Chapter 1

After my mother died, my father, a Mafia Capo, turned our family home into my personal hell.

So I put on my sexiest, deep-V red dress. I crashed the private casino of the Don of all Dons. I faked an assassination.

That night, the Don’s enforcers painted the casino red. I was the “assassin” who started it all. And I walked away from the wreckage without a scratch.

I left a black rose by my bastard father’s corpse. “Enjoy hell, Dad.”

Later, I changed my name and started a new life. But my fiancé, a powerful politician, was screwing another woman on his yacht. He even tried to steal my inheritance.

So I paid the cold Don another visit.

This time, I made sure my ex-fiancé's money laundering network was nothing but ash by morning.

And once again, I slipped away unharmed under the Don’s predatory gaze.

Finally, I returned to the underground assassin organization that raised me. Only to be framed as a traitor by the top brass.

I was strapping a dagger to my thigh. Ready to use the Don's power a third time. Before I could even step outside, the Don’s private army blew my organization’s base to kingdom come.

That night, the powerful, dangerous man pinned me to a wall.

His calloused fingers traced my lips.

“Next time you want someone to disappear from New York,” he growled, “just say their name in my bed. Stop staging fake assassinations on me.”

Chapter 1

After Mom died, my father, a Capo, moved his mistress right into our estate.

They took the master bedroom. They cut off my credit cards. They treated me like unwanted trash.

Tonight, the Don himself was coming to inspect the casino.

For the first time in ages, my father had me dressed up. He forced me into a blood-red dress. It was skin-tight, and the neckline plunged so low it was practically indecent.

“Pull it down another inch!” My father jabbed my shoulder with his cigar. “You worthless bitch. If you don’t end up in the Don’s bed tonight, I’ll throw you in a downtown brothel tomorrow!”

I lowered my eyes, hiding the murder in them. “Yes, Father.”

A lace garter high on my thigh held a small pistol.

Someone was going to hell tonight. It wasn't going to be me.

The doors to the VIP casino burst open.

The noisy room went dead silent. Even the roulette wheel stopped spinning.

The most powerful man in New York's underworld, Don Marcello, strode into the hall. He was surrounded by heavily armed guards.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. His deep gray eyes were cold, controlled, and lethal.

My father rushed to greet him. He shot me a desperate look. A signal to pour the wine.

I picked up a bottle of expensive Romanée-Conti. I swayed toward them.

But I didn't pour any wine.

Three steps away, I hiked up my red dress. I pulled the pistol from my thigh.

“Go to hell, Marcello!”

I screamed, charging at him with the gun raised.

The whole room gasped.

“Gun!”

I lunged. He dodged.

The Don was impossibly fast. I couldn't keep up in these heels.

A guard named Rocco yelled, drew his weapon, and rushed me.

Just as he was about to tackle me, I faked a trip. I threw myself right at Marcello.

Instantly, a dozen guns pressed against the back of my head.

And me? I had landed perfectly in Marcello’s arms.

Through the expensive fabric, I could feel the heat and hardness of his abs.

The deep-V of my dress gaped open. My red lips almost brushed his throat.

Marcello didn’t push me away.

He glanced down at the gun pressed to his chest. Then his strong, calloused hand grabbed my chin.

The rough pads of his fingers grazed my lips. Dangerously.

“An assassination by seduction?” His deep voice was laced with dark amusement. “You’ve got guts. Tell me, what grudge is so deep you’d come dressed like this to kill me?”

I was forced to look up, meeting his predatory gaze.

I took a deep breath, looking terrified. My voice trembled as I screamed loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Please, don’t kill me! It wasn't my idea! My father made me do it! He was terrified you’d find out he stole three million dollars from the family!”

Across the room, my father's eyes went wide. He dropped to his knees.

“He said if I didn't kill you, you'd discover my stepmother is running an unsanctioned loan sharking ring downtown!”

My dolled-up stepmother shrieked and slumped against a table, fainting dead away.

“And I’m ESPECIALLY not afraid you’ll find out my father’s right-hand man is secretly working with the Irish mob—”

“Shut up! You crazy bitch!” My father’s crony, pale as a ghost, pulled his gun.

I looked at my family, all neatly collapsed on the floor. I smiled, satisfied.

I fluttered my eyelashes at Marcello. “Basically, I’m just cleaning house.”

The air went dead silent.

Marcello’s grip on my chin tightened. A flicker of ruthless humor crossed his gray eyes.

“So,” he leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over my lips, “your whole family is rotten. Is that it?”

I gave him the simplest, most honest answer.

“Yes.”

Marcello was blunt. Ice cold. He uttered two words.

“Kill them.”

His enforcers instantly turned their guns. They aimed at my father and his men, who were scrambling to fight back.

Screams and deafening gunshots shattered the casino’s peace.

