The Heist of Hearts

Elena Romano understood firsthand that in the world of thieves, everything had a price—except resurrecting dead men. If that had been on the table, her father would still be alive, and Lorenzo Salvatore wouldn't be on her hit list.

Her olive-toned skin blended with the darkness, making her almost invisible. For the right price, anything could be bought on the thriving black market of the underworld—maps, blueprints, access codes. Her underworld connections yielded the blueprints to the Salvatore estate. It was pretty easy to kill someone in their own home, no matter how secure they thought they were. The Mafia bosses weren't immune to secrets sold on the black market, though it was pricier to gain information on them; a slip-up could mean a dead body turning up the next day. She instinctively rubbed the faint scar below her collarbone, a thin line etched from a heist gone wrong—a constant reminder that she was no stranger to danger.

A low chuckle escaped her lips. Lorenzo probably thought his estate was impenetrable, with its stone walls, security cameras, and armed guards.

Her breath fogged the night air as she crouched behind the hedges, the chill barely registering through her sleek black attire. Her raven-black hair was tied back into a tight ponytail. No flashy costumes tonight—practicality over style.

For years, her father’s death haunted her, and she'd finally uncovered a lead—one that pointed straight to Lorenzo Salvatore. The blueprints she had obtained through her connections gave her an edge. Scanning the perimeters, she calculated the guards’ patrol patterns, waiting for the perfect moment to slip past.

Taking advantage of the shift change amongst the guards, she moved like a shadow, scaling the side wall with ease. Her lean, athletic body, honed from years of running, fighting, and surviving in the underworld, moved with a grace that belied the lethal skills lying just beneath the surface. The windows on the lower floor were heavily reinforced, but the second floor had weak points, as expected for a property of this age. Carefully jamming a thin metal rod between the latch, she gave it a gentle push, and the window gave way, allowing her to slip inside.

Once inside, she paused, taking a deep breath. Her heart beat steadily in her chest—controlled but purposeful. She mentally retraced the layout: down the hall, past two bedrooms, into the study where Lorenzo kept his private files.

Elena’s boots made no sound on the polished wood floors as she crept through the hall. The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional ticking of an ornate grandfather clock. The wealth and power of the Salvatore family permeated every inch of the place, from the marble statues that lined the hall to the elaborate paintings on the walls.

She reached the study door and pressed her ear against it. Silence.

With a quiet twist of the handle, she slipped inside, the scent of old leather and expensive bourbon filling the air. The room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp casting long shadows across the massive oak desk. Elena silently observed the large room, filled with antique books, leather furniture, and paintings that screamed power and prestige. The files. They had to be here.

Elena moved quickly, scanning the desk, pulling open drawers, fingers deftly sifting through papers.

“Damn.” She quickly pocketed a flash drive she found in one of the drawers and slid behind a tall bookshelf just as the door creaked open.

The soft click of a gun’s safety being released echoed through the silent room.

“Whoever you are, you’re either very bold or very stupid.”

The voice was smooth, calm, almost amused. Elena didn’t peek around the bookshelf to know who it was. His reputation preceded him—a dangerous man who didn’t tolerate games. She weighed her options, mentally running through her escape routes.

Slowly, she stepped out from behind the bookshelf, her hands raised slightly in mock surrender. “Bold, I’d say.”

Lorenzo turned to face her, his eyes narrowing as he took in her features. She was no ordinary thief—her piercing blue eyes remained unflinching under his scrutiny, and her body, lithe and graceful, stood poised like a tightly wound spring, ready to react. But it was the cold determination in her gaze, the silent threat wrapped in elegance, that unnerved him the most.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice low and dangerous. “What do we have here?”

Elena drew her knife, its blade flashing in the dim light. “Back off.”

“You’re trespassing,” his voice was devoid of any real concern.

Elena stepped toward him. “Where are the files?”

“Ah.” The amusement faded slightly. “So, it’s some files that you’re after. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The ones you have about my father,” she hissed. “I know you had him killed. I just need to know why.”

In the beat of the silence, she watched Lorenzo’s brow furrow slightly in genuine confusion.

Lorenzo stood tall in the dim light, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, casting a shadow across the room. His dark, tousled hair framed a face that could as well have been carved from stone. Elena noted the sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes. The dim lights hid the exact color of his gaze, but she sensed the sharp intelligence beneath.

“I have no idea who your father is or was.”

