Elara (First Person POV)
Morning sunlight seeped through the curtains like it was intruding on a secret. I hadn't slept. The hours bled into one another — fragments of memories, fragments of guilt, fragments of his voice replaying in my head.
Luciano DeLuca.
He was supposed to be the enemy. The reason I came here. The man whose name was carved into my nightmares. But every time I looked at him, something inside me refused to match the picture I'd painted in my mind — the monster who ruined my brother's life.
And that made everything harder.
The letter from my brother's old friend, Marco, still lay on my desk. His handwriting — bold, familiar — carried warnings I was trying too hard to ignore.
"Be careful, Elara. The DeLucas don't leave survivors. Whatever you're planning — end it before it ends you."
But I couldn't. I was in too deep.
I pushed the letter away and stood, pulling my hair into a low bun before slipping into the sharp black suit I reserved for meetings at the DeLuca estate. Confidence was armor here — one I couldn't afford to let crack.
By the time I reached the mansion, the guards were already at attention. Every movement, every step inside that fortress, reminded me how fragile my mission really was.
Luciano's world wasn't just dangerous — it was disciplined. Predictable. Controlled. Every person here obeyed because the alternative was unthinkable.
And yet… when he looked at me, I never felt small. I felt seen.
That terrified me more than the guns at every door.
Inside his office, the air was different — colder, heavier, carrying the scent of leather and faint smoke. He stood near the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened. Morning light caught on his wristwatch, and for a second, I hated that I noticed.
He didn't turn when I entered.
"You're early," he said, voice low, unreadable.
"I figured it's better than being late," I replied, stepping closer. "Besides, you strike me as the type who values punctuality."
He gave a small hum, finally glancing at me. His eyes caught mine — sharp, silver-grey — and held them.
"Value isn't the word," he said. "It's about discipline. The moment people stop respecting time, they start forgetting who they answer to."
There was a faint edge in his tone — one I couldn't tell was a warning or an observation.
I placed a folder on his desk. "These are the reports you asked for. The financial discrepancies you mentioned."
He flipped through them without looking at me, his jaw tightening.
"You did this yourself?"
"Yes."
He set the folder down. "You missed one."
I blinked. "What?"
He tapped the corner of the page, his gaze meeting mine again. "You're good, Elara. But good isn't perfect. I need perfect."
Something inside me bristled. "Then maybe you should do it yourself."
The silence that followed was razor-thin.
Luciano's lips curved into something dangerous — half amusement, half warning. "Careful."
I swallowed. "I don't respond well to intimidation."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between us. "Then maybe that's why you intrigue me."
The air crackled. My pulse jumped. I wanted to step back, but his gaze anchored me in place.
This was the problem. He was supposed to be my target. But every time he looked at me like that, my resolve trembled.
Luciano reached past me, his hand brushing my shoulder as he retrieved a document from the shelf. The touch was brief — barely a second — but it sent an unwelcome spark down my spine.
"Fix the numbers," he said finally, his tone casual again. "And next time, don't underestimate what I'll notice."
I nodded, forcing my voice steady. "Understood."
But as I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.
"Elara."
I froze.
His tone was softer this time — quieter, like he was asking a question he shouldn't.
"You're hiding something."
I forced a laugh, too quick. "Everyone hides something, Mr. DeLuca."
"Not everyone does it as carefully as you."
For a second, I couldn't breathe. He was watching me too closely — reading beneath my skin, tracing the truth I'd buried.
"I told you," I said, gripping the folder tighter. "I'm here to work, not to play games."
He smiled faintly. "Everything is a game in this house, Miss Moretti. The only question is who knows the rules."
I left before I said something that would break my disguise.
Outside, the corridors stretched long and silent. My heels echoed against the marble — a rhythm that reminded me I was still standing, still pretending.
But his words stayed behind, lodged in my chest like shrapnel.
You're hiding something.
Yes, I was.
And if I wasn't careful, he'd find out.
Luciano (Second Person POV)
You watched her leave without calling her back. You could have — part of you wanted to — but you didn't.
Elara Moretti was becoming too much of a distraction. Too sharp, too composed, too… dangerous.
You'd dealt with liars, spies, traitors — men who thought they could outsmart you. But none of them had eyes like hers. None of them made you want to understand the lie before you crushed it.
You turned to the window, the city below gleaming under the pale sunlight. Rome — your empire, your battlefield. And yet, lately, it felt like the war was shifting inside you.
"Boss."
The voice came from the doorway. Matteo, your right-hand man, stepped in, his expression grim.
"She was asking about your brother again," he said.
You didn't turn around. "Who?"
"Elara."
That name. Again. Always her.
You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of your desk. "What exactly did she ask?"
"She said she was curious about the family's old records — the shipping manifests from two years ago. The ones that went missing after—"
"After Luca's death," you finished for him.
Matteo hesitated. "You think she knows?"
"She's too smart not to suspect," you said.
You finally looked at him, eyes narrowing. "Find out how she learned about it. Quietly."
Matteo nodded. "And if she's not who she says she is?"
You poured yourself a drink, watching the amber liquid swirl. "Then she's playing a dangerous game in the wrong house."
Matteo's jaw tensed. "Should I handle it?"
You took a slow sip. "No. Not yet."
There was something you needed to be sure of first.
Because even though logic told you she was a threat — every instinct you'd honed over years of blood and betrayal whispered something else.
That she wasn't your enemy.
Not yet.
But she could be your downfall.
Elara (First Person POV)
By the time I got home, the sky had turned to bruised violet. I hadn't realized how late it was until my reflection stared back at me through the window — tired, tense, haunted.
I peeled off the blazer, letting it drop to the chair, and sank onto the couch. My pulse still hadn't steadied from earlier — from the way Luciano had looked at me. The way he saw me.
