The Billionaire’s prey

Adrianna’s POV

(Two years ago)

I stare at the black card in my hand and tilt my head. It has only one thing inscribed on it, in gold letters.

Il Santi.

The Saint.

My lips lift at the corner. I have done my homework on him—I know as much as the private investigators I hired could find, which isn’t much, but is better than what the average person knows about him. Lance is anything but a saint. I stuff the card in my purse and stare at the blinking numbers of the elevator leading to the rooftop suite of Regal, a club owned by a business group that was affiliated to Lance’s gang—a rather tame term for the organized crime ring he leads.

I know I’m being stupid. Risking my life to pose as an attorney to get close to Il Santi isn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had. I might get killed before meeting him. I’m not stupid enough to wear a wire. I am almost definitely going to be patted down tonight. He’s not going to give me any concrete information on the first meet, anyway.

And information isn’t what I want.

I want evidence.

And Lance’s head on a platter.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I step out of the elevator, willing my pulse to slow. People like Il Santi are probably trained to smell fear.

There is a suited man at my side who nods to me in greeting. He looks pleasant and young.

“Good evening, Attorney Hale. I’ll take your coat.” He says. I let him take the faux fur coat off my shoulders, revealing the black ankle length dress I am wearing underneath it. The square neckline makes me a bit self conscious, but I swallow and look ahead. My hair is piled atop my head in a messy bun that took my stylist ages to create.

Two million dollars and a new life. I remind myself. And revenge for Victoria.

There is a dinner a deux set up already. It is formal and unromantic. Lance is standing at the edge of the rooftop. It has no bannisters, no railings, nothing. It would be ridiculously easy

to push someone to their death from this rooftop. A chill runs through my spine. What would he do if he suspected me?

His shoulders are broad in the dark blue tailored suit be is wearing. His legs are long as powerful, he has them braced apart, ending at feet that are clad in black handmade shoes. He has a head of thick black hair.

My private investigators did a good job. The appearance matches so far.

He turns to me, a pair of bright grey eyes fringed by sooty lashes settle on my face. His eyes are shrewd. He has an aristocratic nose and a powerful jawline.

Lance Hamilton, alias Il Santi. No one quite knows his parents or his education. He is the youngest recorded boss of the syndicate and so far, seems to have earned the respect of the people he leads—or beaten it out of them. He is reputed to be violent.

I would know about the violence.

I take the seat furthest from the elevator, an old habit born from the need to have my surroundings in my view. He sits across the table from me.

“You said you were an attorney?” he says, his long fingers flipping through my file.

“You have my résumé.” I say in the same offhanded tone, refusing to be intimidated by his cold attitude.

He looks up at me, his eyes flashing for a moment and I wonder if I've overdone it. He smirks. “You graduated summa cum laude from Harvard. Why aren't you affiliated to a firm?”

I shrug. “I recently decided to begin a private practice after resigning from my position at a firm.”

He sets the file down on the table and gestures so the butler pours me a glass of wine. I lift the glass to my lips.

“This is getting boring.” He says, heaving a sigh and taking his jacket off, revealing a dress black shirt that does nothing to camouflage the sheer strength of his muscular arms and broad chest.

“Who sent you?” He asks.

My fingers pause. My brain seems to be overcrowded and empty all at once. I will myself to be calm. Men like Lance would naturally be secretive and suspicious. He wouldn’t have earned the moniker “Il Santi” if he believed everything everyone had to say.

“Am I mistaken about something?” I ask calmly. “Did you not require an attorney?”

“A name would be the proper answer to my question.” He says, his eyes locking in on mine.

“Your assistant reached out to a professor of mine at Harvard and I was recommended. He said I’m the only one crazy enough to risk my career by being affiliated to you.”

Technically, Victoria Houston was the crazy one. Victoria Houston was the one who graduated summa cum laude from Harvard law. Victoria’s name is on that résumé.

Victoria is dead. Thanks to the asshole sitting across from me.

“Who. Sent. You?” he says, sounding each word out. He reminds me of a predatory animal. I can't quite place what animal it is.

He is giving me a chance to make my death quicker. I swallow.

“I am working here of my own volition.” I say. “Is there something wrong with that?”

That much is true. Yes, I’ll get money from Howard to bring him down, but I’m only here because I want to see him suffer for Victoria’s death.

The words are barely out of my mouth when I feel the cold tip of a gun pressing ever-so-lightly against my forehead. My body goes cold and my fingers feel numb. I wonder if I’m going to die. If he’s going to blow my brains out in front of the butler who’s standing by like I’m not about to be killed by his boss.

The look in his eyes is detached, almost bored. His lips are curved in a smile. I reason that this is probably the nicest way be can kill me, as opposed to torturing me or dismembering me. Or drowning me in wet concrete.

He pulls the trigger and for a moment, the world around me pauses. I wonder if I am dead.

Then I reason that there should be a loud bang or pop or something and I should be sprawled on the floor. All I hear is a small click.

The gun has no bullets.

I open my eyes to see him placing the gun on the table top and standing. “Enjoy your meal, Miss Houston. My assistant will reach out to you. Rhys will show you out when you’re done.” He says, pointing to the expressionless butler.

With that, he leaves.

I got the job.

Lance’s POV

“Why did you act like you were going to kill her?”

I spare Fausto a look as I loosen my tie. He is my right hand man. We basically grew up and trained together. He is one of the few people I genuinely believe I can trust. He is a bit younger than I am, but strong and hardworking. He is talented and he can do anything. Martial arts, weaponry, cleaning up, you name it.

He’s also quite shrewd.

“I wanted to.” I say.

Adrianna is a smart girl and she’s good at covering her tracks but she would need years of training and preparation to fool me, much less go up against me. I knew when she began her investigation on me. Hell, I basically handed the crooks she had hired as private investigators every bit of information they gave her. I knew she would want revenge for the death of her sister, but her boldness and sheer audacity amazed me. I wanted to do this quietly. Put a bullet in her head and send her body back to Howard, her benefactor.

That was before I saw her. The deep red hair that shone in the moonlight, paired with the green eyes that sparkled with intelligence. The pale skin and dark eyelashes.

Killing her would be a waste.

“So why didn't you?” Fausto asks, frowning.

“It’ll be fun to have her around.” I say. One of my lesser qualities is that I’m a sucker for an old game of cat and mouse. I want to see how much this little mouse can do.“Let's see what she thinks she can get on me.”

“I think you should tell her she's barking up the wrong tree trying to get her revenge from you.” He says. “If you’re not going to kill her, she should know you have nothing to do with her sister’s death.”