Chapter 2
Enzo
Cold metal slides over soft skin. The diamond catches the low, amber light of Il Corvo’s back room.
She put it on. My mother’s engagement ring.
The platinum settles at the base of her slender finger.
The calculation in my head snaps. A catastrophic failure of logic.
My entire operational matrix shatters into dust on the floor between us.
Mint and sweet basil.
The scent hits the back of my throat. It slices straight through the heavy stagnation of stale espresso, rich leather, and my own whiskey. Crisp. Bright. Utterly out of place in my structured world. The scent wraps around my neck like a collar. I am leashed to it in a matter of seconds.
She wears my ring. She sits in my territory. She glares at me with a cynical fire that could burn this entire city to the ground.
Mine.
The word does not gently float into my consciousness.
It detonates. It rips through my veins, rewriting years of rigid discipline.
I spent three weeks building a flawless, unassailable plan to dismantle the Bellanti money laundering network through the West Loop transit hub.
I accounted for every detail down to the dockworkers' shift changes and the blind spots of the security cameras.
I did not account for the sheer, gravitational force of Natalia Kim in a fitted crimson dress.
Her curves are a weapon. Her soft, heavy breasts press against the sharp neckline of her clothing.
Her waist flares out into lush hips that make my hands ache with the need to map her.
I want to lock her in the compound. I want to bury her under my blankets and stand guard at the door with a loaded rifle.
I run my thumb along the edge of the empty platinum setting on my right hand—the matching band to the one now circling her finger.
The cool metal grounds me. I run a hand over my jaw, the coarse texture of my salt-and-pepper beard a familiar anchor.
Do not lose the objective, Enzo. You are the fixer.
You control the board. You do not let the pieces dictate the game.
But she is not a piece. She is the player flipping the board over.
"So." Natalia taps her newly adorned finger against the dark mahogany table.
The sharp click of the platinum echoes in the quiet room.
"I am your fake fiancée. I am the shiny, heavily indebted distraction.
And you are my ticket to absolute financial freedom.
Do we have a deal, Mr. Costa, or are you just going to stare at me with those calculating eyes all night? "
Her voice has bite. A cynical, corporate edge honed by years of cleaning up messes for arrogant men in high-rise corner offices. She operates on instinct and nerve. She thinks I am just another arrogant man. She has absolutely no idea what kind of monster she just made a deal with.
"The deal is struck." My voice is a low gravel rasp. Slower than usual. Heavier. "The debt is erased. The apartment building is yours. You belong to the Costa family for the duration of this operation."
"I belong to myself." She leans forward. The crimson fabric stretches tight across her chest. "I'm providing a service. Legal consulting. And apparently, acting. Don’t confuse a business transaction with ownership."
Heat spikes in my blood. Every contingency in my head reorders itself around her in a single, violent recalculation. I want to clear the table. I want to scatter the meticulously organized files and press her onto the mahogany. I want to show her exactly who owns her now.
I suppress the urge. Barely.
"Let us review the logistics." I slide a thick manila folder across the table toward her. "The target is Jeff. He is the supply manager for our West Loop transit hub. A vital logistics node for the Costa family. Jeff has a gambling problem. A severe one."
Natalia opens the folder. Her eyes scan the top document. She is fast. Her intelligence is a razor blade. "And he owes money to the wrong people."
"He owes thirty-eight thousand five hundred dollars to a man named Rourke.
Rourke is a Bellanti enforcer." The name tastes like ash in my mouth.
The Bellanti family. A long, ugly war still moves beneath that name—through every block of this city and every shipment we run.
"Rourke is using the debt as leverage. He is forcing Jeff to run Bellanti shipping containers through our transit hub.
Money laundering on a massive scale. They are moving millions under our noses, using our infrastructure to do it. "
She flips to the next page. "So fire Jeff. Or kill him. Isn't that how your... organization... handles breaches in security?"
"That is how my brother Dante handles breaches in security.
" I rest my elbows on the table, clasping my hands together.
"I am not Dante. If we eliminate Jeff, Rourke finds another compromised node.