My father took several bullets. He fell into a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I pulled a black rose from my hair and tossed it onto his bleeding corpse. “Enjoy hell, Dad.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Don.” I whispered in Marcello’s ear as his grip loosened.

Then, I twisted out of his arms, kicked off my heels, and sprinted for the private elevator in the corner.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Barefoot, I stood inside. I blew a defiant kiss to the powerful, dangerous man standing amidst the carnage.

Gunsmoke still hung in the air.

Surrounded by the stench of blood, Marcello stood perfectly still. A dangerous, possessive hunger churned in the depths of his eyes.

Chapter 2

I left the blood of New York behind. I started fresh in LA.

For a year, I put away my guns. I played the part of the perfect, gentle fiancée.

Downstairs, the engagement party was in full swing. California's elite were toasting my fiancé, Tristan, the future governor.

I slipped away to avoid the two-faced politicians. I pushed open the master bedroom door on the second floor.

But the scene on the bed was trashier than a downtown strip club.

My fiancé—the one who preached morality and claimed to despise the mob—had his shirt half-open. His hands were tied to the headboard with his own tie.

Riding him was Candy, the club’s star dancer.

She wore cheap, pink leopard-print lingerie. And she was five months pregnant.

Tristan’s face went white with fear. He fumbled with the sheets. “Scarlett! Let me explain, I was drunk…”

Candy just leaned against his chest. She rolled her eyes at me, a taunting look on her face. “What’s the big deal? Didn’t you say you were breaking up with this nobody tonight anyway?”

I leaned against the doorframe. I couldn't even be bothered to pretend I was angry.

“Your standards have really dropped, Tristan.” I swirled the champagne in my glass and sneered. “You act so classy. Is this what you’re really into?”

Hasty footsteps clicked down the hall.

Tristan’s mother, the mayor’s daughter who always acted so high and mighty, stormed in with four armed guards.

She completely ignored the drama on the bed. Her cruel eyes locked onto me.

“Since you’ve seen it, I won’t beat around the bush.” The old bitch lifted her chin, her mask finally off. “Tristan is running for governor next month. Candy is carrying our family’s heir. As for you, a bastard with no real family name… you were lucky my son even looked at you.”

Her greedy eyes narrowed as she took two steps closer.

“Transfer your entire trust fund to Tristan’s campaign account. Do it, and I’ll graciously allow you to keep the title of ‘fiancée.’”

The guards behind her stepped forward. Their hands rested on their holsters.

“In Los Angeles, we are the law!” the old woman sneered. “Don’t give us the money, and I’ll use my connections to freeze your assets. I’ll have you thrown in jail on some trumped-up charge!”

I laughed coldly at their disgusting hypocrisy.

So this is what "clean" politicians were like. They were filthier than the mob.

Suddenly, I missed that cold-hearted Don in New York. I missed Marcello.

At least he was honest about being a monster. He didn’t waste time with words; he just pulled his gun. He played the game of power a thousand times better than these California phonies.

I pulled the three-carat diamond ring from my finger.

I dropped it into my champagne glass. It landed with a soft plink, the bubbles fizzing around it.

“Use this rock to buy her some decent lingerie. Leopard print is tacky on a pregnant woman.”

I slammed the glass down on the console table with a crash.

“And as for this engagement… I’m done.”

“Stop her!” The old woman shrieked, stunned by the cold fury in my eyes.

A guard reached for his gun. I didn't blink. I grabbed a nearby heavy bronze sculpture and smashed it into his jaw.

A crack of bone. The two-hundred-pound man crumpled to the floor.

The other three guards froze.

I didn’t spare the clowns another glance. I turned and walked away.

At the door, I looked back. I gave Tristan a look of pure pity.

“You picked the wrong girl to screw over.”

Chapter 3

Before I left LA, I hacked Tristan’s encrypted accounts.

The oh-so-righteous politician was washing all his campaign money. Through the Irish mob in New York.

Marcello’s mortal enemies.

If I was going to get revenge, I was going to go big.

Three days later. Late night. A penthouse in Manhattan.

I slipped past layers of security and broke into Marcello’s private bathroom.

The shower stopped.

The frosted glass door opened. Steam billowed out.

Marcello stepped out from under the water.

Droplets traced paths down his broad shoulders, his hard chest, and disappeared below his V-cut abs.

I had to admit it. The tailored monster was perfect under his suit.

Soundlessly, I closed the distance and pressed the tip of my dagger against his wet stomach.

“Good evening, Don.” My lips curved into a smile.

Faced with a dangerous woman holding a knife to his gut, Marcello didn’t even flinch.

He didn’t hit the alarm. He didn’t call for Rocco, the guard outside.

He just grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He looked down at me, his deep gray eyes glittering with predatory amusement.

“A year, and your assassination attempts are getting lazy.” His voice was a low growl in the steamy room.

