UNDER MY ENEMY'S SHEETS. THE GIRL DON'S ASSASSIN

Chapter 1: The Ghost in the Silk ​The bullet should have finished me. ​Dante Moretti had looked me in the eyes, whispered “I’m sorry, cara,” and painted my wedding dress red. He walked away while my blood was still warm on the chapel floor. ​He thinks I’m a memory. He’s wrong. ​I’m standing in his private study, and the man doesn’t even recognize the woman he murdered. ​I am Vesper now. A shadow in tactical gear. A silent mercenary with a carbon-fiber mask fused to my face and a vow of silence that keeps my screams buried deep. ​“They say you’re the best,” Dante said. His voice was gravel and silk, a low vibration that crawled over my skin like a phantom touch. ​He didn’t look up from his desk. He was older, colder, and twice as lethal. The scent of his expensive cologne hit me like a physical blow—the smell of the man who once held me in the dark, and the man who left me to rot. ​I didn't flinch. I stood like a statue, though my pulse betrayed me, thudding against the collar of my suit. My hand hovered an inch from the ceramic blade hidden at my thigh. ​“I have a son now,” he continued, finally meeting my gaze. His amber eyes were dead. “My enemies think he’s my weakness. I need a shadow who doesn't talk, doesn't sleep, and doesn't miss.” ​He stood up, walking toward me with a predator’s grace. He stopped inside my space—so close I could feel the rhythmic heat of his breath against the mesh of my mask. The air between us turned electric, thick with the weight of a body I once knew by heart. ​“Can you do it, Vesper? Or is the Silent Shadow just a myth?” ​He didn't wait for a sign. He reached out, his gloved fingers tracing the line of my throat, pressing just hard enough to make it difficult to swallow. The contact was a spark in a room full of gasoline. ​I didn't pull back. I reached out, grabbed his hand, and dragged his palm higher, pressing his thumb against the pulse point in my neck where my heart was screaming. With my other hand, I snatched his letter opener from the desk and held the tip to my own throat. I stared at him through the slits of my mask, daring him to feel the life he’d already tried to take. ​Do it, Dante, I thought. See if I bleed the same way twice. ​His eyes darkened, turning a molten, dangerous gold. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips inches from my hidden ear. ​“Bold,” he whispered, his voice a dark, hungry caress. “I like a weapon with a temper. I wonder if you’ll be just as sharp when I have you pinned to this desk.” ​The door creaked. ​“Papa? I can’t sleep.” ​The world stopped. ​A small boy with messy dark curls and Dante’s stubborn jaw stood in the doorway. Leo. ​My son. The secret I’d kept hidden for five years. ​Dante’s hand dropped from my throat, but the heat stayed, searing through my gear. He didn't know the weapon he just hired was the mother of his child. ​“Meet your new guard, Leo,” Dante said, his voice still thick with the residue of our tension. ​I looked at the man who betrayed us. The mission had changed. ​Dante Moretti thinks he’s the hunter. He doesn’t realize I’ve already stepped inside his ribcage. I’m not here to survive him. I’m here to be the last thing he ever loves before I burn his world to the ground.