Chapter 2—On the Mission

Mia's POV 

By the time I alighted from a cab that brought me to the club, you know disguising myself was part of the game plan, and so not coming with my car was a great step. 

I was fitted with a wire and fake ID, and I already had my role memorized: Aria Black, jazz singer from Philly.

On getting closer to the club hall, I observed the dark velvet walls, chandeliers that dripped crystal, and shadows curling in corners like smoke. I stepped inside wearing a red silk dress that hugged my curves and heels sharp enough to double as weapons.

A man with a heavily built chest, like he was born to kill, blocked my way to the main door with a thick Italian accent.

“You’re not on the list.”

“Tell the manager that he’ll regret it if he doesn’t hear me sing,” I said boldly with a wink. Honestly, I wasn't scared, considering what I have faced as an FBI agent for a good 6 years. This is just the usual.

He blinked, caught off guard. “You got balls. I can see that.”

“Not balls. It's called Talent.”

He gestured to the next person that was built the same way he was, and then they tried to push me as a way of bouncing me out.

“That's not how a lady is to be treated.”

A voice cut in, and I tried to get ahold of my stamina and, at the same time, looked in the direction of the voice at once.

My eyes fell on this angel in human form.

Guess who.

Oh, you guessed right.

The same Kraven Astor. My eyes captured those tattoos of his, around his neck before it finally fell on the ones at the back of his palm.

His presence alone was enough to command respect and maybe fear. There was something magnetic about him, but I had no intention of being drawn in.

Does that mean he isn't photogenic because only that could explain this cuteness standing right in front of me?

Dark suit. Shadowed expression. Holding a glass of liquor that smells expensive.

I tried so hard not to get carried away, as it's still at my fingertips that I am on a mission.

Just then, he nodded me through at once, and I followed him in suite.

Looking around, I saw the lights were dimmed to perfection, creating that sultry vibe you only get in places where money didn’t just talk—it whispered. The low hum of conversations, the clink of glasses, and the slow jazz playing in the background were enough to make you forget who you were for a while.

But then I wasn’t here for cruises or jokes.

“Let's see what you've got. I heard you say that you are an artist.” His voice caught me off.

Only one thought was in my mind: was he trailing all along, or was he only opportuned to hear when I said that?

Right now, I don't even trust him—not when he is from a Mafia family and not just that but a lord at that.

I decided to play along very fast.

I took a glance around, and I observed that the stage was already lit. A slow jazz beat played in the background, but I didn’t need music. I walked up, tapped the mic, and closed my eyes.

And I sang.

First I performed a song I had composed when I lost my parents- was a song that came in place of love.

Then afterwards, I performed ‘all of me,’ by John Legend. God knows that I sang like my life depended on it with the best melody anyone could imagine, as I learned from the update from Agent Porter that Kraven loves live music.

They say everyone has a talent, and I think mine is singing, but then I didn't do that for a living.

When the last note dropped, I looked up, and my eyes met with his.

I didn’t blink.

He didn’t smile.

From that distance, he just lifted his drink slightly in the air—like a toast. I think this significantly explained to me that I impressed him; maybe he can smile later—his business.

Now, I just feel like I already had his attention without even doing too much.

Mission one, over to mission two.

Kraven Astor's gaze followed me from the moment I stepped off stage. He didn’t applaud, yet maintained not smiling, didn’t even move a muscle. He just watched. His eyes were like storm clouds—dark, brooding, and promising a hell of a lot more than I was ready for.

I knew that look. The kind that said, You’re mine, whether you know it or not.

But I wasn’t his.

I didn’t bother waiting for his applause, as the one from the audience was already enough for me. I just grabbed the edge of the mic stand, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and walked off stage.

“You’re good,” a voice said from behind me.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him, as I already took note of his voice the first time he came to my rescue.

I could feel him like a weight pressing against my spine. His words were low, a little rough, but there was something predatory about them that made my skin tingle.

I kept walking, pretending I didn’t hear him. But his footsteps followed. Not hurried, not slow—just enough to keep me aware of his presence.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said, stepping into my path as I reached the bar.

I tilted my head, offering a tight smile. “You already know it, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners, but it wasn’t a smile. Not really. “I like to hear it from the source.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a challenge or just his way of being… Kraven.

“Aria Black,” I said smoothly, keeping my voice steady. “So, you can call me Aria.”

His eyes blinked briefly, like he was processing something. The name seemed to amuse him, though. I saw the flicker of recognition, then something more guarded. He was figuring me out, no doubt. But so was I.

“Aria,” he repeated, his voice like a velvet caress, soft but deadly, you know. “You’re a long way from Philly.”

“Life’s full of surprises,” I said, leaning casually against the bar, though my insides were on fire.

He took a step closer, his cologne wrapping around me, clean with a hint of smoke. I had to force myself not to flinch. This wasn’t some cheesy romantic scene. This was business. This was survival, and a greater part of my career depends on how well I survive this.

“I don’t hire people I can’t trust,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’ve got something about you, something I like. But that doesn’t mean I won’t toss you out if you can’t deliver.”

I could feel his words were like a challenge. The problem was, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about my singing skills or something deeper—like my ability to get close to him. I was going to have to outplay him at his own game, but I wasn’t ready to let him know I was already playing.

“I’ll deliver,” I said quietly, not looking away. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

He studied me for a moment with his eyes flickering, like he was weighing my words. I still didn't flinch. I couldn’t afford to.

“Good,” he said finally, the smile on his lips gone, replaced by something more dangerous. “I’ll be watching.”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, and this time it seemed like I felt his presence lingering like a shadow over me.

I took a deep breath and downed my drink in one go, trying to keep my cool. But my heart was racing. I’d just made it to the inner circle—at least, I thought I had.

I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer I could keep playing this game.

But that didn’t stop the ache in my chest as I watched him. There was a story in those eyes—one I didn’t have the patience to unravel.