CHAPTER 3
The crowd thickened as the hour grew darker.
Cleopatra moved through the club with her tray, pretending she didn't feel Enzo's gaze lingering somewhere behind her. Every hair on her skin stood alert. Her training screamed at her to stay calm, to blend in.
She could handle criminals.
She could handle guns, knives, ambushes.
But the way Enzo De Lorenzo had looked at her…
That was something else entirely.
She reached the far side of the club, where the lights dimmed and the clientele grew more dangerous. The type of men who paid in cash and threats.
And that was where the trouble began.
A man grabbed her wrist.
Strong. Drunk. Mean smile.
"Hey, beautiful," he slurred, pulling her closer. "You've been avoiding my table all night."
Cleopatra kept her voice steady. "Sir, please let go. I have other customers"
He yanked harder, forcing her to lean toward him. "I said come here."
Her tray clattered to the floor.
Other patrons glanced overbriefly then quickly looked away. No one interfered in the Serpentine Syndicate's territory. Not unless they wanted to bleed.
Cleopatra's heartbeat stayed steady. She could break his hand in a second. Dislocate his shoulder in two. But she couldn't blow her cover.
"Let me go," she warned softly.
The man laughed and tightened his grip. "Or what? You'll cry for the boss?"
Cleopatra's eyes sharpened. "Last chance."
He didn't take it.
With a swift twist, she rotated her wrist, snapped his grip, and shoved him back just hard enough to regain distance nothing flashy, nothing suspicious.
But he stumbled, and his pride shattered faster than his balance.
"You little!" He surged toward her, arm raised.
In one instinctive motion, Cleopatra stepped back, ready to deflect
but she never had to.
A hand slammed down on the man's shoulder, stopping him cold.
The club quieted.
Cleopatra froze.
Enzo stood behind the drunk, his expression unreadable… and far too calm.
"Is there a problem?" Enzo asked.
His voice was soft.
Deadly soft.
The man paled instantly. "B-Boss… I didn't know she was I mean, I didn't"
"You touched one of my staff." Enzo's tone never changed. "You raised your hand at her."
Cleopatra swallowed. She didn't need defending. She didn't want defending. But she also knew this was not about her safety
it was about Enzo maintaining control.
One gesture from him, and the guards moved in.
Enzo didn't look at them. "Remove him."
The man begged, trembled, dropped to his knees, but his pleas were useless.
Two guards dragged him away as the music resumed, as if nothing had happened.
Enzo finally turned his attention to Cleopatra.
His eyes swept her carefully, like he was searching for hidden information beneath her skin.
"You handled that well," he said.
Cleopatra steadied her breath. "It's part of the job."
"No," Enzo corrected quietly. "What you did was more than training. It was instinct."
She tensed.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
Enzo stepped closer not touching her, not intimidating her just close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence.
"Tell me your name," he said.
There was no command in his tone.
Just curiosity sharpened into a blade.
"Cleopatra," she answered.
His lips barely curved. "Fitting."
She didn't ask what he meant.
Enzo took one last look at her, eyes lingering a second too long, and spoke to a nearby guard.
"Make sure no one touches her again."
Then he walked away.
But Cleopatra didn't feel victorious.
She felt watched.
Marked.
Seen too clearly.
Her director's voice snapped in her ear, shaken:
"Agent Valencia… what just happened?"
Cleopatra stared at the path Enzo had taken.
"I think," she whispered, "I just ended up on his radar."