Raven's POV:
The warehouse office reeked of cheap cigar smoke and stale whiskey, a stench that clung to Victor like a second skin. I stood in the dim light, the desk lamp casting jagged shadows across his face, his eyes tracking me like a hawk sizing up a rabbit.
He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his black shirt straining against the tattoos snaking down his forearms. I didn't flinch, didn't blink, but my heart knocked against my ribs, a traitor to my calm exterior.
"You're late," Victor said, his voice low, a growl wrapped in silk.
I raised my chin, meeting his gaze. "You said midnight. It's eleven fifty-eight."
He pushed off the desk, stalking toward me, each step deliberate, like a storm rolling in.
"You think this is a fucking joke?" His breath was hot, sour with vodka. "Lorenzo De Luca isn't some street scum you can drug and slit. He's a king. He'll see through your tits and lies in two seconds if you screw this up."
"I won't," I said, my voice steady, though my fingers twitched for the blade hidden in my boot. I saw it coming, the way his eyes narrowed, the way his hand moved.
It was lightning, his fingers clamped around my throat, slamming me against the wall.
My breath caught, my hands flying to his wrist, nails digging into his skin. His grip was a vice, his face inches from mine, eyes burning with something darker than anger.
"You better not," he hissed. "If you do, Lily's the one who pays. You want me to visit her again? Break that fragile little neck she's so proud of?"
Fury surged, hot and sharp, but I forced it down. Killing him now would end me, end Lily. "I'll get it done," I rasped, my voice scraping past his hold.
He smirked, releasing me with a shove. I staggered, catching myself against the wall, my chest heaving but my eyes locked on his.
"Good girl," he said, fixing his collar like he hadn't just threatened to murder my sister.
"Seduce him. Find his weakness. Make him trust you. And when the time comes…" He dragged a finger across his throat, slow and deliberate. "Make it count."
I didn't answer. I turned and walked out, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. My fingers trembled, not from fear, not anymore, but from the rage I couldn't unleash…yet. Victor's words echoed in my head, a chain tighter than his grip. Lily. Always Lily.
Five years ago, I'd been nineteen, broke, watching her fade in a hospital bed, her sketches scattered across the sheets. Victor's deal had saved her, but it chained me to this life, dancing, killing, bleeding for men who thought they owned the world.
Tonight, it was Lorenzo De Luca. The Viper. A man who'd carved his empire with bullets and betrayal. A man who'd see through me if I faltered.
Club Serpent's backstage was a den of shadows and lust, the kind of place where the wrong people came to lose themselves in the right bodies. I shut the dressing room door behind me, leaning against it, my breath uneven.
The vanity light flickered, casting golden halos on the cracked mirror. My reflection stared back, black lace lingerie hugging my curves, stockings gripping my thighs like a lover's hands, crimson robe slipping off my shoulders. My hair was pinned, wild, my lips glossed red, the color of blood, the color of lies.
The mask lay on the vanity, smooth, black, elegant. It wasn't just for show. It was armor, a weapon. Raven, the sister, the survivor, was weak. But Raven, the masked seductress, was untouchable. I sat, picking up the brush, running it through my hair slowly. Control the nerves. Control the breath. The body is a weapon. Use it. Victor's training, burned into me like a brand.
But Lorenzo wasn't just another mark. He was a legend. They call him Il Diavolo Biondo, the Blond Devil. He is cold, calculated, and untouchable. Victor wanted him dead, and I wanted to know why. This job felt off, messy, personal. Victor never acted on emotion, but this smelled like revenge. And if I didn't play it perfectly, Lily would pay.
A knock at the door. "Staging in five," a girl stammered, her voice small. One of the club's dancers, oblivious to the blood behind the curtains.
"Tell Angelo to cue my song when I nod," I said, my tone sharp but calm.
She hesitated. "O-okay."
I checked the thigh holster beneath my garter, the slim blade cool against my skin. I wouldn't need it tonight. Not unless everything went wrong.
I opened my locker, pulling out the vial of perfume Victor had given me, it is expensive, exotic, laced with a scent meant to disarm. I dabbed it behind my ears, along my collarbone, between my thighs. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized, a predator in silk.
I slipped the mask on, the silk molding to my skin like it belonged there. Maybe it did.
The hallway to the stage was dark, each step echoing in my ears. The club's bass throbbed through the walls, a heartbeat pulsing with sin. I peeked through the curtain.
The VIP lounge gleamed, leather seats, crystal glasses, laughter soaked in danger. Men with fat wallets and emptier souls lounged, their eyes hungry for flesh.
And then I saw him.
Lorenzo De Luca sat in the far booth, his face half-lit by the golden glow of a chandelier. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, tattoos peeking from his forearms, blond hair slicked back, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other lazily tracing the rim. He looked bored, like he'd seen it all, tasted it all. His eyes, sharp and predatory, scanned the room, missing nothing.
My breath caught. He wasn't just dangerous. He was a storm, contained in a tailored suit, waiting to unleash. I'd killed men like him before, arrogant, powerful, and blind to their own weaknesses. But Lorenzo? He didn't look blind. He looked like he'd eat me alive.
"Ready?" Angelo, the stage manager, whispered behind me.
I nodded, my pulse steadying. I'd done this before. Made princes crawl, senators beg, CEOs cry my name like a prayer. But this one was different. If Lorenzo was the monster Victor claimed, the danger wasn't just in seducing him. It was in surviving him.
I stepped into the light, the heat of the club wrapping around me like a lover. The music shifted, slow and sensual, my cue. Eyes turned, conversations died, but I didn't look at them. I looked at him. Lorenzo's gaze met mine, and the air crackled, a spark before a fire.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his whiskey forgotten. His eyes didn't waver, didn't blink. They stripped me bare, mask and all, like he could see the blade in my garter, the blood on my hands. I moved, my hips swaying to the beat, each step a challenge, each twist a promise. I danced for the room, but every motion, every glance, was for him.
The crowd faded. It was just us, hunter and hunted, predator and prey. I didn't know which was which.
"Fuck," a man muttered nearby, his voice thick with lust. I ignored him, my eyes locked on Lorenzo's. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening on the glass. He wasn't bored anymore.
I descended the stage, my heels clicking, the mask hiding the tremor in my chest. I stopped before his booth, close enough to smell his cologne, it smelled of woodsmoke and danger. His gaze burned, cold and hungry, a king sizing up a threat. Or a prize.
"You dance like you own the room," he said, his voice low, gravelly, laced with an Italian accent that made my skin prickle.
I tilted my head, letting my hair spill over one shoulder. "Maybe I do," I said, my voice a purr, the first words I'd spoken to him.
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Bold. I like that."
"You don't know me," I said, stepping closer, my thigh brushing his knee. "Yet."
He leaned back, his eyes never leaving
mine. "I will."
The promise in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, not of fear, but something worse. It is desire. I turned, letting my robe slip to the floor, and walked back to the stage, feeling his gaze like a weight. I had him. He was hooked.
But as I danced, the mask hiding my truth, I knew the real danger wasn't his power, his empire, or even Victor's threats. It was the way my body responded to his stare, the way my heart betrayed me with a single beat.
I was sent to kill Lorenzo De Luca. But tonight, I'd make him want me. Tomorrow, I'd make him trust me.
And one day, I'd have to destroy him.
Or he'd destroy me first.