LOGINEthan Cross, an FBI agent, has been pursuing Dante Valensi, one of the nation's most influential and untouchable crime lords, for years. Dante has created an empire that law enforcement has never been able to destroy. He is cunning, ruthless, and feared by all. Ethan, however, is unique. He has been assigned the task of entering Dante's world as Luca Romano, moving up the ranks, and destroying him from within. It is almost impossible to get close to Dante. He doesn’t trust anyone and doesn’t allow anyone to be close to him, especially not romantically. However, in the role of Luca, Ethan excels at the game, gains Dante’s confidence, and becomes his right-hand man. He gets closer to his objective with each step. It becomes more difficult to keep in mind that this is only a mission every moment spent with Dante. Then everything changes one night. An overly persistent touch. The look says too much. A weakness that neither of them can undo. What little and dishonesty develops into something harmful that is unavoidable. It’s just part of the job, Ethan tells himself. Dante is an evil creature. that the worst thing he could ever do is fall in love with him. What occurs, though, when the lie begins to seem more plausible than reality? Ethan has to decide whether to finish his mission and bring down the man he was sent to destroy or to give in to the one person he was never supposed to love as secrets come to light, treachery looms, and blood is shed. Because there is only one way in with Dante Valenci. And no escape route.
View MoreLuca’s POVPain has a way of stripping lies bare.It doesn’t ask who you’re supposed to be or what role you’re playing. It just demands attention, sharp and immediate, until everything else falls away.I realized that as I leaned against the wall outside the bedroom, my vision swimming slightly, my side throbbing in a slow, insistent rhythm. I’d pushed myself too far. Again. Old habit. One more thing I’d never quite learned how to stop doing.I barely made it to the chair before the room tilted.“Sit.”Dante’s voice snapped through the haze, close—too close.I hadn’t heard him approach. That alone should’ve scared me. Instead, my body reacted with a rush of something warm and dangerous, like relief.“I’m fine,” I said automatically.He ignored me.A hand landed on my shoulder, firm, steadying. The contact sent a jolt straight through my spine. Not pain. Not pleasure exactly. Just awareness. The kind that lights every nerve on fire.“Sit,” he repeated, quieter this time. Not a command
Luca’s POVThe penthouse never slept.It watched.I felt it the moment I closed the bathroom door behind me—the hum in the walls, the quiet awareness of cameras I couldn’t see, the knowledge that even when I was alone, I wasn’t. Dante had designed it that way. Not for comfort. For control.I leaned over the sink, gripping the marble until my knuckles burned white. My reflection stared back at me like a stranger wearing my face. Blood speckled my collar. Someone else’s. Not Mira’s. Thank God. But it didn’t matter. Blood was blood. It always came back to stain everything.You gave him a trail to follow.Dante’s words echoed, sharp and precise, cutting deeper now that I was alone.I turned on the tap and scrubbed my hands too hard, skin scraping raw under the heat. The water ran red, then pink, then clear—but my chest didn’t loosen. My breath stayed shallow, tight, like my ribs were braced for impact that never came.I had almost asked him to kill me.The realization hit harder than the
(Dante’s POV)I knew Luca had lied the moment he walked into the penthouse.He tried to stand tall, jaw set, his eyes too sharp, too alive for a man who had just run through the city with Santoro’s hounds at his heels. But his hands betrayed him. They shook—not violently, not like a man gripped by panic, but with the subtle tremor of someone who had carried too much, too fast, too far.The blood on his shirt was not his. I could smell it before I saw it. The copper tang carried across the room like incense in a cathedral, announcing sin before confession.“You’re late,” I said. My tone was even, the kind of cold that makes men forget if you’re human at all.Luca—Ethan, though he had buried that name so deep even I almost forgot it—dropped the duffel on the floor. His voice was sandpaper. “We got her out.”He didn’t need to name Mira. I saw her in the shadow behind his words. Safe, somewhere beyond my reach, beyond Santoro’s claws—for now. A victory, but a hollow one.“What else?” I as
(Luca’s POV)My throat went dry. I had a thousand contingency plans, but none for the cold knowledge that Santoro’s men had been closer than we’d thought. I picked up my burner and sent the abort tone: a single chime that was enough. Marcus’s phone should get it and act. Silence was a razor. I waited.The Civic’s driver wore a face I’d seen before in close-ups: a Santoro motor, with the impatient look of men who’d been paid to make a life end. He tilted his head like a vulture smelling carrion.Marcus’s reply came bright as a flare: Civic tailing. Detour now. The van idled and turned; the courier, caught mid-exchange, cursed under his breath and kept moving. I watched the sedan close the gap, and the hairs at my neck bristled.The world contracted. The courier’s passenger door clicked open a second too long when he hesitated, and a man jumped out from nowhere—too trained, too clean. The courier turned; a scuffle. The Civic’s driver moved forward like a man about to harvest. I could se
Mira’s POVThe first sign was silence.Not the kind that settles comfortably between two people who know each other well, but the kind that drags sharp along the walls. A silence that watches you. Waits. Tightens its grip when you turn your back.Luca had been gone all night.I didn’t ask. Not when
Luca’s POVThe city never sleeps, but it knows when to hold its breath.Tonight, every streetlight felt like an eye trained on me. Every passing car a whisper, every shadow a warning. But I didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. My hands were steady on the wheel as I pulled up to the private entrance of the M
Luca’s POVHe should’ve stopped thinking about Dante by now.He’d done everything right—worked, fucked, smiled, pretended. Mira stayed over more nights than she didn’t, and her laughter wrapped around him like a song on repeat. But there was still that silence.Dante’s silence.And it was louder th
Luca’s POVLuca didn’t sleep that night.He lay in bed with Mira’s arm draped over his chest, staring at the crack in the ceiling plaster like it was a map. At 4:06 a.m., when her breathing settled into that low, steady rhythm, he slipped out from under her.No phone.No shoes.Just boxers and bare






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