Chapter 5 Let the Game Begin
Steel rings against steel.
My fist connects with a sharp crack. The man staggers back. He barely stays on his feet. Sweat burns my eyes. My lungs ache. Good. Pain keeps me focused.
“Again,” I say.
He hesitates. That is his mistake.
I move fast. Too fast. I hook his arm, twist, and drive him into the mat. He hits hard and stays down. The room goes silent.
Matteo stands at the doorway.
That alone tells me enough.
“Out,” I say.
The men leave immediately. No questions. No delay.
I reach for a towel and wipe my face. My muscles are tight. The pounding in my head drowns out everything else.
I turn to Matteo. “What is it.”
He exhales slowly. “Someone tried to hack into our medical database and shipment records last night.”
I stop moving.
“That’s not possible,” I say. “That system is sealed. Triple layered. Not even the best hackers get close.”
“I know,” Matteo says. “That’s why I’m here. The alarm went off. They breached the second wall.”
The towel tightens in my fist.
“They should not have breached anything.”
“They didn’t get far,” he continues. “I shut it down as soon as the alert hit.”
Good. But still not enough. I don't like the fact that it was breached in the first place.
“Who,” I ask.
Matteo hesitates. That hesitation irritates me more than the breach.
“I traced the attempt,” he says. “It was clean. Professional. Military-grade precision.”
My jaw tightens.
“And,” I say.
“I called the number that pinged during the breach,” he continues. “To warn them.”
My eyes lift slowly.
“And.”
“It was a woman,” he says. “The voice was female.”
Something sharp settles in my chest.
“What did she say.”
“She didn’t deny it,” Matteo replies. “She stayed calm. Asked questions. Too calm.”
A picture starts forming in my mind. I seem to have an idea just who that female is.
“And she identified herself,” Matteo adds quietly.
I look at him now.
“She answered as Captain Russo.”
The name lands hard.
Captain Russo.
The General’s daughter.
The military’s golden blade.
The one who has been hunting my shadow for years.
My expression darkens. My thoughts slow and sharpen at the same time.
“So,” I say, my voice low, “the military didn’t just attack my warehouse last night.”
Matteo shakes his head. “No. They came prepared. And she was digging into our database na drug supply information.”
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. It is not a pleasant one.
“Interesting,” I murmur.
“She is dangerous,” Matteo says. “Smart and persistent.”
“Yes,” I reply. “And she has no idea what she's getting herself into. I admire her boldness.”
Matteo studies me. “What do you want done?”
I drop the towel onto the bench and straighten. Every trace of exhaustion fades.
“Nothing,” I say. “Not yet.”
He frowns. “She breached your walls.”
“And paid for it with exposure,” I answer. “She wanted proof. She left fingerprints instead.”
Matteo nods slowly. “You want her watched.”
“I want her studied,” I correct. “Every move. Every pattern. Every weakness.”
“And if she tries again.”
I smile. Cold and controlled.
“She will,” I say. “People like Captain Russo never stop once they smell blood.”
Matteo hesitates. “And when she does.”
I turn toward the door. “Then I will decide whether she is an enemy to eliminate.”
I pause.
“Or a weapon to turn.”
Captain Russo.
So that is the woman brave enough to knock on my door.
Good.
Let her come closer.
I'll be waiting.
The door closes behind Matteo.
The sound is soft, but final.
Silence settles into the room like a second skin.
I stay where I am for a moment. Still. Thinking. The name Matteo dropped refuses to leave my head. It circles. Sharp. Persistent.
Captain Amelia Russo.
I walk to my desk and sit. The chair creaks under my weight. I do not rush. Rushing leads to mistakes. I pull my laptop closer and open it. The screen lights the room in a cold blue glow.
If she is hunting me, then I am allowed to hunt her back.
I type her name.
Captain Amelia Russo. Italian military. Special operations.
The file loads slowly. Too slowly.
I narrow my eyes.
Someone tried to bury her information. Someone powerful. Probably her father, the General.
Her profile finally appears.
I lean back in my chair.
There she is.
I stare at the screen longer than I should.
