CHAPTER FOUR

Avery’s POV:

I woke up late, sunlight already leaking through the cheap blinds in my tiny apartment. My body ached pleasantly in places I tried not to think too hard about, and for a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Rafa. Even his name made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t want to admit.

But life doesn’t stop just because you had the best sex of your life with the man you’re supposed to be stalking. I had class. And, unlike him, I wasn’t rolling in endless piles of cash.

Dragging myself up, I showered quickly, threw on jeans and a black hoodie, and stuffed my books into a bag. I walked to campus, blending into the crowd like always. No one here knew the kind of work I did after dark. To them, I was just another quiet student with earbuds in, sipping cheap coffee, scribbling notes.

Class was boring as hell. My professor droned on about economic theories, and I tuned half of it out. I kept thinking about Rafa his smirk, his voice, his weight pressing me into the mattress. The way I stole his damn watch like some lovesick thief. I couldn’t stop replaying it, even when I didn’t want to.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was restless. My legs itched for movement, but I didn’t feel like going out. So, I did what any lonely twenty-something hitman-slash-student would do: I flopped on my couch, powered up my console, and lost myself in video games.

Hours passed. My thumbs ached from the controller, and still, the boredom lingered. Shooting virtual enemies wasn’t enough when I was wired to crave real danger. I tossed the controller aside and stared at the ceiling again.

My eyes drifted toward my laptop. I hadn’t checked the site in a while. Maybe, just maybe, there was something new. A job. Something to distract me from obsessing over the man I had no business obsessing over.

With a sigh, I opened it. My screen lit up with the encrypted login. I typed in my details, the familiar rush sparking in my chest. The thrill of not knowing what name would pop up.

When it did, I froze.

Rafael De Luca.

Rafa.

I blinked, refreshing the page like the name might change. But it didn’t. The details stared back at me in cold, sharp text. The payout was enormous more than double what most jobs offered. Whoever put this out wanted him gone badly.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Of course. Of course it had to be him. Out of all the people in this rotten city, fate had the cruelest sense of humor.

I sat back, staring at the screen, fingers trembling slightly. My logical brain tried to kick in. This was the job. My job. I didn’t get to pick and choose based on personal… entanglements. He was just another target. A name. A face. Nothing more.

Except I’d memorized the shape of his smirk. The weight of his body. The sound of his groans.

I shut the laptop with a snap and leaned back on the couch, running a hand down my face.

“Fuck,” I muttered into the silence.

I thought about it all night, pacing my apartment, telling myself over and over again that I wouldn’t let my interest interfere. Interest. That’s all it was. Curiosity. Obsession, maybe. But it couldn’t matter. Not in this line of work.

By morning, I’d decided. I’d take the job. Do it clean. Do it fast. End of story.

The next evening, I was in position.

Rafa was inside a towering glass building, his silhouette easy to spot even from my vantage point across the street. He was in a meeting, surrounded by his men, but none of that mattered to me.

I lay prone in a hidden spot, my rifle steady against my shoulder. My finger hovered just above the trigger. The scope framed him perfectly broad shoulders, dark suit, that same air of command that drew me in like a moth to flame.

One breath. Two. Three.

The shot was clear.

My finger tightened.

And then—nothing. I couldn’t do it.

My body locked up, the rifle heavy in my hands. It should’ve been simple. Just squeeze. Watch him drop. Job complete. But my chest burned, my pulse racing for all the wrong reasons.

Images flooded my head: the way his voice dipped when he called me his poison, the way he kissed like he owned me, the way he smirked when he caught me looking. And the way he made me feel, like I wasn’t just a shadow or a ghost passing through.

I cursed under my breath, pulling my eye away from the scope.

“This is ridiculous,” I hissed.

I steadied myself, tried again. Through the scope, Rafa leaned forward, gesturing with his hand, lips moving as he spoke to the men around him.

The perfect opportunity.

The shot lined up.

My finger twitched.

And I still couldn’t do it.

“Fuck it.” I shoved the rifle down, rage bubbling up in my chest.

Never in my life had I hesitated. Not once. My reputation existed because I was cold. Detached. Professional. Emotionless. That’s why I picked this path because nothing touched me. Nothing mattered. I didn’t become the third best Hitman for nothing.

But tonight, staring at Rafa’s figure through the glass, I realized something terrifying.

I wasn’t emotionless anymore.

I packed up in a fury, every motion sharp, angry, frustrated. My chest felt tight, my throat clogged with something I refused to name.

By the time I left the rooftop, I was seething. Not at Rafa. At myself.

I’d let my emotions win. And I’d chosen this job—this life because I believed nothing could ever reach me. Because I believed I was untouchable.

But apparently, I was wrong.

And the fact that it was Rafa the man I’d stalked for months, the man with that glorious cock, the man I swore was just another target that made it so much worse.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.

“Never imagined I’d be this weak,” I muttered.

The city swallowed me as I walked away, each step fueled by rage.

I’d failed. And I hated myself for it.