ALESSIA
THREE YEARS LATER…..
Three years, that was how long I had been dead.
The woman I used to be—Alessia Romano was buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the past, a ghost with no name, no place in this world.
Now, I was just Leona.
A girl who poured drinks and blended into whatever reality brought. A girl no one looked at twice.
I adjusted my apron, glancing toward the entrance of La Rosa, the nightclub I had worked at for the past one year. It was his club.
Marco Montenegro.
Every of my night shift, I came here, waiting, hoping.
But Marco never showed up.
A man like him, one of the Montenegro princes, heir to an empire that rivaled the Morettis wasn't the type to waste his time on a place like this. He had bigger things to deal with. I guess.
And yet, I kept waiting.
Because if I wanted to get close to the families still in alliance with Dante Moretti, the Montenegros were my best bet.
Even if it meant serving drinks and keeping my head down.
Even if it meant becoming someone else entirely.
I sighed, running a damp cloth over the counter, when a voice called from the bar side.
"Leona! Get me a whiskey Neat."
I glanced up.
A man in his late forties, wearing a cheap suit that reeked of cigar smoke, waved a lazy hand at me. His tie was loose, and the way his eyes crawled over me made my skin tighten.
I poured his drink and slid it over. Instead of taking it, he was sizing me up.
Here we go.
"Didn't know Montenegro hired girls like you," he mused, his gaze drifting lower. "Exotic-looking. Pretty thing."
I said nothing, forcing a polite smile.
But then, he moved.
His fingers brushed the curve of my breast, slow, creepy.
That was his first mistake.
My entire body went rigid. My instinct screamed, muscles coiling, blood thrumming. It would take less than three seconds to snap his wrist.
Two seconds to break his nose. One to shove a glass shard into his throat.
I inhaled sharply, curling my hands into fists beneath the counter. Not here, they don't need to know what I'm capable of yet.
The man smirked, as if he sensed the control it took not to react. He moved to do it again…..
A hand slammed onto the counter.
"What the hell do you think you're doing in my club?"
The voice was deep, authoritative. It echoed through the room despite the light music, turning heads.
I blinked, recognizing it instantly.
The customer immediately pulled back, paling. "M-Marco, I—"
Marco Montenegro was here? For the first time in two years.
I turned my head slowly, heartbeat hammering against my ribs.
He stood at the bar, tall, dangerous, magnificent.
His presence commanded the room effortlessly. His well-tailored suit complimented his muscular build, a glimpse of inked skin peeking from beneath his cuff.
A sharp jawline, covered with just the right amount of stubble, made him look more like a god carved from stone than a man.
His dark eyes locked onto the customer with disgust, and for that I was happy.
"I don't remember allowing men like you to touch my staff," he said, voice calm but carrying quiet a threat.
The man stammered. "I—I didn't mean—"
Marco's lip curled. "You want a woman? Get yourself a brunette"
I swallowed, my pulse racing.
The man nodded furiously, mumbling apologies before grabbing his drink and leaving.
Silence loomed between me and Marco.
I should say something. Thank you, maybe.
But when I opened my mouth...He was already gone.
My breath hitched.
I spun, scanning the crowd, but he had vanished.
Impossible, no one disappeared that fast.
I rushed to the other bartender, Elena, grabbing her arm.
"That was Marco Montenegro."
She gave me a weird look. "Yeah? So?"
I shook my head. "He hasn't been here in years."
She scoffed. "Of course not. This place is beneath him, he has other business. He only came back to handle some business here."
"Business?"
Elena leaned in, lowering her voice.
"There's been trouble with the Russians. Some deal went bad, and word is, someone's been feeding information to the Morettis. Marco's cleaning house."
The Morettis. I felt a slow, familiar burn in my chest.
"Tell me about them," I said quietly. "The Montenegros. And their alliance with Moretti."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest?"
I forced a shrug. "I just like knowing who I work for." I lied.
She gave me a long, suspicious look before sighing.
"The Montenegros have always been powerful, but after their father died, Marco and his brother took over. Marco's the one who really pulls the strings. He's the strategist, the one everyone listens to. No one crosses him."
That much, I already knew.
"But what about Dante?" I pressed.
Elena hesitated. "They were allies once, but now? Things are…pretty bad"
I kept my expression neutral, but my mind raced. This was it.
This was my chance.
I had spent three years in hiding, preparing myself, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And now, I was finally close to the man who could get me to Dante Moretti.
I turned back toward the crowd, searching for Marco. But he was nowhere to be found.