Lorenzo's POV:
Her scent lingered on my skin, a ghost of jasmine and something darker, sharper, like the edge of a blade.
I stood on the balcony of my penthouse, the Naples skyline glittering below like a city built on lies. The whiskey in my hand burned my throat, but it didn't dull the fire she'd ignited. Raven. The Siren. A woman who danced like she could unravel me with a glance.
I'd seen men fall for less, lose empires, lives, souls. I wasn't that kind of man. Or so I told myself.
The private dance played in my mind like a fever dream, her hips rolling against me, her breath on my throat, her eyes behind that mask, daring me to rip it off. She wasn't just a dancer. She was a weapon, and I wanted to know who wielded her.
My phone buzzed on the glass table, Luca's name flashing. I answered, my voice rough.
"What do you have?"
"On the girl?" Luca's tone was all business, but I caught the smirk beneath it. "Not much. She's a ghost. She has no real name, no records, and no history before she showed up at Serpent three weeks ago. The manager says she came with cash and a reputation, she seduces, doesn't talk, and doesn't stay."
I swirled the whiskey, ice clinking. "No one's that clean."
"Exactly," he said. "I hacked the club's security cams. Got her entering through a back door, no ID, no trace. She's careful, too careful."
I leaned against the railing, my jaw tight.
"Careful" meant dangerous. In my world, ghosts were either spies or assassins. She'd danced for me, teased me, but those eyes, it was dark, guarded, and haunted, it told a story she hadn't spoken. "Find her," I said. "I want her address, her habits, her fucking coffee order. Everything."
Luca chuckled. "Obsessed already, boss?"
I didn't laugh. "She's hiding something. I want to know what."
"On it," he said. "But, Lorenzo, watch your back. Something's off. The Albanians are quiet, and my guy at the docks heard whispers of a new player. Someone called Il Santo."
The name hit like a bullet. Il Santo. My father's old consigliere, a man we thought dead, burned in a car bomb after a deal went south. My uncle swore he'd killed him, but my uncle lied about a lot of things before I put a blade in his gut. "Dig deeper," I said. "If Il Santo's alive, I want proof."
"Capito," Luca said, and the call ended.
I drained the whiskey, the burn grounding me. Il Santo. Raven.
Too many shadows moving at once. My empire was iron, but even iron cracked under enough pressure.
The De Luca estate was quiet at dawn, the olive trees still, the air heavy with the scent of rosemary and gun oil. I sat in the study, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, my father's old desk scarred from his knives and my own. Allegra slipped in without knocking, her dark hair loose, her eyes sharp despite the early hour. My sister saw everything, every glance, and every lie. She was the only one I trusted, the only one who didn't want my crown.
"You didn't sleep," she said, perching on the edge of the desk, her voice soft but pointed. She wore a silk robe, but her posture was all steel.
"Sleep's for the dead," I said, exhaling smoke.
She tilted her head, studying me. "You're different today. You seem restless. Who is she?"
I froze, my cigarette halfway to my lips. "Who's who?"
"Don't play stupid, Lorenzo," she said, her lips curving faintly. "The dancer. Luca's been whispering about her all morning. Says you're half-mad over her."
"Luca talks too much," I growled, crushing the cigarette. "She's a distraction."
"A dangerous one," Allegra said, her voice low. "You don't get distracted, fratello (Brother). Not unless she's more than a pretty face."
I leaned back, my fingers drumming the desk. Allegra was right, she always was.
Raven wasn't just a dancer. She'd moved like she owned me, like she knew my sins and wanted to taste them. "She's a mystery," I admitted. "And I don't like mysteries."
"Then solve her," Allegra said, standing. "But be careful. Men like you fall hard when they fall."
I snorted, but her words lingered, a warning I couldn't shake.
She left, her footsteps fading, and I stared at the desk, at the photo Luca had sent last night, the Siren, masked, her body a silhouette of danger. I wanted her. Not just her body, but her secrets, her truth. And that made her the most dangerous woman I'd ever met.
By noon, I was at Club Serpent, the daytime quiet a stark contrast to its nightly chaos.
The manager, Angelo, a weasel with a cheap suit and cheaper loyalty, nearly pissed himself when I walked in. The club was empty, the stage dark, the air stale with last night's sins.
"Signore De Luca," Angelo stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. "An honor. What can i..."
"The Siren," I cut in, my voice cold. "Where is she?"
He swallowed, his eyes darting. "She… she doesn't come in during the day. Only nights. No one knows where she goes."
I stepped closer, towering over him. "You're lying."
"No, Signore, I swear!" His hands shook, raised in surrender. "She's private. Pays extra to keep her name off the books. I don't ask questions."
I grabbed his collar, yanking him close. "Start asking. Find her, or I'll burn this shithole to the ground with you in it."
He nodded frantically, and I released him, watching him scurry to the back. My phone buzzed again. It was Luca, he sent a text: 'Found her. Hotel on Via Partenope. Room 312. Name's Raven, no last name. She's there now'.
My pulse quickened, like a hunter's thrill. I left the club, the midday sun harsh against my eyes.
Via Partenope was a short drive, the hotel a sleek tower for tourists and secrets. Room 312. Raven. I'd find her, unmask her, and if she was playing me, I'd make her regret it.
The hotel lobby was all marble and glass, a facade of wealth hiding a thousand sins. I took the elevator, my Glock tucked beneath my jacket, my mind racing. She was a ghost, Luca said she had no history, and no trace. That meant training, professional, and deadly. A spy? An assassin? My father's voice echoed in my head: Trust no one, Lorenzo. Not even your own blood.
The hallway was quiet, the carpet muffling my steps. Room 312. I knocked, a sharp, and deliberate knock.
No answer. I knocked again, harder.
"Raven," I said, my voice low, a command. "Open the door."
There was silence.
Then a soft click, and the door cracked open. She stood there, no mask, just a black silk robe that hugged her curves, her hair damp, her face bare except for those eyes, it was dark, defiant, and unreadable. She didn't look surprised. She looked like she'd been expecting me.
Fuck. She is GORGEOUS. she is ethereal.
"You're persistent," she said, her voice cool, a hint of amusement. She leaned against the doorframe, one hip cocked, like she wasn't standing inches from a killer.
"You're hard to find," I said, stepping closer, forcing her to tilt her head to meet my gaze.
"I don't like hard to find."
"Maybe I like being chased," she said, her lips curving, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "What do you want, Signore De Luca?"
I leaned in, my hand braced on the doorframe, our faces inches apart. "You," I said, the word raw, honest. "And whatever you're hiding."
Her breath hitched, just for a moment, but she didn't back down. "Careful," she whispered, her voice a warning wrapped in silk. "Some secrets cut."
I smiled, slow and dangerous. "I'm good with knives."
She stepped back, the door still between us, a barrier and a challenge. "Come back tonight," she said. "Club Serpent. I'll dance for you again. Maybe then you'll get answers."
The door closed, it was soft but final. I stood there, my blood pounding, her scent still in my lungs. I never knew a woman would shut the door on me someday, and I'd let it be.
She was playing me, and I was letting her. But I'd find her truth. I'd tear it from her if I had to.
As I walked away, my phone buzzed again, it was a message from an unknown number: 'The Viper falls soon. Il Santo watches'. My grip tightened, my knuckles white.
Someone was moving against me, and Raven was at the center of it.
I'd hunt her, and I'd have her. And if she was my enemy, I'd bury her.