Disguised to kill the mafia heir

Franco's POV I feared for a split second that he would recognize me, that the name Franco wouldn't be enough to mask the truth beneath my skin. But what stared back at me wasn't recognition. It was disgust. That same look I remembered from the end. The look that told me I was no longer enough. He shoved the supplies toward me. "I was told to bring this to you, Franco." His tone was clipped, detached, as though even standing there dirtied him. My hand trembled for a heartbeat before I snapped myself out of it, snatching the kit from him without a word. His jaw flexed, irritation flashing in his eyes. "I was also told to treat your wounds." "No," I cut in, voice rough but steady. "I'll do it myself." That wall of rejection-the one I'd spent years tearing my fists bloody against-slammed back into me with brutal force. Memories of everything all crashed down on me at once. Antonio's nostrils flared, his annoyance sharp. "Do whatever the hell you want. If you bleed out, it's not my problem." And just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away. I stood frozen, knuckles whitening around the kit. Then slowly, I shut the door. Antonio. The one man I had given everything to. Three years of my heart, my loyalty, my foolish belief in something real. He had been my first love. My first weakness. An assassin, like me-or at least, he had been. I met him when I was still fresh in the Aneres organization, just a girl with a soft heart that hadn't yet been carved into stone. I'd followed him into the dark, into blood and steel and death. Helped him in missions no one else would have survived. And through it all, I had loved him. Completely. I regretted it all. Regretted being gullible enough to think love had a place in a world like ours. No one had taught me how to suppress emotions back then. No one had told me that in this place, emotions were liabilities. I was too innocent. So when Antonio had asked me to be his girlfriend, I was ecstatic. I didn't care about the warnings. I was in love. And for that love, I did everything he asked without question. Missions,sacrifices. I gave him my loyalty. My time. My body. On my eighteenth birthday, I'd given myself to him as if it were the most precious gift I could ever offer. And then came the day I caught him cheating. That was when I finally saw him for who he really was. He never loved me. He only loved what I could do for him. My abilities. My usefulness. Nothing more. I still remember the way he looked at me afterwards-mocking, cruel. He told me my body disgusted him, that every time we had sex he felt nothing but revulsion. His words gutted me more than any blade ever could. "You're nothing to me," he had told me with that cold smirk. "A setback. Dead weight." Three years. Three years wasted on a selfish man who thrived on using me. I exhaled through clenched teeth, forcing the memory back as I dropped the kit on the desk. My fingers worked methodically, stripping my shirt away, each movement tugging at my wounded rib until my breath hissed sharp between my teeth. My skin was mottled with dark bruises, and where the rib had taken the worst of it, the flesh was split open. I dipped gauze in antiseptic, pressed it to the cut. The sting flared white-hot, but I didn't flinch. The pain was familiar. With practiced hands, I wrapped the bandages tight around my chest, winding them until the rib felt bound, locked in place. My fingers were steady, even when my vision blurred. That night be broke my heart was the night I buried my heart for good. I swore I'd never fall again. Never let emotions blind me. Because here, in the Aneres organization, love wasn't real. It was a weapon. A distraction. And a trap. And I would never be trapped again. I forced the last layer of bandage into place, pinning it tight. My ribs protested with each breath, but I ignored it, sliding my shirt back on. I snapped the kit shut and shoved it aside before lowering myself onto the bed. I would kill Matteo. And when I do, I would finally have my revenge. He was my target, nothing more. The son of the bastard who had murdered my twin. The boy who carried his father's blood, the boy who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as me. My heart ached My twin sister. My only sister. The other half of me, ripped away before she could even grow into the woman she was meant to be. By now, she would have been identical to me. Two shadows, side by side. But that chance was stolen. I felt warmth on my cheeks. My fingers twitched up and came back wet. Tears. I froze. No. No, that was wrong. Crying was weakness. The Chairman drilled that into us every day, that feelings break you, tears destroy you. He was right. I had no room for this. With trembling hands, I slipped the pendant from my pocket. The half-moon charm swung softly. The other half had been hers. My throat tightened as I pressed it to my lips. "I'll avenge you," I whispered, voice raw, cracking despite my will. "I promise. No matter what it takes." The pendant's cold kiss seared into me. I slid the pendant back into my pocket, snapping the chain shut like I was locking the grief inside with it. Antonio. His name slid like poison through my veins. He had left the organization to crawl at Matteo's feet. Why? For power? For safety? Antonio never moved unless it served himself. Selfish, calculating bastard. I should feel nothing for him anymore. The Chairman had taught me how to sever attachments clean. And I did. Or at least, I told myself I did. I had gotten over it. I followed every one of the Chairman's lessons. That I should burn it down, bury it, kill it before it kills you. And yet... Antonio's betrayal still lingered in the marrow of my bones. I rolled onto my side, pulling the sheet over me. The silence was suffocating. I waited for sleep to take me, for the void to drag me under, but the darkness betrayed me. The last image that slipped into my mind wasn't Antonio. It was Matteo. He had me pinned beneath him, straddling me like I was his altar, his breath ragged against my ear. "Mine," he growled. His hands dragged down my sides, as if memorizing the shape of me. "Every inch of you," he whispered, lips ghosting my collarbone, "belongs to me." His mouth followed the path of his hands, kissing, biting, worshipping. Heat seared where his tongue traced lines of fire across my throat. When his teeth sank into my skin. He moved lower, his palms spreading across my stomach, anchoring me as if I might vanish. His words came between kisses. "No one will ever touch you the way I do. No one will ever see you the way I see you." His voice broke into a groan, almost a prayer spilling from his lips again and again. "You're mine. My salvation. My sin." Every touch, every word, was worship. The worship of a man on his knees before a goddess he couldn't live without, even if he had to burn for it. My mission was clear. Matteo had to die. And I would be the one to put him in the ground, no matter how my body betrayed me with the memory of his touch.