Trapped Between The Billionaire Playboy & The Mafia Don

(AURIANNA'S POV)

"YOU FUCKING WHORE!" Gio growls. "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"

He darts toward me but suddenly, he stops halfway, gasping for breath. His chest starts heaving as he stumbles backward, looking for anything to grab on to.

"I-" he chokes. "I can't-breathe."

A grin spreads across my face. "Sweetheart, that's the poison kicking in. It paralyzes the diaphragm first. Then it moves to the heart and cuts off blood circulation. You'll be dead in like... sixty seconds."

He drops to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings, clawing at his throat with trembling hands. I get up from the bed and crouch next to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, to see the tiny, terrible details.

I watch as the whites of his eye bleed into red, the veins bulging through his temples, the foam starting to come out of his mouth. I stay with him, watching the last of the fight drain from his face until his body twitches, then goes completely still.

I get up, scanning the room. "Now... where did I drop my purse?"

I spot it near the lamp. I cross over to it and pull out a pair of latex gloves, slipping them on. Then I draw out a sheathed knife from my purse before walking back to Giovanni's body.

Kneeling, I grab his hand and slice off his thumb. Then I cross the room to the painting hanging above the fireplace. I take it down, revealing the safe hidden behind it. I press the thumb against the scanner. It beeps, and the door pops open.

I gloss over the stacks of cash, expensive rings, wristwatches, and bars of gold until my eyes land on what I came here for.

A red flash drive.

I smirk to myself and grab it. I sheath the knife, fold the gloves, and tuck both back into my purse along with the drive. I find my dress in a messy heap. It's a bit torn, but I pull it on anyway.

My phone buzzes in my hand before I can pull on my heels. I answer and hold the phone to my ear.

"Agent Siren," a deep, feminine voice says from the other end. "Status?"

"Target is neutralized," I reply.

"And the drive?"

"Secured." I answer.

"And evidence?" she asks.

I look at the syringe on the carpet, step over Giovanni's dead body, pick it up then toss it in my purse.

"No evidence left behind," I tell her.

"Good work," she says. "Report back to HQ. Debrief in forty-eight."

"Copy that." I reply, hanging up after.

I step into my heels, straighten the ruined hem of my dress, sweep the painting back onto the wall so no one will notice the safe. Before leaving the room, I look down at Giovanni one last time and blow him a kiss.

"See you in hell." I say, then I walk out, closing the door behind me.

I know you might be judging me right now for killing that man, but trust me... he deserved it. Giovanni D'Amato was no saint.

He was one of the many bastards who made a living selling people, young girls mostly. Promising them better lives and shipping them off to hell instead.

The flash drive I took, that little beauty? Info on every buyer, every client, every partner-it's all there. One step closer to burning his entire operation to the fucking ground.

Oh, right. Where are my manners?

I forgot to introduce myself.

The name's Aurianna Astranova.

But in my world, real names don't mean shit. What matters is the codename.

Mine's Siren.

I work for an agency called O.A.S.I.S. It stands for Operations and Strategic Intelligence Service. We're an all-female unit that deals with domestic and foreign threats-the ones governments like to pretend don't exist.

Men like Giovanni.

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering how a woman like me ends up doing this kind of work.

Let's just say life didn't give me much of a choice.

I'm incapable of having children. Some people might call that a curse, I used to think so too. But then I realized it gave me something better.

Freedom.

No risks, no attachments, nothing to lose.

And in my line of work, that makes me untouchable.

Men look at me and see a fantasy. Full lips, a nice set of tits and a figure people would kill for. They see me as something they can buy... something they can own.

I let them believe it. I let them want me. I let them need me.

And just when they think they've got me wrapped around their finger, I pull the trigger.

That's why they call me Siren. Because when I sing, men listen. When I smile, they follow. And when they do...

They end up dead.