Chapter 3

Blood always came before desire. Until now.

---

Lorenzo's grip tightened on his phone, his entire body going still.

"Speak," he commanded.

His right-hand man, Enzo, responded in a low, urgent tone. "It's an ambush, boss. We were tracking movement outside the docks, but it wasn't just a few scouts—it's a fucking battalion. They're moving in fast, heavily armed. Someone sold us out."

Lorenzo's muscles coiled like a predator about to strike. "Who?"

Silence.

Then: "We're still confirming, but—"

A sharp, muffled gunshot rang through the phone, followed by shouting.

"Enzo!" Lorenzo barked.

No answer.

A sickening chill slithered down his spine.

He turned, ready to move, but Valentina was already watching him, reading him the way only she could. "What happened?"

Lorenzo's mind spun. He was supposed to kill her. Or at least use her. But right now? Right now, she was his best shot at surviving the night.

"Someone's making their move," he said, slipping his gun from his holster. "Get your shit. We're leaving."

Valentina didn't hesitate. She tossed back the rest of her whiskey, grabbed her clutch—where he knew she kept a concealed blade—and stepped forward, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Who's the target?" she asked.

Lorenzo smirked. "Me."

She tilted her head. "Then I hope you can run in those expensive-ass shoes."

His eyes darkened. "I don't run, sweetheart."

"Good," she murmured, moving past him toward the door. "Because neither do I."

Fucking hell.

He didn't know if he wanted to shoot her or fuck her.

Maybe both.

---

They barely made it to the underground parking lot before the first shots rang out.

"Down!" Lorenzo snarled, shoving Valentina behind a black SUV as bullets sprayed against the concrete walls.

"Well, this is fun," she muttered, pressing her back against the vehicle. "You sure know how to treat a lady."

He gritted his teeth, popping off two shots toward their attackers. "Shut up and shoot."

She grinned, sliding her gun from her clutch. "Now you're speaking my language."

Valentina moved like a ghost—silent, fast, efficient. Lorenzo had seen trained killers move with less finesse. She dropped one man with a clean shot between the eyes, then another before he could even raise his weapon.

Lorenzo almost admired her.

Almost.

But right now, survival came first.

He reached for her wrist, yanking her close. "We need to move. My men are compromised. We're on our own."

Her pulse thrummed beneath his grip, but she didn't waver. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

---

The moment they were safe—holed up in one of Lorenzo's secure safehouses—the air between them shifted.

He slammed the door shut, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. She tossed her gun onto the counter, running a hand through her hair, eyes blazing.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" she demanded.

"An attempted execution," he growled. "And I'm betting Dante is behind it."

She let out a sharp laugh. "Dante? Please. If that man wanted you dead, he'd send a bomb, not foot soldiers. Someone else is moving pieces behind the scenes."

Lorenzo's jaw clenched. She was right. But that wasn't what was getting to him.

It was her.

The way she was standing there—wild, dangerous, so fucking beautiful it hurt.

And worse?

She was unaffected. Like she hadn't just fought for her life. Like the gunfire was nothing. Like he was nothing.

He stepped forward, invading her space. "That was close."

She didn't back away. "I can handle close."

His eyes darkened. "You sure about that?"

"Try me."

His hand shot out, gripping her chin, tilting her face up. Her breath hitched—just a fraction—but it was enough.

Enough for him to know she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended.

Enough for him to test the waters.

"You walk into my world, you play by my rules," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.

Valentina smirked, leaning in slightly—just enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. "I don't play by anyone's rules, Lorenzo. Not even yours."

Fuck.

His control snapped.

Their mouths crashed together, a collision of power, rage, and something neither of them wanted to name. Something neither of them could stop.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was a war.

Teeth. Tongues. Hands fisting in hair. She bit his lip; he groaned, shoving her against the wall. The taste of whiskey and blood mingled between them, the sharp edge of danger making it all the more intoxicating.

But just as quickly as it started, she pulled away, breathing hard, eyes dark.

"You still don't trust me," she murmured.

Lorenzo's chest rose and fell. "No. And you don't trust me either."

A smirk ghosted her lips. "Good. It'll make this more fun."

Game fucking on.