Chapter 2
POV: Amanda
The man in the garden…
I couldn’t shake his face.
Because he looked wrong.
Familiar, but wrong.
De Lucca intel was drilled into me like scripture. Their father: dead. Their enemies: too many. Their siblings: just two. Adrian and Bella. Full stop.
Except.
Except there had been something once, a name buried in the registries, an old report from decades ago. A brother who died in childhood. A ghost who never reached adulthood.
Riccardo.
My pulse tripped.
No. That wasn’t possible. The boy was dead.
I clamped down on the thought before it showed on my face. My cover mattered more than curiosity. Still, the itch to know clawed at my ribs.
“Who is he?” I asked, keeping my tone light, casual.
Bella only smiled, slow and enigmatic, then started toward the man. Her heels crunched softly against the gravel path.
“Come,” she murmured. “I’ll introduce you.”
The man turned at the sound of her voice, and up close I saw the truth in the lines of his face. He was older than Adrian, broad-shouldered and tall, but there was something in the set of his expression, the way his eyes shifted instead of locking, that softened him.
“Riccardo,” Bella said gently, her hand brushing his arm with sisterly tenderness. “This is Amanda. She’ll be staying with us for a while.”
My heart jolted.
Riccardo.
The name fell heavy. Because I knew it. I’d read it in an old dossier, tucked away under deceased.
Dead. He was supposed to be dead.
“Riccardo De Lucca,” Bella continued, smiling like the word itself was sacred. “My brother.”
My throat tightened as he extended his hand. His grip was warm, firm, but the way he met my gaze was different. His eyes lingered on mine just a fraction too long, his voice flat but clear when he spoke:
“You’re new,” he said simply, his Italian accent wrapping around the words.
Something in the cadence struck me. Not wrong—just different. Precise. Literal. Like he spoke only the words he meant.
“Yes,” I managed softly. “I’m new.”
Bella’s smile was tinged with something heavier now, something almost protective. She looped her arm through Riccardo’s with a fondness that made my chest ache.
“You’ll need to protect him too,” she said, glancing at me as if testing my reaction.
I blinked. “Protect him?”
Her shoulders lifted in a sigh, her tone hushed with honesty.
“Our parents had Riccardo first. He was… different, even as a baby. Slow to walk, slow to talk. When he was diagnosed with autism, the doctors told them he would never lead. Never survive in this world. In ours.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “So they killed him. Not truly—only on paper. They erased him from the records and hid him here. Safer in shadows than in the spotlight.”
The words struck like a blade.
“They thought if the families knew…” She hesitated, eyes darkening. “…he would be a target. An easy one.”
I understood. Too well.
“And Adrian?” I asked quietly.
Bella’s gaze drifted to Riccardo, her features softening.
“They had Adrian next. He was the heir. The warrior. The one who could survive the throne. And me… to care for Riccardo.”
Her lips pressed tight before she added, barely above a whisper:
“The last time Adrian took him out—just a casino night—the other families saw him. They tried to use him. And Adrian… Adrian stepped in front of the bullet.”
My chest hollowed.
That was the story. That was why Adrian was bleeding, broken, furious at the world. He’d almost died—for this brother no one was supposed to know existed.
Bella’s hand brushed Riccardo’s sleeve again before she turned back to me. “So, Amanda. You see now why your role here matters.”
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod, even as my mind spun with the implications.
Riccardo De Lucca was alive.
And he was the secret Adrian would kill to protect.
Bella eventually led me upstairs, her hand light on my arm, her voice softer as she pointed out the guest wing.
She stopped at a tall oak door, pushing it open with a smile.
“This is yours. Unpack. Settle in. I’ll have your bags brought up.”
I stepped inside. The room was vast, high-ceilinged, with heavy curtains and a carved bed that looked older than me. For a moment, it felt like I had walked straight into a gilded cage.
The door shut softly behind me. I finally exhaled, dragging my hands over my face.
I had a cover to maintain, a mafia king to guard, and now… a ghost of a brother to keep alive.
I barely had time to breathe before the sharp slam of a door snapped me upright.
Adrian stormed in, dark eyes blazing, voice like gravel.
Adrian’s voice cracked across the room like a gunshot.
“Listen, bodyguard—” he spat the word like venom, “—I don’t need a babysitter. And I sure as hell don’t need you shadowing me at dinner tonight. I’ve got important business with the Espositos, and the last thing I need is a soldier in combat boots sitting at my table.”
My jaw tightened, but I kept my stance neutral, hands clasped behind my back like I was trained to. “You’ll need me there. The Espositos don’t exactly play fair.”
His eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with mockery. “What’s next? You going to make me wear a vest too?”
“Yes.”
The word dropped between us like a blade.
For a second, he froze. Then his face darkened, fury surging, and before I could blink, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. He didn’t squeeze hard—just enough to tilt my head back, to remind me exactly who he was.
“You think you can order me?” His voice was low, lethal, his thumb brushing against my pulse.
My breath hitched, but I didn’t back down. “You will wear it.”
