back, shedding the slumped, submissive posture, letting my spine snap into the rigid, lethal stance of a trained agent.
I stand tall, meeting his gaze with a sheer, suicidal defiance.
The true Alessia Heller is finally standing in the room.
I let go of the edge of the table, flexing my fingers, ready to draw and fire center mass in one motion.
"So. Now what?" My voice drops an octave, completely devoid of the high-pitched Claire affectation.
"If you're going to kill me, Falk, stop talking and do it."
Leon laughs. It's a low, genuine sound of deep amusement. He walks around the table, his eyes slowly, hungrily tracing the lines of my shifted posture. He looks like a man who just dug up buried treasure. He isn't intimidated. He isn't reaching for a weapon. He is thoroughly enjoying the threat.
"Trenton is a dead man. You know that, right?" I spit at him.
He circles me like a shark, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"There she is. I’ve been waiting to meet the real you."
He stops right in front of me.
"Killing you would be such a waste of potential."
He raises his hands to his throat. Slowly, with agonizing, deliberate focus, he begins to loosen the perfect knot of his dark silk tie.
He unbuttons the top two buttons of his tailored shirt, exposing the heavy pulse beating at the base of his tan neck.
He pulls the expensive tie entirely free, letting it dangle loosely from his fist. The silk slithers through his fingers like a snake.
"The FBI didn't deserve you. But I do."
"I hate these things," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. "Too restrictive. Much like your old life."
He takes another step, completely violating my personal space.
He is so tall his chest is nearly flush against mine, his shadow swallowing me whole.
He casually drops the silk tie right on top of my open FBI folder, a blatant, heavy symbol of absolute dominance over my past and whatever the hell my future is now.
"Let's be comfortable, Alessia. We have a lot of time to get to know each other."
I refuse to look down or step back, staring straight into the frozen lake of his eyes even as my heart hammers violently against my ribs. I could try to take his eyes. I could try to shatter his knee. But he’s waiting for it. He wants me to fight.
"The rules are different in here."
Leon leans down, his mouth brushing right against the shell of my ear. The rough, warm brush of his knuckles grazes my jawbone as his hand comes up. Not to strike me, but to slowly, possessively tuck a stray lock of auburn hair behind my ear.
"You're not going anywhere."
The low, dangerous rumble of his voice vibrates straight into my bones.
"You belong to the syndicate now. More specifically, you belong to me."
His hand lingers heavy and hot near the back of my neck.
"Do you understand the situation, Agent Heller?"
I stare at the massive steel plates currently sealing me inside a soundproof vault with a man who knows exactly how to break things.
"Welcome home, Alessia."
He steps back just enough to let me feel the trap shut.
"Don't bother looking for the exits. They don't exist for you anymore."
"The game starts now."
I look at the gun tucked in my waistband, then up at the steel doors, calculating the exact zero percent chance I have of blasting my way out. He has the only key.