Captain Amelia Russo.
Her photo loads in high definition. Military profile. Neutral background. No smile. Hair pulled back tight like she is always ready for a fight. Hazel eyes. Sharp. Calm. I know those eyes. I have seen them before, burning through smoke and chaos.
My fingers still on the mouse.
I lean forward.
I zoom in.
Her face first. High cheekbones. Strong jaw. Soft mouth that looks like it rarely smiles. She looks disciplined. Controlled. Like she was raised on rules and expectations. Like she never learned how to break them.
Then I scroll.
Full body shot. Uniform fitted perfectly. Broad shoulders. Slim waist. Strong thighs. The posture gives it away. This is not a woman who plays soldier. This is a woman who fights.
I exhale slowly.
I compare her to the memory burned into my head. The raid. Night vision. Gunfire. Orders shouted in Italian. One officer moving faster than the rest. Too fast. Too precise. She fought like she had something personal to prove.
Same height. Same build. Same way of holding herself.
It clicks.
I grin.
So it was you.
Captain Russo.
I lean back in my chair and let out a low laugh. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous. Fate has a sick sense of humor, and tonight it is on my side.
No one in this country knows me as Lorenzo Moretti. That name is buried under blood and bodies. To them, I am Luca D’Angelo. Billionaire. CEO. Philanthropist. The man who shakes hands with generals and signs checks for hospitals. The man the media loves.
Two faces. One truth.
And Captain Russo has no idea which one she fought that night.
I tap my fingers against the desk. Slow. Thoughtful.
I could use this identity of mine to play a game with Captain Russo. Step into her world clean. Polished. Untouchable. Let her see Luca D’Angelo. Let her trust him. Let her lower her guard.
Maybe even get her into my bed.
The thought settles deep and slow.
What better way to destroy General Russo than his own daughter fucking the enemy. Not just any enemy. THE enemy. The Mafia Lord who has haunted military briefings and classified reports for years. The ghost they never catch. The name whispered behind closed doors.
I can already see it.
The general’s face when the truth comes out. The rage. The shame. The helplessness.
I smile wider.
I have a plan.
I always do.
I pull my phone closer and scroll through my contacts. Event planners. Security heads. Assistants who do not ask questions. Money moves fast when people fear you and admire you at the same time.
I am going to throw a party.
A big one.
The kind of party that makes headlines. The kind that draws every high class name in the country. Politicians. Generals. Business elites. Old money and dangerous power dressed in expensive suits.
The Russo family will be there.
They will not even hesitate. An invitation from Luca D’Angelo is not something people refuse. Especially not a general who needs allies and public goodwill.
I glance back at the screen.
Amelia Russo.
I zoom in again. Lower this time. The uniform hides nothing. Her breasts are full. Firm. Perfectly proportioned. I tilt my head, imagining the weight of them in my hands. The warmth. The way she would tense before she melts.
I smirk.
Perfect size.
I already know she will fight me at first. Women like her always do. Strong. Stubborn. Loyal to their principles. Loyal to their fathers. Loyal to the flag.
That makes it better.
I picture her at the party. Out of uniform. In a dress she does not know how to wear comfortably. Hair down. Guard half raised. Watching the room like it might attack her.
Watching me.
I will smile at her. Offer my hand. Say her name like it matters.
Captain Russo.
No. Amelia.
I chuckle softly to myself.
This is going to be fun.
I close the laptop slowly and stand. The city lights stretch outside the window. Beautiful. Corrupt. Mine. Somewhere out there, Amelia Russo is probably finishing a report, unaware that her life just took a sharp turn.
I straighten my cufflinks and walk toward the door.
“Amelia Russo,” I mutter under my breath, my voice calm and certain.
“I’m coming for you.”
I pick up my phone before the grin leaves my face.
There is only one person I call when things start moving fast.
Matteo answers on the second ring.
“You sound pleased,” he says. “That is never good news.”
“I need a party,” I reply. “Big. Loud. Expensive. The kind people talk about for months.”
There is a pause on the line. I can almost see him narrowing his eyes.
“You always need a party,” Matteo says. “What makes this one special?”
