Chapter 5
POV: Amanda
The second the door closed behind him, I stayed flat on the mat, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers.
What the hell just happened?
My chest still rose and fell too fast, and not just from the spar. His weight had pinned me down like I belonged under him. His voice—low, rough, almost like a growl—still echoed in my ears. Volpe. Fox.
No. I rubbed my palms over my face, forcing air into my lungs. This was wrong. He was wrong.
I should’ve been thinking about my mission. About why I was here. About how every second I spent in this house was another second closer to exposing him, tearing this empire apart.
Instead, all I could think about was the heat of his body pressed to mine, the way his eyes had gone dark and dangerous, not with violence—but with something else. Something I had no business craving.
I rolled to my side, muttering a curse. If Bella hadn’t walked in… God, what would’ve happened? Would I have let him?
No. No, I couldn’t even let myself imagine it.
I pushed off the mat, grabbed a towel, and forced myself under a freezing shower back in my room. But even when the cold bit into my skin, it didn’t erase the phantom feel of his hands on me.
When I stepped out, I made myself focus on clothes—something formal, nothing tactical. His words. Not too military, not too obvious. I settled on black tailored pants and a silk blouse, simple but sharp, tying my hair back in a low knot. Professional. Controlled.
Except nothing inside me felt controlled. My reflection stared back at me, jaw tight, eyes wide like I was already caught in something I couldn’t escape.
I shouldn’t care what he thought of how I looked. I shouldn’t. But when Bella’s knock came at my door, I smoothed my blouse twice before opening it.
She gave me a quick once-over and smiled like she approved. “Adrian’s waiting downstairs. Don’t be late, or he’ll make us both regret it.”
I nodded, stepping into the hall, my stomach knotting tighter with every step toward him.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t afraid of Adrian as the king of this family.
I was afraid of Adrian as the man who almost kissed me.
And worse—I was afraid of how badly I’d wanted him to.
The car smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne, the kind of scent that clung to the man sitting next to me, his hand lazy on the steering wheel as though he didn’t have an empire of shadows to run.
The silence between us wasn’t comfortable—it was alive.
Crackling. I could almost hear the thoughts he wasn’t saying.
My eyes betrayed me, tracing the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the tendons flexing in his forearm every time he shifted gears.
I hated myself for noticing. Hated the way the pulse in my throat kicked up every time his gaze flicked sideways at me, sharp as a blade, lingering just long enough to make me feel stripped bare.
“Stop looking at me like you’re planning to kill me,” he said finally, voice rough, laced with amusement.
I forced my lips into a smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be breathing.”
He chuckled low, a sound that made heat crawl up the back of my neck. “Ah, there she is. My little Volpe with her sharp teeth.”
My little. My. The word coiled in my chest like a brand I wasn’t ready to admit burned.
I turned my face to the window, pretending the gray stretch of the docks on the horizon was more interesting than the man beside me. “Careful, King. Keep testing me and one day you’ll find out how sharp those teeth really are.”
He didn’t answer right away, and when I dared a glance, his jaw was tight, eyes on the road but darker now, like he’d taken the words and tucked them away for later. Dangerous.
Delicious.
The silence returned, thicker this time.
My palms itched for my gun, for control, for anything other than this pull that had nothing to do with duty.
I was here on a mission. I was here to infiltrate, to get information, to bring this family down.
Not to notice the curve of his mouth when he almost smiled, or the way my name sounded when wrapped in his accent.
Still, when he finally parked and leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, the only thing I could think was that maybe the ride had been too short.
Adrian stepped out of the car already giving orders, men reporting to him with clipped efficiency. He wasn’t just their boss—he was the boss of their boss.
The docks were alive with movement—crates stacked high, forklifts growling, men shouting in Italian as they obeyed every sharp command Adrian threw into the air.
He was the king. Not the polished, almost-smiling man from the car, but the one everyone bowed to.
His presence demanded it—shoulders squared, voice cutting like a whip, each order precise, ruthless.
He commanded with a mastery I hadn’t seen even from decorated colonels.
This wasn’t leadership. It was sovereignty.
Like he wasn’t just a man. He was authority. Royalty. The king everyone whispered about.
I leaned against the car, arms crossed, trying to ignore the way my pulse reacted to that side of him. Infuriating, how authority looked so damn good on him. Every gesture screamed control, and the worst part? I wanted to push it. To see what happened if I challenged the king.
Bella’s shipment was unloaded first, racks of clothing wheeled down with an elegance that clashed against the salt-heavy air. Adrian’s men moved like soldiers, efficient, loyal. Too loyal.
Then came the crates. The ones that mattered. Adrian’s eyes flicked to me, sharp, remembering my suggestion—the art installations. My cover. His empire.
A flash of pride threatened to swell in my chest, but I killed it fast. This wasn’t admiration. This was infiltration. Mission. Nothing more.
Still… something gnawed at me. That familiar tug in the pit of my stomach.
I’d felt it before Baghdad. Right before I lost half my men.
I scanned the perimeter. Too quiet in some corners, too much movement in others. My instincts screamed. A flicker on my left confirmed it. Wrong. Too wrong.
I moved closer to Adrian, my voice low and urgent.
“Inside. Now.”
His brow arched, dark eyes gleaming with defiance. “You’re giving me orders, Volpe?”
“Yes,” I hissed, chest nearly brushing his. “Trust me.”
His jaw flexed. Pride warred with instinct. His gaze locked on mine, searching, as if he could read the truth in my bones. For one heartbeat, I thought he’d obey—
Then the first shot split the air.
And all the oxygen left my lungs.
Chaos erupted like fire. Men dove for cover, Italian shouts collided with the sharp sting of gunpowder.
Adrian reached for his gun, but I was faster. Training took over—I shoved him down behind a stack of crates, covering his body with mine. Protecting him. Like I was supposed to.
“Stay the hell down!” I barked, firing two rounds into the shadows. One target dropped. My pulse spiked, but my hands were steady. Always steady.
But Adrian wasn’t built to obey. He rose, teeth bared, firing back with lethal precision. A soldier born of blood, not war.
“Stubborn bastard,” I muttered, shifting with him. For a second, it was like sparring all over again—two bodies moving in sync, anticipating, flowing together like a violent dance.
Back-to-back, the heat of him brushing me, we fought. His men were many, but the attackers more. My ears rang, adrenaline surged, every scenario running in my head.
And then I saw it—Bella’s car pulling in.
Adrian saw it too. And in that instant, his control shattered.
“Bella!” His roar was primal, tearing through the chaos.
He surged forward, reckless, a shield for his sister. My chest tightened, sharp and unbearable.
“Shit, Adrian. Shit.”
I covered him, dropped two more, my focus split between survival and dragging him back from his madness.
Then it hit. A bullet sliced the air, burning hot as it ripped into my thigh. Flesh tearing, blood spilling. Familiar pain, but no less vicious.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Still, I kept firing. My leg screamed, but my grip didn’t falter. Another man dropped. I turned, lined up my next shot—too slow.
He was on me. I raised my gun but pain dragged me down, blood soaking my pants, my vision already slipping.
And then—
Bang.
The man fell. Not by my hand. By Adrian’s.
He saved me.
I—the bodyguard, the one meant to shield him—had my life saved by the man I swore to protect.
“Amanda!” His voice thundered across the chaos, shaking something deep inside me.
Then his arms were around me, strong and unyielding. Lifting me like I weighed nothing, fury burning in his grip. His gun still in one hand, his other clutching me as if letting go meant death.
My vision blurred, black edges closing in.
The last thing I saw before the dark swallowed me whole was his face—terrifying and beautiful, carved with something I couldn’t name.