His chest heaved. The fury in his eyes burned hotter, brighter… then shifted. Flickered. Softened. And in that dangerous heartbeat, his gaze dropped to my mouth.
The air turned molten.
Something wild and reckless pulsed between us, heat sparking at the edges of anger. He exhaled hard, like forcing himself back into control, and let me go.
“I’m not wearing a vest,” he said roughly.
“Yes, you are.”
“No.” His tone was final, unyielding.
My throat still burned where his hand had been, but I straightened, refusing to let him see the tremor racing through me. “Then I’ll stay twice as close.”
He gave a dark laugh, sharp as broken glass. “God help me. You’re infuriating.”
“Good. That means I’m doing my job.”
Bella’s voice cut through from the hall, clear and uncompromising. “She’s going, Adrian. End of discussion.”
He clenched his jaw, glaring at the door before swinging his gaze back to me. His eyes raked over my tactical uniform—pants, boots, black shirt—with disdain.
“You can’t show up like that. This isn’t a battlefield.”
“Then I’ll wear a dress,” I shot back.
His nostrils flared. For a moment, silence. Then his lips curved, slow and dangerous, his eyes dropping—again—to my mouth before dragging back up.
“I bet you can,” he murmured, almost to himself.
My pulse stumbled. Heat seared down my spine, but I kept my voice steady. “Then it’s settled. I’m going. And I’ll keep you alive—whether you like it or not.”
His smirk was razor sharp. “We’ll see about that.”
I turned toward the door, my heart hammering, my mind already spinning.
Dinner with the Espositos. No vest. No backup. Just me in a dress, a table full of enemies, and the Mafia King who thought he didn’t need saving.
It was going to be one hell of a dinner.
Bella appeared not long after the fight, arms draped with a handful of dresses like a makeshift boutique. She kicked the door shut with her heel, smirking at me as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Don’t worry, Amanda. We’ll make you look like you belong at that table. And for the record…” Her green eyes glittered with mischief. “…you’ll look better in my clothes than I do.”
I arched a brow. “I doubt that.”
“Mm, you’ll see.” She tossed the pile onto the bed, silky fabrics spilling like dark water. “We run a whole chain of stores, you know. It’s how we clean money. High fashion, imported silks, exclusive Italian brands. Tonight you get a taste of the collection.”
I pulled one free—a black dress, smooth and sleeveless, the kind of thing that whispered dangerously elegant. The zipper glided up with Bella’s help, and when I turned to the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself.
Bella whistled low. “Oh, Adrian’s going to choke on his own tongue.”
The dress hugged tighter than anything I’d ever worn, tracing muscle and curve alike. Where Bella’s long frame left room, mine filled every inch—hips, ass, breasts, everything packed in sleek lines of black fabric. I adjusted the hem and muttered, “Feels like a weapon.”
“Exactly,” Bella grinned, already pulling out mascara. “Now sit.”
Minutes later, with her quick, practiced hands, my face was sharpened—subtle makeup that highlighted cheekbones, drew attention to my mouth.
My blond hair was tamed just enough to look like I hadn’t tried.
And when I strapped the thigh holster under the slit of the dress, one leg bent on the bed, Bella’s smile turned wicked.
“Perfect. Femme fatale. He won’t know whether to shoot you or kiss you.”
I was fastening the last strap when the door opened.
Adrian stepped inside.
For once, the king of stone-cold composure… faltered.
His stride slowed, his eyes swept over me, and his throat visibly worked as he swallowed. He didn’t even try to hide it—his gaze clung, dragged over the curve of my hips, the shape of my legs, the faint gleam of the holster strap. For one raw, charged heartbeat, he forgot to breathe.
I tilted my head, smirking. “What’s the matter, King? Cat got your tongue?”
His jaw clenched. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t erase the heat in his eyes. “Be ready. We’re leaving.”
I hid my own stutter of a pulse by bending to slide a second knife into my purse. “Already am.”
The clicking of my heels echoed down the marble corridor as I followed him, the sound sharp, deliberate.
I stopped at his office, stepping in without knocking.
He was adjusting his cufflinks, tailored suit hugging every broad shoulder, every hard line of muscle, dark hair swept back with ruthless precision.
And God help me, my mouth went dry.
I crossed the room, heels tapping closer until the air between us was dangerous and thin. His gaze locked to mine, burning, then slipped down to my lips before jerking back up.
“Hold still,” I said quietly.
Without asking, I adjusted the Glock at his belt, fingers brushing against the heat of his hip.
I checked the straps, the spare magazines hidden beneath his jacket, my breath close enough to stir against his jaw.
Professional. Efficient. But my pulse betrayed me, thundering so loud I was sure he could hear.
Being this close to him was like standing on the edge of a cliff—terrifying and exhilarating. And every nerve in me screamed that if I leaned an inch too far, I’d fall.
His cologne was a dangerous mix of cedar and smoke, his suit molded to a body built for power, and my hands lingered longer than they should have.
When I finally stepped back, I didn’t let him see that my heart was still racing.
“Now you’re ready,” I said evenly.
Adrian’s eyes darkened, his lips curving just enough to let me know he’d felt it too.