The Hitman's Obsession (The Hitmen #3)

Chapter 1

The oppressive, sweltering heat of the Louisiana Bayou clung to Luca Romano’s skin beneath his heavy black tactical gear.

Moisture hung in the air like a suffocating blanket, carrying the pungent scent of rotting vegetation and ancient, muddy riverbanks.

He stood perfectly still in the shadows of the sprawling plantation mansion, a decaying monument to old money built directly over a labyrinthine network of swamp waterways.

His employers had mentioned one complication during the pre-mission briefing.

Rossi had hired outside protection. A woman, of all things.

Zara Hayes. The name meant something in certain private security circles, he was told.

Former Special Forces. A nearly flawless record.

He had dismissed the warning before the debrief was even finished.

Whatever her reputation, it hadn’t saved her last client.

That job had gone sideways in ways that still made the rounds as a cautionary tale in his world.

One bad outcome was all it took to prove that reputation was just a story people told before the real work began.

He cared nothing for cautionary tales. His only religion was the contract, and tonight, his target was the elusive mob boss, Donatello Rossi.

Silently advancing down the mahogany corridor, he gripped his suppressed semi-automatic weapon.

His footsteps made no sound against the vintage Persian runners.

He had navigated the exterior perimeter with effortless precision, slipping past armed guards who were too busy swatting away mosquitoes to notice the ghost moving through the Spanish moss.

If Hayes was somewhere inside the mansion, she hadn’t made herself known yet.

He wasn’t surprised. Reaching the heavy oak doors of the office, he checked his breathing.

Then, leveling his weapon, he kicked the entryway open with a calculated, explosive burst of force.

Rossi wasn’t alone, counting his illicitly gained cash from the bayou casino. Instead, Luca found himself staring directly down the dark, hollow barrel of a very serviceable and reliable handgun.

Holding the weapon with a rock-steady grip was a woman who instantly commanded every ounce of his attention.

She was a striking, gorgeous Black woman squeezed into a sleek, tailored tactical suit that did nothing to hide her incredible figure.

Deep melanin skin gleamed under the warm glow of the office’s chandelier, contrasting sharply with the stark black of her Kevlar vest. Large, heavy breasts strained against the reinforced fabric of her undershirt with every measured breath she took.

Her thick, powerful thighs anchored her in a flawless Weaver stance, and even from the front, the curve of her hips promised a perfectly round ass that completely defied the standard, rigid mold of corporate bodyguards.

“Drop it, Romano,” she ordered. Her voice was smooth, carrying a rich, velvety cadence that sent a bizarre, unbidden shiver of lust straight down to his cock.

He registered something else beneath the attraction, something that landed with cold, professional clarity.

The grip was perfect. The stance was textbook Special Forces.

The way her dark eyes tracked him without dropping to his weapon even once told him she had been in worse rooms than this one.

He had dismissed the briefing too quickly.

Zara Hayes was not overrated. She was exactly as dangerous as advertised, and he had walked straight into her sights.

Of course, he didn’t lower his weapon, but a dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You know who I am, yet you still stand in my way. That is either incredibly brave or remarkably foolish for such a stunningly beautiful woman.”

“My name is Zara Hayes,” she replied, her dark eyes narrowing with lethal intent. “And I don’t give a damn if you’re the Boogeyman himself. You take one more step toward my client, and I will blow a hole through your pretty Italian face.”

Rossi cowered behind a massive mahogany desk, frantically clutching a briefcase to his chest. Luca ignored the pathetic older man entirely, his dark, calculating gaze locked on the woman.

The sheer, primal magnetism radiating from the curvy bodyguard hit him like a physical blow.

He had killed too many men to count, infiltrated fortresses, and walked away from exploding buildings without his heart rate ever spiking above seventy beats per minute.

Yet, looking into the fierce, dark liquid pools of the eyes of the woman aiming a gun at his skull, his blood suddenly roared in his ears.

Before he could formulate a quip to defuse her guard, the heavy glass of the office’s French doors shattered inward into a million glittering pieces.

