Elara (First Person POV)
The dining room felt colder than the marble it was built from. Gold light dripped from a chandelier that probably cost more than my entire apartment, but nothing about this place felt warm. Not the men standing by the walls, not the heavy silence that pressed against my chest, and definitely not the man sitting across from me.
Luciano DeLuca.
He looked at me like I was another contract waiting to be signed—or broken. That same dangerous calm that came before a storm.
"You're quiet tonight," he said, his tone smooth but edged. "Not what I expected from someone who walked into my office demanding a job."
My fingers curled around the wine glass, keeping them from trembling. "I didn't walk in demanding. I asked. There's a difference."
A faint smirk touched his lips. "You asked like someone who didn't fear the answer."
I took a sip of wine I couldn't taste. "Maybe I didn't."
He leaned back, the dim light catching the sharp line of his jaw. "Bravery and foolishness share the same root, Miss Moretti. Sometimes it's hard to tell which one is speaking."
I met his gaze. "Maybe that depends on who's listening."
The sound of his quiet chuckle made the men behind him shift uneasily. It wasn't loud, but it carried weight—like everything about him did.
He was testing me. Every word, every silence was a game of nerves.
I wasn't going to lose.
When the plates were cleared, he stood, and I followed, though my heels felt heavier than usual. He led me toward the balcony overlooking the city—Rome glittering below like a bed of shattered stars.
"Why are you really here, Elara?" he asked finally. His voice was low, almost tender. "You could have chosen any other place to work. Any safer place."
My heart thudded, but I forced my expression to stay cool. "Maybe I wanted to see what danger feels like up close."
He turned to face me, and for a second, his eyes softened. Just a flicker—enough to make me wonder if there was still something human beneath the steel.
"Be careful what you ask for," he murmured. "Danger likes to keep what it touches."
The night air brushed against my neck, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then he walked past me, the scent of his cologne—smoke and something darker—lingering in his wake.
"Dinner's over. Go home, Miss Moretti," he said, voice back to its usual command. "And next time you talk to me, don't lie."
He didn't turn when I asked, "What makes you think I'm lying?"
He paused at the door. "Because I recognize liars, Elara. They look too much like me."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the city lights and the truth I couldn't afford to admit.
I was lying.
But not about the job. About who I really was—and why I was here.
I stared at my reflection in the glass. The woman looking back wasn't the same one who had come to Rome three months ago. She was sharper now. Harder. Maybe more broken too.
"Careful, Elara," I whispered to myself. "Don't let him see you bleed."
Luciano (Second Person POV)
You knew from the first moment she walked into your office that Elara Moretti wasn't what she seemed.
Too calm. Too observant. Too composed for a woman applying to work under a man like you.
And yet—something about her made you keep her. Curiosity, maybe. Or that dangerous part of you that liked playing with fire.
From the balcony, you watched her reflection in the glass long after she thought you'd left. The way her lips pressed together, the slight tremor in her shoulders she tried to hide—it told you everything.
She wasn't here for the job.
You didn't know what she wanted yet, but you'd find out.
You always did.
Your men didn't question when you gave the order. "Have someone follow her home."
But as the car pulled away, your gaze lingered on the faint trace of her perfume in the air. Soft. Wild. Unfamiliar.
It unsettled you.
Because for the first time in a long time, the game didn't feel entirely in your hands.
Elara (First Person POV)
The night wrapped around me like a warning.
I should've gone straight home. Instead, I took the long way—past the empty fountain, the silent alleys, the streets that seemed to whisper my name.
Every step echoed louder than the last.
When I reached my apartment, I paused before unlocking the door. I could feel eyes on me.
Someone was watching.
I turned quickly—nothing. Just shadows.
But I knew better than to trust shadows.
Inside, I locked every bolt, dropped my purse on the counter, and exhaled shakily. My pulse still raced from the encounter with Luciano. The way he spoke. The way he looked at me. Like he was peeling back layers I didn't even know existed.
I didn't come here to feel anything. I came for revenge.
And feelings—especially toward a man like him—were a liability.
I opened my drawer, revealing the hidden envelope beneath a false bottom. Inside was a single photograph. A man, smiling. My brother.
And beside him—Luciano DeLuca.
My throat tightened.
Luciano didn't know me, but he had known my brother. And whatever had happened that night two years ago… he was part of it.
That's why I was here.
To find out what he did. To make him pay.
And if I had to play the part of his perfect employee, his confidante—then I would.
Even if it meant losing myself in the process.
Luciano (Second Person POV)
You poured yourself a drink, the ice clinking against glass, and stared out over the city.
For years, you'd learned to ignore guilt, regret, anything that felt human. But somehow, tonight, Elara's voice lingered in your head.
Her defiance. Her fear. The way her eyes searched yours, like she was looking for proof of something.
You didn't like that feeling.
You didn't like her effect on you.
Still, as the night deepened, one thought refused to fade—
you wanted to see her again.
Not as your employee.
As your next mistake.