Disguised to kill the mafia heir

Francesa’s POV

Two weeks later

I adjusted the collar of my crisp black shirt, rolling my shoulders as I took in my reflection. The brown contacts dulled the intensity of my usual violet eyes, and the short, tousled wig completed the disguise.

Dressed in a fitted suit with a masculine cut, I could pass for a man without question because of my athletic build.

They won’t suspect a thing.

And I couldn’t afford any more distractions.

Especially not after that night.

God.

That stupid, reckless night.

I told myself I’d never go to a party again.

Never again let Claudia’s chaotic energy pull me into some glittering hellhole packed with sweat and lust and too many drunk souls with no sense of danger.

And yet, I was getting drunk.

Letting my guard down like a fucking idiot.

But what really kept me up afterward…

Was him.

Some stranger with a voice so deep and a touch that fried my brain like static on wet skin.

I didn’t even bother to ask his name.

Didn’t care. Just bodies colliding in the dark, hot and unhinged.

The kind of contact that burned its way under the skin and whispered things no assassin should ever feel.

How the hell did I do something so erotic, so mindless, with someone I didn’t even know?

I hated it.

And I loved it.

And I hated that I loved it.

The morning after, I woke up in some sleek, unfamiliar room.

My gown was crumpled on the floor like the remnants of my common sense.

Thank the stars I’d removed my hidden weapon before my brain decided to melt under his touch.

Because one wrong grip of my thigh and his hand would’ve met steel.

That would've ruined the moment, wouldn't it?

I don’t remember much else.

Just flashes. About his hand, his scent, his voice.

Never again.

I reminded myself that there’s no room for indulgence in my line of work.

Desire makes you hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.

Now I had to focus. Because the mission Mr. Edwards gave me two weeks ago wasn’t just important.

It was personal.

My chance to avenge my sister.

***

Flashback- a week ago

“No.” His voice lost its amusement, turning cold. “This time… it’s about her.”

I froze.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the folder, the paper crinkling under my grip.

I lifted my gaze, my purple eyes burning into his. “Go on.”

“The document you hold is an application to be a bodyguard in the Syndicate”

Edwards leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. "The De Luca Syndicate is looking for new bodyguards," he said. "And you’re going to be one of them."

I scoffed, flipping the folder open. My gaze skimmed over the official documents, the requirements, the fine print. The De Luca crest stamped in the corner sent a sick thrill down my spine.

"Only men allowed," I murmured.

Edwards nodded. "That won’t be a problem for you. You will be in disguise.” He leaned closer. "Now you have the chance to avenge your sister after all these years.”

I had felt my pulse thrum in my ears. My fingers pressed harder into the paper, threatening to tear it. After all these years.

I lifted my chin, forcing my expression into something neutral. “And the target?”

Edwards smirked, tilting his head slightly. “The heir to the Syndicate.”

A slow, cold smile crept into my lips. Killing two birds with one stone. I finally had a way in, and now the Syndicate was practically opening the door for me.

"Why do they want him dead?" I asked, keeping my tone casual, but my grip on the folder betrayed me.

Edwards shrugged, his sharp eyes watching me too closely. "Power struggles, internal betrayals, typical underworld nonsense." He waved a dismissive hand. "But that’s not your concern, is it?"

I met his gaze, holding back the storm brewing inside me. "No," I admitted. "I don’t care why they want him dead."

What mattered was who he was.

The son of the man that killed my sister.

Then we’re in agreement."

I snapped the folder shut. "When do I start?"

"In two week. You’ll need to prepare."

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back. “Disguising as a man won’t be an issue. But they’ll be testing all applicants. What kind of tests?”

Edwards smirked. "Physical endurance, firearms proficiency, hand-to-hand combat. All the things you excel at." His eyes gleamed with something like amusement. "Honestly, they should be worried about you more than the other way around."

I tapped the folder against my palm, considering the challenge. "And my cover?"

"We have documents, ID, and a fabricated background for you. As far as the Syndicate is concerned, you’re just another mercenary looking for work."