“Everyone who matters must be there,” I say calmly. “Politicians. Generals. Business elites. Old families. New money. Everyone.”
Another pause.
“And the Russo family,” I add.
This time, he exhales slowly. “Ren.”
“I want it flawless,” I continue. “Top security. No mistakes. No leaks. Invitations go out personally.”
“You are playing a dangerous game,” Matteo says. His voice drops. No jokes now. No sarcasm. “General Russo is not just any general. And his daughter is worse.”
I smile. “I know.”
“You do not,” he snaps. “You crossed her once already. That raid was not an accident. She leads with instinct. She will recognize you.”
“She won’t,” I say. “She saw a mask that night. Blood. Smoke. Chaos. Not Luca D’Angelo in a tailored suit.”
Matteo sighs. “You are mixing business with revenge. That never ends well.”
“This is not revenge,” I reply. “This is strategy.”
“Using his daughter,” he says quietly. “That makes it personal.”
“It has always been personal,” I say. “Send the invitations.”
Silence stretches between us.
Finally, Matteo speaks. “If this goes wrong, it will explode in your face.”
I chuckle. “It always does. That is why I win.”
He mutters something under his breath, probably a prayer or a curse. “I will make the arrangements.”
“Good,” I say. “And Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“Make sure Captain Amelia Russo gets her invitation directly.”
He ends the call without another word.
I lower the phone and stand. My reflection stares back at me from the dark glass. Calm face. Cold eyes. The monster sits comfortably beneath the skin.
I head to my room.
The shower is cold. On purpose. Water hits my skin hard, sharp enough to keep my thoughts in line. Amelia’s face tries to slip back into my head. I shove it aside. Control first. Desire later.
I dress slowly. Clean shirt. Dark trousers. Watch perfectly aligned on my wrist. The man the world trusts.
By the time I leave my room, I am Luca D’Angelo again.
The dining room doors are already open.
The smell of coffee and fresh bread fills the air. I step inside and stop.
Sophia sits at the long table.
Not at the head. Never there. She sits at the other end. The chair opposite mine. Like she is challenging something she has no right to touch.
My jaw tightens.
I growl low in my throat before I can stop myself. Her presence crawls under my skin. Too familiar. Too unwanted.
I step forward anyway.
“I thought you left,” I say sharply.
Sophia looks up at me and grins. Wide. Confident. Annoying.
“Of course not,” she says lightly. “I thought we should have breakfast together. You know.”
She gestures at the table like this is her house. Like she belongs here.
I roll my eyes and walk to the head of the table. I pull the chair back and sit. Slow. Deliberate. Claiming my place.
I signal with one hand.
The staff moves instantly. Plates appear. Cutlery clinks softly. Coffee is poured without a word.
I do not look at Sophia.
I focus on my food.
Sophia watches me. I feel it. Her gaze sticks to my skin like oil.
“You are up early,” she says. “Did you miss me?”
I take a sip of coffee. Calm. Controlled.
“No.”
She laughs. Soft and fake. “Still charming as ever.”
“Eat your breakfast,” I say. “And keep quiet.”
Her smile falters for half a second. Then it returns, sharper this time.
“You are in a bad mood,” she says. “That usually means someone else is occupying your thoughts.”
I set my cup down slowly.
“You talk too much,” I say. “That has always been your problem.”
She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. Deliberate. Calculated.
“And you always hate it when I am right,” she replies.
I pick up my fork. Cut into my food. The knife moves clean and precise. If she notices the tension in my grip, she does not comment.
“Finish your meal,” I say. “Then leave.”
Sophia chuckles. “You cannot get rid of me that easily, Ren.”
I lift my eyes and finally look at her. Really look at her.
Cold.
“You are already gone,” I say. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”
Her grin tightens. She studies my face like she is searching for cracks.
“Well,” she says after a moment, “I suppose I will enjoy breakfast while I still can.”
I ignore her again.
Because my mind is already elsewhere.
A grand hall filled with music and power. A woman stepping inside, unaware she is walking straight into my trap.
Captain Amelia Russo.
And the game has already begun.