Alessia
Dante was seriously winking at me? How ridiculous.
I almost scoffed out loud, but I held it in, keeping my face carefully blank. I wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that he had the audacity to flirt or that I'd felt an odd sense of relief when he didn't recognize me.
Not that he would.
The old me had been different—thicker, longer hair, softer edges. The woman sitting here now was slimmer, sharper, hair cropped into a pixie cut, style completely different. It wasn't the best disguise, but it was all I had until I was ready to reveal myself.
Until I was ready to destroy him.
I took a slow breath, calming the familiar fire burning in my chest. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that.
The auction had ended, and as I sat in the backseat of the car, I couldn't help but glance at Mulch.
He was standing outside, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with some of the most powerful men in the room. High-profile men, business moguls, arms dealers, men who made governments kneel with a single phone call.
I'd always known the Russians had a huge influence in the mafia world. What I hadn't known was how much Mulch was part of it.
I frowned slightly. Just how deep did his connections run?
A sudden growl interrupted my thoughts. It was my stomach.
Elena turned to me, concern flashing in her dark eyes.
"You're hungry."
I exhaled. "Yeah. Starving, actually."
It was already 5:30 in the morning. I hadn't eaten since the night before, and after everything, the auction, watching Dante, keeping my identity hidden, I felt drained.
Finally, Mulch slipped into the front seat, muttering an apology for keeping us waiting.
He barely gave us time to respond before he signaled the driver to go.
We drove through the dimly lit streets, the city slowly waking up.
When we neared a small diner, Elena insisted we go inside to get food.
"You need to eat," she said firmly.
I sighed but followed her inside.
The place was empty, save for a few workers setting up for the morning rush. The smell of fresh bread and brewed coffee filled the air, making my stomach clench again.
We walked up to the counter. The waiter barely looked at us as he asked for our order. Elena placed hers first, and I followed.
And that's when I felt it. A gaze. Not just any gaze, a lingering one.
I turned my head slightly, scanning the restaurant. A woman. She was in her fifties, dressed in simple clothes, her hands wrapped around a coffee cup.
Her eyes were locked onto me.
I met her stare, trying to figure out if I knew her, but her face didn't spark any recognition.
Still, she didn't look away. And that only quickened my pulse.
Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. I blinked.
"What the hell…" I muttered under my breath.
Elena glanced at me. "What?"
I hesitated, then shook my head. "Nothing."
Was my mind playing tricks on me?
I clenched my fists. I wasn't usually the paranoid type, but something about that woman's stare unsettled me. Who was she ? And why was she looking at me that way?
The waiter handed us our food, and I followed Elena back to the car. I didn't look back.
....
The ride home was quiet, but my mind wasn't.
By the time we neared our street, my exhaustion was nearly unbearable.
And then—Something caught my eye. Even from a distance, I noticed it.
A Rolls-Royce.
Parked near a mushed-down house, its sleek black exterior standing out like a diamond in the dirt. My entire body tensed. I wasn't the only one who saw it.
Elena had gone stiff beside me, her hands tightening around the food bag.
I turned to her. "You see that?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
"What the hell is a car like that doing in a place like this?"
Elena exchanged a glance with me, her expression tense.
"This doesn't feel right," she muttered.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my nerves. "It doesn't."
The car was idle, its tinted windows concealing whoever was inside. No one in this neighborhood could afford a Rolls-Royce, and no one in their right mind would bring one here unless they had a damn good reason.
Mulch hadn't noticed it yet, but I could tell by the way his shoulders shifted when he felt something was off.
My fingers instinctively grazed the strap of my hidden gun.