“This isn’t an assassination. It’s a gift.”

I pressed closer, unashamed, feeling the heat radiate from his body.

I slapped the folder of evidence against his wet chest.

“The complete money laundering records for California’s Governor-to-be, Tristan. Ruin his cash flow, and you cut off the Irish mob’s lifeline.”

I tilted my head up. “Wipe out your rival with the snap of your fingers. It’s a good deal, right?”

My audacity—using his power for free—made him laugh. A dark, rough sound.

He didn’t back away. He stepped forward.

The sharp blade broke his skin. A bead of dark blood welled up. He didn’t care.

He grabbed my tiny waist. He lifted me with terrifying strength. He slammed me down on the cold marble vanity.

The dagger clattered to the floor.

In the steam, our skin was flush against each other.

His aggressive, masculine scent surrounded me. He forced a knee between my legs, trapping me. I had nowhere to run.

“You use me as your personal hitman. And you dare point a knife at me.”

One hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my head up. His eyes were dark pools of danger. “You’re getting bolder, Scarlett.”

I was crushed by his deadly presence. My heart hammered against my ribs. But I still shot back, “What? The Don of New York can’t do one small favor?”

Marcello stared at my red lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Instinct won out over reason.

His lips brushed my cheek. Then he caught my earlobe between his teeth. A sharp nip. A punishment.

A shiver shot down my spine.

“Tristan’s hidden vaults will be gone by morning.” His hot breath was a caress in my ear, his voice rough. “But in exchange…”

His thumb pressed hard against my collarbone, sending another dangerous tremor through me.

“But break in here again,” he whispered, his voice a low threat, “and you won’t be leaving this room with your clothes on.”

I fought to control my racing heart. I deliberately pressed a bright red lipstick mark onto his chin.

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

Moving fast, I took advantage of his momentary distraction. I slipped from his arms, snatching the dagger on my way down.

Seconds later, I was gone, disappearing through the bathroom’s ventilation window.

Only the lingering steam and the faint scent of a woman’s perfume remained.

Marcello stood before the empty window.

He raised a hand. His thumb wiped away the defiant red stain I’d left on his jaw.

He picked up the waterproof comms unit by the sink and pressed a button. His voice was low and deadly.

“Take care of that bastard Tristan. And his vaults. Get it done tonight.”

Chapter 4

A few days later, the LA morning news exploded.

Helicopters circled over Beverly Hills. Sirens screamed through the quiet, wealthy neighborhood.

I sat in my car, parked at the corner of the street. I took a sip of my iced Americano and watched the show.

Last night, Tristan’s four hidden vaults in Southern California had been burned to ashes.

Hard evidence of his mob ties, money laundering, and faked campaign funds had been anonymously emailed to the top thirty news outlets in the country.

His entire family was ruined overnight.

Marcello’s efficiency was terrifying.

The front door of the mansion was smashed open.

Tristan, once so dapper and righteous, was now in messy pajamas. Two heavily armed FBI agents twisted his arms behind his back and slapped on a pair of handcuffs.

He struggled, screaming, but they shoved him into the police car.

I smiled, satisfied. I tossed my coffee cup into a trash can.

I put on my Tom Ford sunglasses and slammed my foot on the gas.

After being used by my own father and betrayed by my fiancé, I had finally learned one thing.

In this world, whether it’s high society or the mob, no place is truly clean.

Except for my real home.

The underground organization that raised me to be a top-tier assassin—“The Syndicate.”

I flew back to New York that night.

I thought, after all the backstabbing out there, at least I had them. My comrades. My handler, who trusted me without question.

We were killers. Our hands were stained with blood. But we had a code. An unbreakable rule.

Never betray your own.

Brooklyn. An abandoned industrial air-raid shelter.

I expertly bypassed the outer sentries. I walked to the door, disguised as a rusted wall panel.

Iris scan. Fingerprint verification.

Beep—Identity confirmed: Codename Scarlett.

The heavy door slid open. I finally let go of the tension I’d held for a year. I stepped across the threshold, letting my guard down for the first time in a long while.

I was already imagining how I’d respond to my teammates’ welcome.

But I wasn’t met with the familiar smell of gun oil and clinking beer bottles.

I was met with dead silence.

I froze.

A dangerous chill shot up from my feet to my spine.

Blinding searchlights snapped on, pinning me in place.

Out of the darkness, a dozen assault rifles, all fitted with laser sights, leveled at me.

Every single one was aimed at my heart.

A swarm of cold, red dots danced over my body, finally settling on my chest and forehead.

If I moved an inch, they would turn me into Swiss cheese.

I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the harsh light.

When I saw the faces behind the guns, my breath caught in my throat.

The man in front was Leo. The sniper who once took a bullet for me.