The Bellantis adapt. I do not want to stop a single shipment.
I want to steal their entire financial ledger.
I want to bleed their network dry from the inside out. "
Natalia looks up. The cynical armor cracks for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of genuine intrigue. "You want to weaponize Jeff."
"Exactly." I nod slowly. God, she is brilliant.
"Jeff is going to continue working for Rourke.
But he is going to feed us the encrypted ledgers.
The problem is, Rourke is paranoid. He only meets Jeff at exclusive, high-society charity galas and private clubs.
Places where a single mafia enforcer stands out. "
"But a wealthy, engaged businessman with a corporate lawyer on his arm blends right in." She taps the file. "You need me for cover."
"I need you to read the ledgers." I correct her.
"The Bellantis do not use standard accounting.
They hide their numbers in corporate shell companies.
Real estate acquisitions. Philanthropic donations.
I need a litigation associate who knows how to dissect corporate fraud.
I need you to memorize the numbers while we are in the room, because we cannot leave with the physical documents. "
She leans back in her chair. The crimson dress rides up her thighs. Soft, smooth skin exposed to the dim light. My jaw locks. The urge to slide my hand up that thigh and mark her as mine is almost paralyzing.
"That is highly illegal." She points out, a smirk playing on her full lips.
"You are sitting in the private back room of Il Corvo wearing a mafia fixer's ring." I counter, my gaze dropping to her mouth. "Legality left the building the moment you walked in."
She laughs. A short, sharp sound that punches straight through my chest. "Fair point. So, what are the rules of engagement?"
Rules. I like rules. I built my life on rules.
I was ten years old when I stood in the rain in the courtyard of the compound and listened for sounds that never came.
Matteo would not return until dawn. My father was already dead.
That night, the silence of the compound taught me a brutal lesson.
Chaos kills. Unpredictability kills. Only strict, flawless calculation keeps you alive.
My mother died the same night, in the coordinated hit the Bellantis ran across our entire bloodline. I never grieved her as myself. I learned to hide everything real. Everything true. I became the man this family uses for every move it cannot risk losing.
But there is nothing hidden about the way I look at Natalia.
"Rule number one." I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "You stay by my side at all times. You don’t wander. You don’t go to the restroom alone. You do not speak to Rourke without my explicit permission. If a situation escalates, you step behind me immediately."
"I am perfectly capable of handling myself in a room full of arrogant men." She bristles, her independence flaring. "I deal with corporate predators every day."
"Corporate predators use lawyers to destroy you.
" My voice drops to a deadly, quiet register.
"The Bellantis use knives. They use guns.
They will drag you into an alley and leave your body there to send me a message.
You will follow my rules to the letter, Natalia, or I will move you behind my walls and remove every door you can open without me. "
She swallows hard. The pulse at the base of her throat flutters. Fear? No. Thrill. She is impulsive. She thrives on the edge of the cliff.
"Rule number two." I point to the ring on her finger. "That stays on. Always. You do not take it off to shower. You do not take it off to sleep. It is a beacon. It tells every person in this city that you are under the absolute protection of the Costa family. It tells them you belong to me."
"For the cover." She specifies, her chin tilting up in defiance.
"For the cover." I lie smoothly. It is not for the cover. It is permanent. She is never taking that ring off. I will weld the platinum to her bone before I let another man look at her.
"And rule number three?" She asks, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing the lush curves higher.
"You follow my lead." I stand up from the table.
My shadow cuts across the table and falls over her.
"In public, we are wildly, obsessively in love.
We cannot keep our hands off each other.
The more distracted we look, the less Rourke will suspect we are running an intelligence operation right in front of him.
You will smile at me. You will touch me. And you will make it look authentic."
She stands up to meet me. She is significantly shorter, her head barely reaching my chest even in her heels.
The size difference is staggering. Every angle of the room rearranges itself around her smaller frame, and my body recalculates ten new ways to put myself between her and every exit.
The physical reality of her in my territory spikes my protective instincts into the red zone.