Deception's Playbook

Chapter 5

Bianca’s POV

The envelope came by hand. No note, no signature, just thick cash. Fresh bills, neat as soldiers. I didn’t need a letter to know who sent it.

Papa wanted me to look the part.

Clothes that didn’t scream money but whispered it. Clothes that said she belongs here. Clothes that wouldn’t make Luca Romano think I was a gold-digger with a rented wardrobe.

I put the money in my bag and went straight to Fifth Avenue.

The stores smelled like leather, silk, and credit. I tried on a black column dress, the kind that moved when you did, but didn’t show more than it had to. I bought it. A deep green wrap dress that made my skin look warmer. Bought that too. Shoes in soft gold, heels that said I can stand all night but I might make you kneel.

I skipped the big logos. No cheap bait. No flashy traps.

This wasn’t about looking rich. This was about blending into Luca’s world so cleanly he wouldn’t see the knife until it was in his back.

Camilla texted. Brunch. 1 p.m. Il Mulino. Don’t be late.

I wasn’t.

She was already there, in black sunglasses, stirring her cappuccino like it had personally offended her.

“You look better,” she said, eyes sliding over my new coat. “Like someone who knows where she’s going.”

“I know.”

The waiter came. I ordered an espresso. Camilla never ate much in public. Too busy talking.

“You meet him?” she asked.

“Yesterday. He’s guarded.”

“Good.” She leaned in. “Guarded men are easier to trap than open ones. They need someone to make them feel safe. That will be you.”

I sipped my espresso. “What exactly do you want me to do at the gala?”

Her smile was slow and sharp. “You’ll do what you do best. Smile. Laugh. Touch his arm. Make him think he’s the only man in the room. Then you’ll get him talking.”

“About what?”

“Everything. His friends. His family. His enemies. His weaknesses.”

I kept my face still. “And then?”

“And then we use it. Piece by piece, we take him apart.”

She said it like she was describing a fine meal. Calm. Certain.

“Why do you hate him so much?” I asked.

She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were cold, almost colorless. “Because he cost us blood, his stupid family. Because he walks free when he should be in the ground. Because he thinks he’s better than us.”

Her voice was low, but the venom in it made the air feel sharp.

“You should hate him too,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

Camilla leaned back. “Papa gave you this job for a reason. He trusts you. Don’t make me regret telling him you could do it.”

I cut my eggs with the side of my fork. “I’ll do it.”

She nodded like it was settled. “Good. And remember—he will try to charm you. They always do. Let him. But don’t let him touch your heart. You can’t afford that.”

We walked out together. Outside, the city was bright, busy, alive. Camilla’s driver pulled up.

Before she got in, she turned to me. “Wear the green dress to the gala. Men like him always fall for the ones they think they can fix.”

I glanced at my store bags. So, she knew I went for some shopping. Camilla has always had a keen eye.

“Surely will,” I grinned.

But she was stiff, almost aloof as always.

The door shut and the car rolled away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon rehearsing. The smile that felt easy but not too eager. The glance that lingered just long enough. The way I’d tilt my head when I asked about his past.

I told myself this was just a job. Just another mask.

But when I closed my eyes, I saw his face from yesterday. The storm-grey eyes. The way he looked at me like he was trying to see past my skin.

I shook it off.

That night, I laid out the green dress. The gold heels. A small clutch that held nothing more dangerous than lipstick and a phone.

I put the cash that was left back in the envelope and slid it under my bed. I didn’t want to touch it again.

Around ten, I poured myself a glass of wine and stepped onto the balcony. The city lights shimmered. Somewhere down there, Luca was breathing the same air.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

You’ll look good in green.

I froze.

I hadn’t told anyone but Camilla about the dress.

I typed back: Who is this?

Three dots blinked.

Camilla, dumb-dumb.

I laughed. Then typed back. Asking her, why she couldn’t just type via her number.

Trying to keep things lowkey. We don’t want any suspicion.

I nodded. Made sense.

So, where that green, and I could call my stylist up so he can make you smashing gorgeous.

I laughed again. A stylist at this time, would seem stretch. What’s a modest PR doing with a stylist? I declined. She accepted and that was the end of the little chat for that night.

I held the wine glass like it was the only thing keeping my hands busy. The red caught the city lights, dark and deep, like blood in a crystal cup.

The air was cool. My heels clicked against the stone as I walked the length of the balcony. Back and forth. Thinking.

Luca Romano.

Even his name tasted wrong in my mouth.

Was it right, what we were planning? To pull his life apart, one thread at a time? To make him lose everything he thought was his?

I told myself yes. Over and over.

Because I remembered. I remembered the day we lost my uncle.

It was supposed to be a meeting. A sit-down between men who knew the rules. But the Romanos didn’t care about rules. They came in smiling and left us bleeding. My uncle never made it home.

I was too young then to do anything but cry. But I learned. I learned faces, names, loyalties. I learned what it meant to owe a debt of blood.

And Luca thought he could just move to America, lace up his cleats, and play his games for cheering crowds. He thought he could have sponsors, magazine covers, women hanging on his arm, and a good life in the sun.

Like the past was dead.

It wasn’t dead. Not for me. Not for Papa. Not for any of us.

Every time I saw his picture in the papers, I thought of my uncle’s empty chair at the table. Every time someone said his name with admiration, I heard the last breath my uncle took.

This wasn’t just a job. This was justice.

Or maybe revenge. At this point, I didn’t see the difference.

I took a sip of wine. It was warm now, but I didn’t care. I stood at the railing and looked down at the street. Somewhere out there, Luca was walking free, laughing maybe, eating dinner with his friends.

He had no idea.

He didn’t know that I was here, in this city, wearing the kind of dress he’d notice, with the kind of smile he’d trust.

He didn’t know that the blood his family spilled was still calling for payment.