Page 9 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

Enzo had tapped Elena’s phone, found out she wanted to attend the masquerade party alone, and had guards secretly tail her for protection the moment she snuck out. But I’d already overheard all the details I needed.

I knew there were many things to make the Rossi Mafia crumble, but fucking Elena Rossi that night at the masquerade wasn’t part of the plan. And, damn, just thinking about those blue eyes and soft curves causes a sharp jolt from my dick.

I’d gone there, under the mask of anonymity, to surveil her—to assess her value in real time, how or if she could be useful in my plans now that she’s in Manhattan. After all, when you're planning a revenge mission like mine, you can leave no stone unturned.

Instead, I’d gotten carried away and fucked her till she writhed in pleasure. The pictures on social media don’t do justice to how ethereal she looks in real life. A fucking goddess with a body carved to breathtaking perfection.

And then, when I saw her that night—the night of the attack—outside the studio, I instantly knew it was her; the same woman who had distracted me from my plan. I’d been watching her. Studying her itinerary, behaviors… interests. But for some stupid reason, I couldn’t hold back when I saw her deadbeat guards fall limply to the floor.

It pisses me off. The way desire ignores logic, the way my body betrays the mission. I shouldn’t have fucked her in the first place. I shouldn’t have intervened in the attack either.

I shake my head when someone knocks on the door of the room I’m staying in now since my new status as Elena’s bodyguard. The title tastes bitter on my tongue, and I bet it’s no different for her.

After her unsuccessful protests to Enzo the night of the attack, she’d looked at me long and hard before she turned around and stomped off to her room. Instantly, I knew this particular mission was destined to be long and painful.

The knock comes again, but I don’t answer the door immediately. I already know it’s fucking Elena. Her room is directly opposite mine. When she switches to banging on the door, I indulge her.

Sharp blue eyes stare back at me, assessing me with a sassy gaze. My fingers itch to slam the door in her face.

“What do you want?” I deadpan, eyes narrowing as she strolls in and takes a seat, crossing her legs casually over each other.

The action irks me, and I try to decide if this is who she is or if she just wants to spite me.

“I have an event in thirty minutes, I’d get dressed if I were you.” She yawns, then drags her palm across the desk.

And she continues, “You know”—she sucks her teeth—“I wonder if you knew who I was at the gala.”

I already know where this is heading. Enzo had asked about my presence at the time of her attack, but I dismissed it as a coincidence, and the fucker was grateful…after which he asked for the description of the attackers.

“Don’t think too highly of yourself.”

Her lips twist into a scowl as she tugs the top drawer open as if searching for something. She stands up and slams the drawer shut. I frown when her 5’6” frame stops right in front of me.

“Don’t you dare have any second thoughts about what happened that night,” she hisses.

Get out. Those words are on the tip of my tongue, but I simply hold them back as she waltzes out. Restraint, I tell myself.

Releasing an irritated grunt, I step into the hallway outside my room to assume my post.

I can almost taste her irritation through the door. Women like her aren’t made for cages, even gilded ones. Enzo underestimates her because his fatherly love for her blinds him.

That will be his downfall.

The door to her room opens minutes later, and she steps into the hallway, wrapped in a black two-piece that hugs her curves. Her eyes lift and lock onto mine with a certain look that I can’t quite figure out yet.

“Do you always stand this close?” she asks, voice edged with irritation, “or are you eager to please on your first day at work?”

Her pulse jumps beneath her pale skin. I notice things most men miss.

“My job is to ensure you’re safe.” I keep my voice flat.

“Figures,” she huffs, then begins walking at a faster pace so that she’s a few feet ahead of me.

Choosing to let her be a brat, I slow my steps behind her. I don’t know why I fucked her, but that can’t happen again, especially if I want to keep my head in the game.

When she reaches the edge of the stairs, she suddenly stops and whirls around, eyes narrowing into a squint.

“Are you looking at my ass?”