To my left, behind cover, was Mia. The hacker I’d shared countless secrets with.

These were my most trusted comrades.

The people I thought were my family. The ones who would never betray me.

“Leo?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The next second, my partners clicked the safeties off their guns.

I tightened my grip on the pistol under my coat. My heart sank into a black pit.

Chapter 5

A blood-stained file was thrown at my feet.

Leo spoke. His voice was cold.

“See for yourself, Scarlett. You come back, and the Judge is dead.”

I replied automatically, “My condolences?”

“Condolences?” Leo exploded. “Are you insane? The Judge is dead! That means the Don’s enforcers will be tearing this base apart by morning!”

I paused, my mind slowly catching up. The “Judge.”

The Chief Justice of the New York Supreme Court.

He was a public official, but everyone in the underworld knew he was Marcello’s most important pawn in the legal world.

Our organization, The Syndicate, always operated in the gray. We did dirty work for cash.

The last Don had almost wiped us out. It was only after Marcello took over and created the underworld’s “non-aggression treaty” that we got a chance to breathe.

And the first rule of that treaty was: you don’t touch the Don’s people.

Now, he was dead.

I thought for a second. “So… no condolences, then?”

Leo got even angrier. He shoved the barrel of his rifle right under my nose.

“Scarlett, stop playing dumb! The Judge was assassinated. The entire New York underworld is shaking. Once Marcello finds out we did it, he’ll wipe us off the map!”

Why does everyone want to wipe me out?

It finally clicked.

“You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

Seriously? Why would I kill him? Besides, I haven’t taken a private job in ages. I’d discovered that getting the Don to kill people was way more efficient than doing it myself.

“Who else could it be?” Mia, the hacker, spoke coldly. She tossed a clear evidence bag at me. “Only one shell casing was left at the scene. Custom caliber. Cross-hatched matte finish. Your signature toy.”

I was silent for a few seconds. “It wasn’t me. At the time of the Judge's death, I was… busy. I was in the Don’s bathroom, trying to kill him with a dagger.”

No one believed me.

Mia scoffed. “You assassinated the Don? If you really did, why is Marcello still alive and well?”

Ugh. There’s no explaining it to you people who’ve never seen the Don naked.

I sighed and looked around. “So, you all think I killed the Judge?”

“Yes,” Leo said flatly.

The other assassins muttered among themselves. But no one lowered their guns.

Finally, I looked at the man I respected most, my handler, Julian. I asked, my voice small, “Julian, you don’t believe me either?”

Julian put a hand on my shoulder. His voice was warm. “Scarlett, I believe you didn’t do it. Don’t worry. I will get to the bottom of this.”

But he looked exhausted. His suit was wrinkled. He’d clearly been racking his brain to handle this crisis.

The lives of hundreds of people in the organization rested on his shoulders. He was in a tough spot.

For the sake of the base, someone had to take the fall for pissing off the Don.

I was silent for a long moment. I grit my teeth and confessed. “Fine. I killed the Judge.”

The tension in the room vanished instantly. The assault rifles were lowered.

Suddenly, everyone was laughing and joking.

“I knew it! It had to be Scarlett! She’s our best hitter!”

“Infiltrating the Supreme Court, a perfect kill, and a clean getaway? Only she could pull that off!”

“You’re too kind, really,” I said humbly.

But inside, I was furious.

Who the hell killed the Judge and framed me?

If I ever find them, I’ll skin them alive.

Julian sighed. His voice was gentle but resigned. “Scarlett, to calm everyone down, we’ll have to put you away for a bit. I’m sorry.”

He waved his hand. They disarmed me and locked me in the highest-level safe room.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll go negotiate with Marcello myself. You just stay here for a few days. Not even C4 can blast this door open. No one can hurt you in here.”

That night, I sat in the safe room, getting angrier by the second.

Why me? If I’d actually killed the guy, fine. But I didn’t!

No. I’m not taking the fall for this. I’m going to find the bastard who framed me.

I jumped to my feet.

The blast door was tough, but there wasn't a lock in the world I couldn't pick.

I pulled a hidden steel wire from my ballistic vest, dismantled the keypad, and short-circuited the lock.

After all that hard work, I slipped out of the safe room. I was about to escape through the ventilation ducts when I saw him. Julian, standing outside the main control room, holding a glass of whiskey. He was watching the monitors with a cold expression.

I froze.

Seriously, Julian? Not even the Don guarded me this closely.

Just as I was about to go back and pretend to be asleep, a piercing siren blared through the base.

The highest-level red alert.

I stared at the monitor, and my blood ran cold.

On the big screen, dozens of black, armored SUVs had surrounded the base.

And there he was. That powerful, dangerous man. Don Marcello. Dressed in a black trench coat, playing with a lighter in his hand, standing coolly in the flickering firelight.

The Don was here. And he'd brought his army.