Mia's POV
From the top of the stairs, I watched them all.
Money-hungry gobblers and thieves, parading themselves with pride and dignity as if the dirt on their hands wasn't obvious. And in those same filthy hands, they carried power—enough to buy anything, to destroy anyone. Power that could strip lives bare and leave a void no amount of money could fill.
And tonight, one of them was going to die.
"Our target just entered the room," Red's voice hummed in my ear. My gaze snapped to the entrance, finding two suited men stepping in.
"He's six-two, muscular, black hair… drop-dead gorgeous," she recited, making me roll my eyes. I wasn't blind—I'd probably still notice. But a pretty face wouldn't stop me from putting a bullet through it.
"Currently in a navy-blue suit."
My eyes shifted, landing on the navy. Just as I was about to get a clear look, someone blocked my view.
"His name is none other than—"
"I need a clearer view," I cut her off, already descending the stairs. My heels clicked against marble as I weaved into the gathering, eyes fixed on the target now surrounded by admirers. And at his side—Andrea Parkinson.
The Barbie whose dress I had ruined minutes ago.
Andrea.
The girl who had made my high school years hell simply because the boy she wanted had a crush on me. She was the perfect it-girl with money, looks, charm, everything handed to her on a silver platter. And then there was me.
Timid. Shy. Pretty face, nerdy brain. The girl who wanted to save lives. To be a doctor. To make the world better after the city had already failed her.
But that girl was far gone and instead of saving lives, I was taking them. Which was why I hated this city
This was the same city where my parents built a home. The same city that couldn't save my ill mother, framed my father, and tore my life to shreds. It was where I'd chased my dreams—only to be forced into hiding, into a new identity, just to survive.
And of course, Andrea had played her part. She'd clawed at me when I fell in love—when he fell in love with me. The man who got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife on the spot where we first kissed. The man I said yes to. The man I lost.
Last I'd heard, he'd left the country.
And now Andrea was introducing herself to my target, no doubt planning to brag about him to her friends before he was even hers. Typical.
Too bad he wouldn't be breathing long enough for that.
I smiled faintly, adjusting my view. I needed to see his face. To know who I was about to kill.
But before I could, someone grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. Instinct flared—I twisted, fist ready, elbow striking—only to have my attack blocked. Effortlessly.
Only one man could do that.
"Mi amore."
Ash.
"I see you've gotten better with your left-side attacks," he drawled, smirk audible in his voice.
My gaze slid up to his face, to those dangerous eyes I knew too well. He released my wrist only to curve his hand over my waist, pulling me closer. His fingers brushed my hair from my shoulder, his breath ghosting against my ear.
"Care to join me on the dance floor?"
I glared, but nodded once. My mind was screaming—what the hell was he doing here? Ash always watched my missions from the shadows. He never interfered. He liked playing puppet-master, amused by the way life could flip from joy to despair in seconds.
Handsome sociopath. That's what most would call him.
But me? I'd seen the vulnerable part he buried.
The orchestra swelled as we moved to the rhythm, his hands locked at my waist, thumbs teasing the thin fabric of my dress.
"You look stunning, mi amore," he murmured, thick Italian accent curling around the words.
"You don't look too bad yourself," I muttered. "Now cut the chase. Why are you here?"
He spun me, pulled me close again, lips brushing my ear.
"You know the drill, Mia. Kill or get killed."
His tone shifted—playful pervert gone, devil in his place. The switch chilled me every time.
"I don't give two fucks about your emotional bullshit," he whispered, fingers toying with my hair. "Do your job right, and we all live happily ever after."
The way he stressed live made my stomach knot.
And what did he mean by emotional bull shit.
"Go fuck yourself, Ash. I have a job to do."
He chuckled, dancing as if this were nothing but foreplay.
I groaned, snatching a glass from a passing waiter, the burn of alcohol dulling my unease. Ash was plotting something—I could feel it.
I pressed my phone to my ear, murmuring to Red so no one would notice.
"What the hell was that about? Ash made sure I couldn't hear him."
"Nothing important. Update me on the target—let's get this over with."
"Mia… shit. He's actually right behind you—"
I turned and collided with a hard chest. My phone hit the floor alongside with my mask. Strong arms caught me by the waist, steadying me before I could fall.
And then I smelled him.
The navy suit.
The solid frame.
But most of all—the scent. A scent I knew even in my sleep.
No.
No, no, no.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
My heart stopped. The world went silent.
Alexander.
"Your target," Red's voice cracked in my ear before my earpiece slipped free.
Alexander Cartel.
My ex-fiancé