All Chapters of She's an Assassin: Falling for the Enemy : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum in sync with Sophia racing heart as she sat stiffly in the clinic's waiting room. The antiseptic scent that filled the air was familiar, yet it still made her stomach turn. Her fingers gripped the crumpled patient form in her lap, and the words "gestational period: 12 weeks" stared back at her like a harsh reality check.Her phone buzzed violently in her Gucci handbag, making her jump. The sudden vibration was startling in the quiet waiting area, and she could feel the nurse's disapproving look on her. Sophia tried to open the bag, her manicured nails caught on the gold hard material that was on the bag’s clasp. When she finally pulled out her phone, the caller ID indicated it was not a saved contact. An Unknown Caller.Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. These days, unidentified calls usually meant trouble - her father's men checking in or Isabella and her associates with another stern warning. The phone vibrated again as if it

The sound of the rain was heavy outside the window of her cramped apartment. Elena Conti, a journalist investigating the mafia’s influence in Philadelphia. She sat in front of her computer, the rhythmic sound of her fingers tapping away on the keyboard synchronized with the sound of the rain battering on the window. Her apartment was very disorganized, mirroring the kind of life she lived, a life of chaos, the life of a woman who was always busy digging deep. There was a cup of coffee on the table, leftover biscuits, and dirty notepads.Elena Conti was no ordinary journalist. While other reporters chased stories that could make the headlines for only a day and be forgotten by the morrow, she dug and chased after stories that could get her killed. Stories that were worth telling even after years.Her dark brown eyes behind the thin framed glasses she always wore for her eye problems other than for fashion examined the documents displayed on her desktop monitor, digital breadcrumbs she

Marco grip on his phone tightened as Matteo’s message burned into his vision. Your father is dead. The words were simple. Final. No explanation, no warning… just the cold, abrupt declaration of an ending. For a moment, Marco didn’t move. He could not move even if he tried. His father had been a constant, a force as unshakable as the foundations of La Signori Della Notte itself. And now, in the worst possible moment, he was just… gone. Marco exhaled sharply, his eyes stinging with tears he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. His hands trembled as he unlocked his phone and dialed Matteo. The line connected instantly. “Where is he?” Marco demanded, voice rough. “He died In his bed. A maid found him not long ago,” Matteo replied. The call ended as abruptly as it began. Marco snatched his car keys, strode into his room, and yanked on vintage pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Within minutes, he was out of the penthouse, the elevator doors sealing shut behind him. His mind reeled.

The news of Antonio de Luca’s death spread like wildfire through Philadelphia’s underworld, a blaze fanned by whispers in backroom deals, hushed phone calls between detectives, and the sharp, knowing glances of men who had spent their lives fearing his name. Elena Conti the journalist, heard it first from a source in the DA’s office. The single text that she received sent her stomach plummeting. “de Luca's dead. Died in his home."She stared at the message, her fingers tightening around her phone until the edges bit into her palm. The coffee in her other hand went cold, forgotten. No. Not now. Not like this. She thought to herself.Months of digging. Years of chasing shadows. Every sleepless night, every risk she’d taken, was now all for nothing. Antonio Vincenzo would never face justice. Never be exposed. Never answer for the Alderman murder, for the bodies buried under his empire, for the city he’d rotted from the inside out. And just like that, the truth died with him. Her apa

The Mercedes CL300 purred to a stop in the underground garage of Marco's penthouse tower. Antonio killed the engine but didn't immediately move, his fingers still tight around the steering wheel. The dim garage lighting cast long shadows across the concrete walls, making the space feel more like a bunker than a parking structure. This was his first meeting with Marco since being freed from Isabella's captivity. One whole week of recovery, one whole week of silence from the organization. The only instruction had been clear: Stay away. Lay low. Now, the summons had come directly from Marco himself. That meant it must be something very serious.Antonio stepped out of the car, the sound of his dress shoes echoing sharply against the concrete. He adjusted his suit jacket - navy blue, tailored, the fabric still stiff from the cleaners - and made his way to the private elevator. As the doors slid shut, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored walls. The bruises around his neck had fa