Automatic gunfire tore through the quiet night, ripping the expensive curtains to shreds and chewing into the antique furniture. A third-party hit squad, heavily armed mercenaries wearing swamp-caked combat boots, poured through the shattered terrace entrance from the muddy riverbank outside.

Instinct overrode the standoff immediately.

Luca threw himself to the left, firing two suppressed shots that caught the lead mercenary dead in the throat.

Swinging his aim, he saw Zara tackle Rossi toward the floor, her own weapon barking loud, unsuppressed reports that dropped another attacker.

The room became a chaotic blender of flying wood splinters, deafening explosions, and the metallic tang of fresh blood.

“Get him to the safe room!” Luca roared over the deafening cacophony of gunfire, abandoning his contract in favor of sheer survival since he suspected she wouldn’t leave the cowardly bastard behind.

She didn’t hesitate to take the unexpected assist. Hauling Rossi up by his collar, she dragged the terrified boss toward a false bookcase built into the far wall.

She slammed a bloody palm against a hidden biometric scanner.

The heavy steel door of a reinforced panic room hissed open, revealing a pitch-black interior.

Another volley of high-caliber rounds pulverized the desk behind them. One of the bullets caught Rossi directly in the temple, snapping his head back violently. The mob boss crumpled to the floor, instantly dead, spraying crimson across her boots.

Realizing her client was gone, she abandoned the corpse and dove into the open vault just as an explosion rocked the office.

Luca was only a fraction of a second behind her.

He sprinted through the hail of bullets, throwing his large, muscular frame through the narrow opening.

He collided heavily with her, sending them both crashing onto the cold, hard floor of the bunker as the thick titanium door automatically slammed shut and engaged its heavy internal locking mechanisms.

Total darkness swallowed them for three agonizing seconds before a dim, crimson emergency light flickered to life overhead.

Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up onto his forearms. The space was incredibly cramped, measuring barely eight by eight feet, with concrete walls and a single, narrow military cot bolted to the floor.

The stifling, oppressive humidity of the Louisiana bayou seemed to have followed them inside, trapping the thick scent of cordite, adrenaline, and swamp mud in the tiny enclosure.

And then there was the woman lying beneath him. Soft in some places, firm in others, and totally alluring everywhere their bodies made contact.

She shoved him off her, scrambling backward until her spine hit the reinforced steel door. She brought her weapon up, aiming it squarely at his chest, her large breasts heaving dramatically under her tactical vest. “Back off, Romano.”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, he slowly rose to a seated position on the floor.

“Your client is dead, Hayes. The contract is moot. We are locked inside a titanium box while a small army of mercenaries tears apart the estate around us, looking for God knows what. I highly suggest we call a truce.”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t lower the gun. “You came here to kill him. And probably me too. How do I know those aren’t your men out there?”

“If they were my men, I would not be locked in a cage with you,” he pointed out reasonably, his voice dropping an octave as he allowed his gaze to drag over her magnificent body. “Though I must admit, the scenery in here is a vast improvement over the bayou.”

“Keep your eyes on my face, asshole,” she snapped, although he thought he heard a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

The air in the panic room was already growing thin.

The oxygen filtration system was likely damaged during the explosive breach.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, thick and hot, mixing with a sudden, overwhelming wave of pure lust. Being trapped in forced proximity with this fierce, incredibly lush woman was severely testing his famous iron control.

Every curve of her body called to him. The way her thighs flexed as she held her defensive posture, the defiant jut of her chin, the intoxicating scent of her sweat mixed with expensive vanilla perfume. Everything about her drove him insane.

Moving with deliberate slowness, he reached down to his tactical belt. He unclipped his weapons, laying his gun and combat knives onto the single cot. “I am disarming. See? I present no threat to you.”

She watched him with deep suspicion, her dark eyes tracking every shift of his body.

But then, slowly, and clearly, reluctantly, she lowered the barrel of her weapon, engaging the safety before sliding it into her thigh holster.

“There’s no secondary release on this side of the door.

The primary system was destroyed in the blast. We’re stuck here until the emergency timers release the locks. ”

“And how long is that?” he asked softly, taking a single step closer to her.