The one that got away

Chapter Two

I hated waiting.

For me, waiting was weakness—an open window for mistakes, for enemies to strike. Yet here I was, pacing my office like a caged animal, my temper coiling tighter with every tick of the clock.

An arranged marriage. My father had outdone himself this time.

I could already picture her. Some pampered little mafia princess with manicured nails and a closet full of designer shoes. The kind of girl who thought “dangerous” meant skipping breakfast to fit into a dress. A needy, spoiled doll, brought up to smile for family photos and shop her way through Milan while men like me handled the blood and dirt of this world.

I muttered a curse under my breath. The last thing I needed was some fragile girl clinging to my arm, crying over broken nails while I was busy putting bullets in skulls.

“Boss.”

The smooth voice of Marco, my second-in-command, cut through my thoughts. He entered the room carrying a leather folder, his expression unreadable as always.

“You got what I asked for?” I asked, forcing the annoyance from my tone.

He nodded, placing the file on my desk. “Everything on her. Angelina DeLuca.”

I snorted, dropping into my chair. Angelina. Even her name sounded delicate. I flipped the file open, expecting confirmation of what I already knew—that she was useless.

But what stared back at me stopped me cold.

Photos. Reports. Records.

Not of shopping trips or red-carpet charity events. But of a girl who seemed to walk the line between shadow and light.

She trained. Boxing, of all things. A pale figure with black hair tied back, throwing punches with a focus that was almost feral. Another image—her on a motorbike, leather jacket clinging to her frame, hair streaming behind her. Then another, grainier, of her sneaking out of a club at two in the morning, dragging her sister by the hand while two drunk men nursed broken noses behind them.

“What the hell is this?” I muttered, flipping page after page.

Marco leaned casually against the wall. “Not exactly the spoiled princess you were expecting, huh?”

“She fights?” I asked, disbelief dripping from my voice.

“She wins,” Marco corrected. “Word is, her father’s tried to keep her out of the family business, but she’s sharper than people think. She notices things. Remembers details. Has a temper, too.”

I sat back, file still open, my pulse thrumming in a way I hadn’t expected. This wasn’t what I wanted. Hell, it wasn’t what I asked for. But I couldn’t deny the spark of something inside me—curiosity.

She wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t useless.

She was dangerous.

And that unsettled me more than the thought of marrying some doll.

“She could be an asset,” Marco said carefully.

“Or a liability,” I shot back, though my voice lacked conviction.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t sure. Was I impressed? Furious? Excited? Probably all three.

But one thing was clear. Meeting Angelina DeLuca was no longer a burden. It was a challenge.

A slow smile pulled at my lips.

“Set up the meeting,” I ordered. “Let’s see if the princess bleeds like the rest of them.”

Marco smirked knowingly before slipping out, leaving me with the file still open in front of me.

I stared down at her photo one last time, a flicker of unease settling in my chest.

Because if the reports were true, Angelina wasn’t just going to test my patience. She might just test my control.

And in my world, control was everything.