Chapter Nine - Luka

Pricilla Moretti was sharp. Too sharp for my liking.

She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was starting to sense something was off. The way she had looked at me tonight, like she was peeling back layers of my skin with just her eyes, it was dangerous. She trusted me—at least, she thought she did—but trust was a fickle thing, and I had spent too long perfecting the art of deception to let it slip now.

I moved through the estate like a shadow, weaving through hallways I had memorized years ago. The Morettis had built this place to be a fortress, impenetrable from the outside. But from the inside? It was nothing more than a gilded cage.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. One message. No name. Just an encrypted line of text.

"Update?"

I slipped into the empty study before responding.

"She doesn't suspect me yet. But she's getting restless. Might need to push her in the right direction soon.

The reply came almost instantly.

"Keep her close."

I exhaled slowly, staring at the message for a moment before deleting it. Anton was getting impatient.

He wanted Pricilla cornered, tangled in whatever web he was spinning. And my job was to make sure she walked right into it without realizing.

Easy.

Or at least, it should have been.

But there was something about her that made this job feel different.

I had spent years lying to people. I had mastered the art of playing both sides, of keeping my expression blank, my words calculated. But every time I looked into Pricilla's stormy blue eyes, I felt like I was staring into a hurricane, unpredictable and dangerous. She wasn't like the others. She didn't blindly follow orders, didn't let her father control her the way most of the Moretti men did.

She was independent. A fighter.

And if Anton thought she was going to break easily, he was a fool.

I leaned back against the desk, running a hand through my hair. I had told myself from the beginning that this was just a job. A means to an end.

But every time I watched her walk through these halls with that sharp gaze, every time I saw the way she carried herself—strong, defiant—I wondered if I was underestimating her just as much as everyone else.

I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what Anton planned to do with her. He wasn't after her father—he was after her.

Because Pricilla Moretti was more than just the daughter of a crime lord. She was an heir. A threat.

And Anton never left threats alive.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and stepped out of the study, schooling my features into something unreadable. I didn't have time for distractions.

Because if I wasn't careful, I'd end up just another piece on Anton's chessboard.

By the time I made it back to the main hall, the estate had quieted. The party was over, and most of the guests had already left, leaving behind only the remnants of expensive cigars and half-empty glasses of whiskey. Pricilla had disappeared somewhere, likely retreating to her room after the exhausting night.

I needed to find her. Not because I wanted to. But because Anton would expect a report.

I moved quickly, my footsteps soundless against the marble floors. The Moretti estate had been my second home for years, and yet, I had never truly belonged here. I was always a shadow, a presence lurking in the background, always watching, always listening.

And now, I was more than just a shadow. I was a traitor.

A flicker of movement caught my eye near the balcony. I slowed my pace, pressing into the darkness as I spotted her. Pricilla.

She was leaning against the railing, her back to me, staring out into the night. The moonlight cast a silver glow on her dark hair, highlighting the sharp angles of her face.

She looked untouchable. Unbreakable.

I almost turned back. Almost left her to whatever thoughts were consuming her. But I wasn't here to admire her—I was here to control her. To make sure she never strayed too far from the path Anton wanted her on.

I cleared my throat, making my presence known.

She didn't turn. Didn't even flinch.

"I know you're there, Luka," she said, her voice smooth, unreadable. "You move quietly, but not quiet enough."

I smirked, stepping closer. "Didn't think you were the type to enjoy a party. Thought you'd be asleep by now."

She let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Sleep doesn't come easy when you have a target on your back."

There it was. That sharp intuition of hers. She knew something was wrong, even if she couldn't quite place it.

I leaned against the railing beside her, keeping my expression neutral. "You think someone's after you?"

She finally turned to look at me, those ocean-blue eyes searching mine. Looking for cracks.

"I know someone is," she said softly. "I just don't know who."

For a moment, I felt something I shouldn't have. A flicker of guilt. But I buried it deep. Guilt had no place in this game.

"You think your father's enemies are getting bold?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. "Moretti doesn't exactly have a spotless reputation."

She scoffed. "My father's enemies have always been bold. That's nothing new." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "But I think whoever it is… they're already close."

My fingers tightened against the railing.

She was too close to the truth.

I forced a smirk, shaking my head. "Sounds like paranoia, Princess."

Her gaze darkened at the nickname. "Don't call me that."

There it was. That fire. That rage.

She hated me. Maybe not as much as she hated Anton, but it was enough to make my job easier. As long as she saw me as nothing more than a soldier, a piece on her father's chessboard, she'd never see the knife I had pointed at her back.

"I'm just saying," I continued, keeping my voice light, "you might be reading too much into things. Stress can do that to you."

She exhaled slowly, turning back to the view. "Maybe."

But she didn't believe it. And neither did I.

She was going to figure it out eventually.

And when she did, I wasn't sure which one of us would be left standing.

Pricilla didn't move for a while, her hands gripping the balcony railing as if steadying herself. The tension between us was thick, her suspicion lingering in the air like cigarette smoke.

She was right to be wary.

I was a traitor. A liar. A man who had already chosen his side. And yet, standing beside her in the dim glow of the estate, something about the weight of her gaze made my loyalty feel… unsteady.

"You always do that," she muttered, breaking the silence.

I frowned. "Do what?"

"Act like things don't matter. Like nothing ever touches you." She turned her head slightly, eyes locking onto mine. "Like you're always watching from the outside."

I let out a quiet chuckle, keeping my expression unreadable. "Maybe I am."

Her jaw clenched, her irritation flashing across her face before she masked it again. That was the thing about Pricilla—she was always fighting. Even in silence, even when she didn't need to, she was bracing for war.

If only she knew she was already in the middle of one.

I pushed off the railing, stretching out my arms lazily. "You should get some sleep. Worrying about ghosts won't do you any favors."

She didn't move. Didn't speak.

Then, just as I turned to walk away, she said, "I don't trust you."

The words sent a sharp jolt through my chest, but I didn't let it show. Slowly, I looked back over my shoulder, smirking. "Good."

I meant it.

If she trusted me, she'd be dead.

I left her standing there in the cold, knowing damn well this wouldn't be the last time we'd dance around the truth. But the longer this game lasted, the more dangerous it became.

Because while she didn't trust me…

I wasn't sure I trusted myself anymore.