CHAPTER 2
The Velvet Serpent came alive after midnight.
Music pulsed like a heartbeat through the marble floors. Chandeliers dripped gold light over velvet lounges filled with Valentia's richest criminals men with diamonds on their fingers and blood on their hands.
No one here was innocent.
Except the waitress who wasn't one.
Cleopatra Valencia balanced a tray of drinks as she wove through the crowd. Her black dress was simple, fitted, and designed to make her look like a forgettable face in a dangerous place.
But forgetting her was impossible.
Her stride held too much confidence.
Her eyes moved too sharply, analyzing exits, guards, blind spots.
Her smile was warm, but practiced the kind that hid a knife behind the teeth.
And the tiny listening device tucked behind her ear made sure she didn't forget her real purpose.
"Agent Valencia, report," a voice whispered in her earpiece.
She didn't move her lips. "Inside. Unnoticed."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Cleopatra set a drink on a table, offering a polite nod to a customer who barely looked at her. Perfect. She needed to be invisible tonight.
But the Syndicate made that difficult.
Security guards were everywhere tall, sharp-eyed men in black suits, every one of them armed. Cameras watched from every corner. And somewhere above this glittering den of crime stood the man she had trained months to take down.
Enzo De Lorenzo.
The ghost, the legend, the serpent on the throne.
She hadn't seen him yet. But his presence was everywhere in the fear lacing the staff's voices, in the controlled chaos of the club, in the knowledge that death could be ordered from the top floor with a single command.
Cleopatra inhaled slowly.
This mission was impossible.
But she specialized in impossible.
A hand suddenly brushed her tray, startling her. A drunk patron grinned sloppily. "Hey sweetheart, how about you"
"I'm working," she cut gently, keeping her voice sweet while her eyes sharpened. She stepped away before he could touch her again.
"Agent Valencia," her director said through the earpiece, "primary objective for tonight is reconnaissance only. Do not I repeat, do not engage with Enzo."
"I have no intention of speaking to a man who murders people for breakfast," she muttered under her breath.
But fate had a dark sense of humor.
Because the moment she turned toward the bar, the entire room shifted subtly, like the air itself froze.
The music didn't stop.
The lights didn't dim.
But every person stood a little straighter, spoke a little softer.
Cleopatra didn't need confirmation.
A presence like that could only belong to one man.
She glanced up and her breath caught.
Enzo De Lorenzo was walking through the club.
Tall. Unreadable. Power wrapped in a tailored black suit. His stride was smooth, controlled, carrying the cold certainty of someone who owned every life in the room.
He didn't look at anyone.
People simply moved out of his way.
Cleopatra felt her pulse spike. Not with fear but with something sharper. Something she didn't like.
Her director hissed in her ear, "Do not draw attention. Do not let him notice you."
Too late.
Enzo's eyes swept across the room… and stopped.
On her.
Cleopatra felt those eyes lock onto hers dark, unreadable, piercing straight through the disguise she had crafted so carefully.
Five seconds passed.
Five seconds in which he didn't blink, didn't look away, didn't let her breathe.
Then, slowly…
Almost curiously…
He tilted his head.
As if seeing something he didn't expect.
As if the rumor of a woman infiltrating his world had just become real.
Cleopatra forced herself to look away, heart pounding. She lowered her head, turned sharply, and walked toward the staff hallway.
Behind her, Enzo watched her move with cold interest.
Not attraction.
Interest.
The kind a predator has when something unfamiliar steps into its territory.
The kind that never ends well.
CHAPTER 2 — THE WAITRESS WHO WASN'TThe Velvet Serpent came alive after midnight.
Music pulsed like a heartbeat through the marble floors. Chandeliers dripped gold light over velvet lounges filled with Valentia's richest criminals men with diamonds on their fingers and blood on their hands.
No one here was innocent.
Except the waitress who wasn't one.
Cleopatra Valencia balanced a tray of drinks as she wove through the crowd. Her black dress was simple, fitted, and designed to make her look like a forgettable face in a dangerous place.
But forgetting her was impossible.
Her stride held too much confidence.
Her eyes moved too sharply, analyzing exits, guards, blind spots.
Her smile was warm, but practiced the kind that hid a knife behind the teeth.
And the tiny listening device tucked behind her ear made sure she didn't forget her real purpose.
"Agent Valencia, report," a voice whispered in her earpiece.
She didn't move her lips. "Inside. Unnoticed."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Cleopatra set a drink on a table, offering a polite nod to a customer who barely looked at her. Perfect. She needed to be invisible tonight.
But the Syndicate made that difficult.
Security guards were everywhere tall, sharp-eyed men in black suits, every one of them armed. Cameras watched from every corner. And somewhere above this glittering den of crime stood the man she had trained months to take down.
Enzo De Lorenzo.
The ghost, the legend, the serpent on the throne.
She hadn't seen him yet. But his presence was everywhere in the fear lacing the staff's voices, in the controlled chaos of the club, in the knowledge that death could be ordered from the top floor with a single command.
Cleopatra inhaled slowly.
This mission was impossible.
But she specialized in impossible.
A hand suddenly brushed her tray, startling her. A drunk patron grinned sloppily. "Hey sweetheart, how about you"
"I'm working," she cut gently, keeping her voice sweet while her eyes sharpened. She stepped away before he could touch her again.
"Agent Valencia," her director said through the earpiece, "primary objective for tonight is reconnaissance only. Do not I repeat, do not engage with Enzo."
"I have no intention of speaking to a man who murders people for breakfast," she muttered under her breath.
But fate had a dark sense of humor.
Because the moment she turned toward the bar, the entire room shifted subtly, like the air itself froze.
The music didn't stop.
The lights didn't dim.
But every person stood a little straighter, spoke a little softer.
Cleopatra didn't need confirmation.
A presence like that could only belong to one man.
She glanced up and her breath caught.
Enzo De Lorenzo was walking through the club.
Tall. Unreadable. Power wrapped in a tailored black suit. His stride was smooth, controlled, carrying the cold certainty of someone who owned every life in the room.
He didn't look at anyone.
People simply moved out of his way.
Cleopatra felt her pulse spike. Not with fear but with something sharper. Something she didn't like.
Her director hissed in her ear, "Do not draw attention. Do not let him notice you."
Too late.
Enzo's eyes swept across the room… and stopped.
On her.
Cleopatra felt those eyes lock onto hers dark, unreadable, piercing straight through the disguise she had crafted so carefully.
Five seconds passed.
Five seconds in which he didn't blink, didn't look away, didn't let her breathe.
Then, slowly…
Almost curiously…
He tilted his head.
As if seeing something he didn't expect.
As if the rumor of a woman infiltrating his world had just become real.
Cleopatra forced herself to look away, heart pounding. She lowered her head, turned sharply, and walked toward the staff hallway.
Behind her, Enzo watched her move with cold interest.
Not attraction.
Interest.