Chapter 22
POV: Adrian
I still remember the first moment I laid eyes on her.
I was sitting in my office, shirt half open, blood soaking through the gauze while Dr. LaRossi cursed in Italian and stitched me up. Another attempt on my life. Another scar. Another reminder that I was king of a city that wanted me dead.
And then she walked in.
My sister at her side, introducing her with too much cheer for someone stepping into a lion’s den. Your new bodyguard, Bella said, as if that was supposed to make sense.
A bodyguard. Me?
The thought was laughable. I didn’t need a shadow hovering at my back like I was weak. Least of all a woman.
But then I looked at her.
Blonde hair falling loose against her face.
Blue eyes narrowed, sharp, focused. Not timid, not insecure—those eyes were a mirror, and they reflected nothing but steel.
A soldier’s eyes. She looked like she’d walked straight off a battlefield—combat boots, tactical pants, black shirt clinging to her frame.
I should’ve dismissed her, told Bella to get the hell out with her joke.
But I didn’t.
Because in that instant, Amanda disarmed me—literally and figuratively. She crossed the room with lethal precision, hands quick as lightning, and in seconds she’d found every gun I had hidden in that office. And fuck, I had a lot.
My own weapons, stripped from me in my own damn kingdom. And the way she looked at me when she laid them down—so smart, so fast, so untouchably confident—made something shift inside my chest.
I should’ve hated her for it.
Instead, I let her in.
Not just into my office.
Not just into my house.
I let her into my life. Into places no one had ever been.
That same night I had a dinner. She was glued to my side, whether I wanted her or not. I didn’t think I needed her, didn’t think I wanted her—but the second I walked into that room with her next to me, everything changed.
For years, I had been king.
But that night—for the first time—I felt like one. Because next to me was a queen.
And God, she was relentless. Sharp words, sharper mind. She pushed me, challenged me, fought me at every turn. I told myself I hated it, hated her audacity. But the truth? Every time she looked me in the eye, I wanted to kiss her. To claim her.
Amanda was every bit la volpe they’d called her that first night—sharp, audacious, devastatingly beautiful.
Who the hell walks into a dinner like that—every mafia family at the table—and dares to speak?
She was only there as a bodyguard, yet she handed us the solution we’d been bleeding months for.
That was Amanda. She helped, even when no one asked.
She stripped off her armor without realizing it, and her fire shone through the cracks.
She was like a flame—fast, wild, impossible to hold. The more she slipped through my fingers, the more I burned to catch her.
Then came the bullet.
She threw herself in front of me, no hesitation. I watched her body crumple, blood soaking her pants, those blue eyes dimming. And something inside me shattered. I had faced death a hundred times, and never—not once—had I felt fear the way I felt it then. Fear of losing her.
I carried her, begged LaRossi to keep her alive, swore I’d kill whoever had done it. And when she was recovering and—I kissed her. I didn’t think. I didn’t care. I kissed her like I’d been waiting my whole life.
And for the first time, I felt… right. Whole.
And kissing her—Christ. The sweetness of her lips, the soft give of her mouth under mine, the way she answered me without hesitation. Her body arched into me like she was made for it, for me. I lost my mind right there. Nothing else existed. Just Amanda—sweet, fierce, and mine.
Then she whispered it was a mistake. And I wanted to tear myself apart for even daring. But when she came to me later, stormed into my office, fire in her eyes, telling me she didn’t regret it… God, I was done for.
She said she wanted me anyway.
And when I kissed her then, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a war I lost gladly. She was sweet, perfect, mine. Always mine.
I kissed Amanda and I let her in.
I didn’t even notice when it happened. One day she was this soldier standing in my office, eyes sharp as knives, and the next she was inside my chest, making room where no one had ever been allowed.
I never fell in love before, but her? Inevitable. That’s what it was. Like gravity. Like breathing. Like bleeding when you’re cut.
She was fierce. Determined. Beautiful. Hot enough to set fire to every fucking nerve in my body. But she was also kind. So goddamn kind. She could look at my brother in the middle of one of his storms and pull him out of it like she was born for it. No fear, no hesitation. Just patience. Love.