He shouldn't have that kind of power.
Not when he was the man I was supposed to destroy.
I opened my laptop and entered the encrypted password. The screen flickered to life, revealing files that would have gotten me killed if anyone in the DeLuca mansion found them. Names, dates, transaction records — and one folder marked Luca DeLuca.
My brother's best friend. The man who'd died the night everything changed.
I clicked it open and stared at the photographs. The last picture taken of my brother and Luca together — two men smiling outside a nightclub, unaware it would be their last night alive.
My brother had trusted him.
And Luca had trusted Luciano.
That was the connection. The reason I'd infiltrated this world.
To find out who had betrayed them — and why both their names had been wiped clean from every police record.
Luciano DeLuca held those answers, even if he didn't know it yet.
I scrolled down the report Marco had sent me. His last message blinked at the bottom of the screen:
"Elara, he's not what the papers say. Be careful. If you dig too deep, you won't just find blood — you'll drown in it."
I exhaled shakily, closing the laptop. My reflection stared back in the dark screen.
"You can't drown if you've already stopped breathing," I whispered.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I hesitated before answering. "Hello?"
"Miss Moretti," a voice said — male, low, accented. "You shouldn't stay alone at night."
My body went rigid. "Who is this?"
The caller chuckled softly. "Let's just say I'm someone who likes to keep an eye on what belongs to the boss."
Click.
The line went dead.
I shot up, heart pounding. My apartment suddenly felt smaller, the shadows deeper. I moved to the window — nothing but darkness outside, a single streetlight flickering below.
Luciano's men.
He was watching me.
Or protecting me.
And I didn't know which terrified me more.
Luciano (Second Person POV)
You shouldn't have called her.
But you had.
Not directly — through Matteo. You wanted to make sure she got home safe, that the men you'd sent hadn't scared her. But the moment you heard the update — the slight tension in Matteo's tone — something in your chest tightened.
You told yourself it was just business.
You told yourself you needed to know where her loyalties were.
But that was a lie. And you hated liars.
You leaned against the balcony railing, cigarette burning between your fingers. The night air bit at your skin, but the fire inside your chest burned hotter.
Matteo stepped outside behind you. "She's home. Shaken, but fine."
You nodded once. "Good."
"You sure you want to keep her this close, boss?" Matteo's tone was careful. "If she's digging into the Luca situation—"
"She's not a threat," you cut in, though you weren't sure if you believed it.
Matteo frowned. "Then what is she?"
You let out a slow breath. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
You crushed the cigarette under your shoe. "Of what happens when you let your guard down."
Because you had once — for your brother, Luca.
And it had cost him his life.
You'd buried that night deep, under lies and silence. But now Elara was unearthing it piece by piece — and every time she looked at you, you saw the past clawing its way back.
Matteo didn't speak again. He knew when to stop asking questions. But before he left, he said something that stayed with you.
"She's not scared of you, Luciano. That makes her dangerous."
When the door closed, you stared out over the city again.
She should be scared.
Because you were starting to forget you should be.
Elara (First Person POV)
The next morning, the sun felt wrong. Too bright for the storm in my head.
I didn't sleep — not after that call, not after realizing Luciano might have ordered someone to follow me. I arrived at work before anyone else, the sound of my heels echoing through the quiet halls.
I wasn't just nervous. I was furious.
When Luciano walked in, wearing that usual calm like it was tailored just for him, I barely held back my anger.
"You had someone follow me," I said.
His expression didn't change. "You live alone. It's a precaution."
"You don't have the right."
"I have the responsibility," he corrected, stepping closer. "My employees are assets. I protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
For a heartbeat, the air froze. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "But you keep walking into my world like you want to be."
My chest tightened. "You think everything belongs to you, don't you?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. The silence between us said enough.
Then, softer — "You were being watched by someone else last night. My men weren't the only ones near your apartment."
The words hit me like ice. "What?"
"I had them check the footage. A car — tinted windows, no plates. Followed you three blocks from the mansion. Disappeared before my men could tail it."
I stared at him. "And you're only telling me this now?"
"I didn't want to panic you."
I almost laughed. "You think I scare that easily?"
He tilted his head, studying me. "No. I think you don't scare enough."
He handed me a small flash drive. "This has the footage. Look at it, if you want proof."
I took it from him, fingers brushing his — a jolt of heat between us neither of us acknowledged.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked quietly.
His eyes softened just enough to make me forget how dangerous he was. "Because whatever game you're playing, Elara… you're not the only one being hunted."
I swallowed. "You think it's the same people who—"
"Don't," he said sharply. "Don't say his name."
I froze. The warning in his tone wasn't anger — it was pain.
Raw. Buried. But real.
"You knew him," I said softly. "Luca."
He turned away, jaw tightening. "That was a long time ago."
"What happened to him, Luciano?"
His silence stretched. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper of regret. "He trusted the wrong person."
Something in my chest cracked. Because I knew exactly what he meant.
And I couldn't tell if he was talking about his brother — or about me.
Luciano (Second Person POV)
You hadn't planned to tell her that much.
You didn't plan anything when it came to Elara anymore.
It was becoming a pattern — her questions slipping past your defenses, her presence turning the sharp edges of your control dull. You didn't like it. You didn't like her power over you. And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from testing her limits.
When she looked at you with that fire in her eyes, you saw pieces of your old self — before the empire, before the blood.
And maybe that was what terrified you the most.
You watched her leave your office again, flash drive clutched in her hand, head held high like she hadn't just touched a ghost.
You knew she was lying. You could feel it in your bones.
But for reasons you didn't understand, you weren't ready to expose her.
Not yet.
Because deep down, a part of you wanted to know what she'd do when she realized you already knew.