I exhaled through my nose, a slow, steady breath. The memory of my sister’s scream echoed in the back of my mind. I pushed it down. Locked it away.

I am stronger now.

I turned, heading for the door.

"Francesa."

I paused, glancing over my shoulder.

Edwards’ expression was unreadable, but his voice was smooth. "Make it count."

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. "I always do."

***

Present day

A week of preparation, of adjusting my stance, my voice, the way I moved. All for this moment. I grabbed my car keys from the dresser. Time to drive into the lion’s den. And set it on fire from the inside.

————

The towering iron gates of the De Luca estate loomed ahead, a silent warning that I was about to step into the belly of the beast. The guards flanking the entrance were dressed in black, their hands resting on the weapons at their sides, eyes sharp with suspicion.

I slowed the car to a stop, rolling down the window as one of them approached. His gaze flickered over me, taking in the sharp lines of my disguise-short hair, masculine features, the slight stubble I had carefully applied.

“ID,” he demanded.

I pulled out the forged identification card, passing it to him without hesitation.

“Franco Moretti,” I said, my voice dropping into the rougher, deeper tone I had practiced for days. “Here for the bodyguard application.”

The guard took his time examining the ID, his eyes narrowing slightly before he gestured for another man to check the system. I kept my expression neutral, steady. This was routine. They wouldn’t find anything out of place.

“You armed?” the first guard asked, nodding toward the car.

I shook my head. “Didn’t bring anything but myself.” A calculated lie. I knew they’d search the car anyway.

He motioned for me to step out, and I obeyed, standing still as they conducted a quick pat-down. Finding nothing, they turned to the vehicle, opening the trunk, checking beneath the seats. I waited, my posture relaxed, like I had nothing to hide.

Finally, the second guard returned, giving the first a nod. “He’s clear.”

The first guard handed back my ID, his expression still unreadable. “Drive through. Park in the designated lot. Someone will escort you inside.”

I gave a curt nod, rolling up the window as I eased the car past the gate.

The estate stretched ahead, a fortress of wealth and power. Every inch of it screamed control, arrogance. They thought they were untouchable.

They had no idea that death had just walked through their front door.

I pulled into the designated parking area, shutting off the engine with a steady hand.

I stepped out of the car, the faint click of the door echoing against the stillness of the estate grounds. A suited escort was already waiting. His expression was blank, but he moved efficiently.

“Follow me,” he said, without even glancing twice.

I adjusted the collar of my jacket, making sure everything was still in place.

We moved through pristine halls that reeked of old money and blood-covered secrets. Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath our feet, and polished portraits of De Luca ancestors lined the walls like silent judges.

Eventually, I was led into a wide lounge area. Several applicants of different build were already seated, dressed in varying degrees of professionalism and arrogance.

I blended in easily. And waited.

Minutes dragged by.

The room smelled of cologne, cheap ambition, and nerves. My fingers tapped once against my thigh—an old habit I buried as quickly as it surfaced.

Then a man approached us. He had the air of someone used to being obeyed, shoulders squared like the military had once been home. He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod.

“It’s time,” he said. “But before we begin the interviews… the Heir of the De Luca Syndicate wants to see you all.”

The heir?

We were taken into a different room that is deeper inside the estate. The walls here were darker. Velvet drapes and polished wood swallowed the lights.

He stood near the window, his back to us. One hand tucked in his pocket. The other held a glass of dark liquor.

He had a board shoulder and a sharp waist.

Casual command in the way he stood. Something about that back…

That’s too much of a coincidence.

It couldn’t be.

I shoved the thought aside.

Then he turned.

My breath caught. Just for a second.

There he was.

The man from two weeks ago.

The stranger who touched me like he owned my skin. The man whose mouth turned my thoughts to static.

The man I let in, stupid and drunk and burning with something I never should’ve allowed to surface.

I’d run my hands down those abs. Bit into that collarbone. Felt him groan into my neck like he wanted to drown in me.

And now here he was.

The Heir of the fucking De Luca Syndicate.

You’ve got to be kidding me.