Elena’s grip tightened on the knife. “You are anything but dumb, and you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Lorenzo straightened, the casual demeanor slipping away as he stepped toward her. “I assure you, I don’t.” His voice was low and even, his eyes never leaving hers.

“But now you’ve got my attention.”

He lowered his gun. “I do not kill people without a solid reason.”

His words were laced with a strange mix of honesty and threat, throwing her off balance.

“You’re a mob boss, so I know all about your type.”

“I think you don’t know who I am at all,” he spoke softly, taking another step closer. The air around them thickened with tension.

His voice dropped to a low murmur. “And I think you look really ridiculous in that attire.” The sharp planes of his face softened into a smirk.

She glanced down at her tight, dark gear and scowled at him. Even in his ridiculous silk pajamas adorned with tiny sailboats, there was no mistaking the dangerous predator lurking beneath his charming exterior.

“You’re one to condemn when you’re garbed up in that ugly-ass pajamas.”

“Touché.” Lorenzo’s smile widened. “First, you invade a man's home, and then you make jabs at his choice of wardrobe. Now, that’s bold.”

“What sucks is your lackadaisical security system,” Elena scoffed. “How do you expect to be taken seriously as a mob boss with such a lax security system?”

Lorenzo chuckled. “Well, wise-ass, I'll have you know that between the foyer and this office, you practically set off more than half a dozen silent alarms.”

“Not so cheeky now, are you?” Lorenzo asked. “I like a healthy romance as much as any other man, but I didn't order any tonight, and definitely not one with a touch of thievery. So what are you doing in my study?”

Elena clenched her teeth, a mix of fury and something else rising within her—a spark of unexpected attraction. “You’re not going to talk your way out of this.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them, reaching for the scarf covering the lower half of her face.

Elena reacted instinctively, slashing out with her knife. The blade caught him in the side, drawing blood. She was rewarded with a hiss of pain, a visceral reaction that surprised them both.

Lorenzo staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief, his hand instinctively moving to his wound. A moment of pain crossed his face. “Now that,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his side, “was unexpected.”

He grabbed her wrist, yanking her close, his breath hot against her ear. “You’ve got guts; I’ll give you that.”

The door slammed open.

“What the hell happened? I heard something—”

Nico Salvatore.

The infamous younger brother—less polished, less charming than Lorenzo, but twice as shrewd.

Elena recalled the intel she had on the younger Salvatore. She watched as Nico moved into the room with a sharp, almost predatory energy, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto her. Where Lorenzo exuded suave charm, Nico was raw intensity—less polished but no less dangerous. His dark hair was shorter, messier, and his features were sharper, more angular. His lean, wiry frame was a stark contrast to Lorenzo’s more imposing build.

Elena raised her hands as he pulled a gun on her, her eyes darting around for a cover or escape route. She knew from his demeanor that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

Lorenzo released his grip on her arm. “Don’t worry Nico. I have this under control.”

“Under control? You’re bleeding!” The faint scar running along his jawline throbbed.

Lorenzo let out a long sigh, his tone exasperated. “I said it’s fine, Nico.”

Reluctantly, Nico lowered his gun but kept his eyes trained on Elena, suspicion etched into his features. “Who is she?”

Lorenzo sighed. “Just someone who’s way in over her head.”

Elena squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m here for information, and you’re the one who’s bleeding.”

Nico shot her an incredulous look. “You really think you can just waltz in here and demand answers?”

“I think I can get what I need, whether you want to give it to me or not.”

“Bold,” Lorenzo murmured, a glint of interest sparking in his eyes. “I like her.”

Nico eyed him, “she’s dangerous and the loss of blood seems to have made you nuts.”

Before she could react, Nico lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. The knife slipped from her hand, skittering across the floor. Nico reached for it, but Elena rolled, kicking up to her feet and reclaiming her weapon before either brother could react.

“Let’s see how good you are at hand-to-hand,” Nico growled, stepping toward her. They both circled the room, gauging each other.

A sharp noise broke through the tension.

A flicker of alarm crossing Nico’s face. “What did you do?”

Elena waved her hand dismissively. “The knife is dosed with a little TTX.”

Nico’s face darkened. “You dosed him with a sedative? That could kill him, you wench.”

Elena shrugged. “The dosage is mild. He will be out cold only for a few hours and possibly wake up with a mean headache. Otherwise, he will be fine.” she called over her shoulder, making her way toward the open window.

“We will finish this another day. Your brother still owes me answers.” With a swift leap, she disappeared into the night, leaving behind only shadows.