I remember watching her and Bella whisper in a corner, giggling like sisters.
And I… I let myself dream. I don’t dream, not anymore.
But I did then. I saw us. A family. Her hand in mine, Riccardo safe between us, Bella laughing.
Amanda as my queen, mia regina, standing beside me as I led this kingdom.
Kissing her was a fucking daydream.
Fucking her was paradise.
Her taste, her body, her sounds — addictive. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I took her again and again until I swore her imprint was burned into my skin.
She was my Volpe. My fox. My queen. My everything.
I believed her when she said she loved me. I believed her with my whole fucking soul. I loved her so much I had her inked into my skin — her fox tattoo carved into my ribs, right beside the bullet scar that brought her into my life. My mark. My vow.
And then my mother opened her mouth.
“Your Amanda Carter doesn’t exist,” Giuliana said.
And the world split.
She laid it all out — her research, her contacts, her proof. Amanda wasn’t Amanda Carter. She was Amanda Whitmore. A police officer. Undercover. Sent for me.
My queen. My fox. My Volpe.
A lie.
The scream ripped out of me before I even knew it, uncontrolled, untamed—not my body, not my mind screaming, but my soul. Not a man’s scream. An animal’s. Raw, feral, tearing through the walls of my office until Bella and Riccardo came running. Until everyone saw.
Part of me wanted it to be just the two of us, to make her beg, to erase all of this, to pretend none of it had happened so we could be us again. But I couldn’t. She lied to me, every word I thought was truth, every whisper of love—a lie.
And Amanda—Christ. The way her body flinched when Giuliana spoke her name. The way her knees buckled. The way she reached for me, whispering no, no, no.
Part of me wanted to believe her, wanted to think maybe there was a way to fix this, but I knew better. I wanted to tear her apart. I wanted to tear myself apart. My next step was pure, searing pain, my body moving on its own.
I grabbed her, my hand locking on her jaw, shoving her against the wall.
Desperation, not violence—my body couldn’t hurt her, my soul wouldn’t allow it.
I just needed to touch her, to feel the undeniable truth beneath my fingers.
My chest heaved, teeth grinding so hard I tasted blood.
Tears stung my eyes, blurring her face, but I didn’t let go.
“I trusted you,” I whispered, lips barely moving. My voice broke against her skin. “I loved you. You were my queen. And everything… was a lie.”
Her tears spilled hot over my fingers. She clung to my wrist, not to fight me, but to hold me. Always holding me, even now.
“No,” she choked, a plea, a prayer. “It wasn’t a lie. I lied about why I came here, but not about you. Never about you. Every time I said I loved you, it was true. Every moment, Adrian. Every breath. You’re the only truth I’ve ever had.”
God help me—I almost believed her. I wanted to.
But my mother’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and poisonous. Undercover. Police. FBI. Target.
The target was me.
I let her go. Slowly. My hand fell from her jaw, from her skin. I turned my back, because if I kept looking, I’d let myself believe. Every bone screamed to accept her, every vein begged me to turn around. I took all my strength and said:
“Leave.”
She sobbed, whispered my name, pleaded like it could save her.
“Leave.”
She tried again, and this time I roared, a sound that rattled the walls.
“LEAVE!”
And she did.
Her footsteps echoed in my office like a death sentence. When she left, she didn’t take a part of my heart—she took all of it, the part of my soul that had always belonged to her.
The door shut behind her. And with it… everything I was.
The pain was unbearable.
Like someone had gutted me and left me bleeding on my own floor.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All I saw was her. My Amanda. My Volpe.
And then I saw the proof. My mother’s papers spread over my desk like funeral flowers. Her contacts. Her research. The photos.
Amanda in a fucking police uniform.
Amanda with that badge glinting on her chest.
She looked like a stranger.
She looked like a shadow wearing her face.
She looked like she wasn’t mine.
Amanda taught me how to want her.
How to love her.
But she didn’t teach me how to forget.
And I knew I would never be able to.