POV Mara
I stood in the steam and pressed my ear against the bathroom door, straining to catch fragments of his voice from the bedroom—low and clipped, each word measured like bullets being counted.
"You're certain?" A pause. Then a disbelieving murmur that made my stomach clench. "I see. Yes. Thanks."
Silence followed, thick enough to choke on. My body still trembled from what had just happened, from his mouth on me, from the way I'd screamed his name like a confession.
The memory of it made heat flood back between my thighs, made me want things I couldn't afford to want.
I stepped out, still naked, skin flushed from steam and arousal that hadn't fully faded. He stood naked too, his back to me, shoulders tight with whatever that call had delivered.
He took me in with one quick look—a sweep that cataloged everything from my still-trembling thighs to the marks his fingers had left on my hips—then crossed to the closet with mechanical efficiency.
"We have work," he said, pulling out clothes with the practiced movements of someone armoring themselves. "You'll need to suit up too."
"What changed?" I asked, watching him step into briefs, the casual intimacy of it making my chest ache with something dangerous. "One minute you're between my legs, the next—"
"Which Mare Nero Enforcement unit did you belong to?" The question came without him looking at me, his focus on pulling on socks, dark track pants. "There are three. Who was your lead?"
The shift from post-orgasmic vulnerability to interrogation made my spine straighten, made me remember what we really were to each other.
"I trained under Alessandro Conti," I said, the truth coming out steady despite the whiplash. "He hated having a woman on his squad until the higher-ups forced it. Didn't matter—I outperformed everyone anyway. Then Nico Marchetti poached me. Said he appreciated talent regardless of packaging."
Adrian's hands stilled on the T-shirt he was about to pull on. "The men who came to your place that night—names?"
"Toma, Vale, Luca." The names tasted like copper in my mouth. "All Nico's boys. His personal crew for the wet work that required discretion."
He tugged on the T-shirt and finally met my eyes, and what I saw there made my blood cool despite the lingering heat between my legs.
"Do you understand what that implies?" His voice carried the weight of verdicts already rendered. "The order came from Nico."
"I understand," I said, and I did—the pieces clicking into place with brutal clarity. "Taking them out will be hard. Nico hardest of all. Cruelty is his native tongue—he makes an art of it. I'm relieved I never trained directly under him, never gave him that specific power over me."
I stepped closer, still naked, refusing to show vulnerability even as goosebumps rose on my skin.
"Why are you only asking this now? I assumed you'd already pulled everything on my file. Every assignment, every contact, every—"
"Get dressed," he cut me off, sliding into a black hoodie that made him look like violence given suburban camouflage. "Dark, athletic layers. I'll wait in the living room."
He left without another word, and I stood there processing the calculated cruelty of it—how he could make me come apart with his mouth then interrogate me while I stood naked and vulnerable, how he could switch from lover to handler without missing a beat.
* * *
Minutes later we reconvened, mirrored in black like twins born from the same dark purpose. Same careful concealment of what we really were.
He led me to a door I'd clocked but never seen open, the keypad accepting his code with a satisfied chirp. Inside was an armory—tight and ordered, weapons arranged with the precision of someone who understood that chaos required preparation.
"Take what won't weigh you down," he said, already checking magazines with practiced efficiency. "Nothing that gives away sound when we run."
I was already scanning shelves, testing the weight of holsters against my hips, balancing blade length against concealment needs. My hands moved with muscle memory, selecting tools for violence while my mind raced ahead.
"Who called?" I asked, sliding a ceramic blade into an ankle sheath. "What did you learn that made you move like this?"
He checked another magazine, the metallic click echoing in the small space. "We move fast, we move quiet. No hesitation."
The evasion made something twist in my chest—that familiar dance where he controlled information while I scrambled for pieces.
"I asked you a question, Adrian. We're supposed to be partners in this."
He watched me, his eyes tracking the efficiency of my movements like he was cataloging my competence for later use.
"I know who Orchid is," he said finally, checking a mag before pocketing a spare. "Never hunted the identity before—mutual anonymity was part of our pact. The person must have assumed that meant permanent safety."
He moved toward the door, every line of his body radiating purpose. "It didn't. My hacker barely had to sweat to crack it. Orchid's real name, real address, real everything."
"And we're what—going to have tea with him?" I checked the Glock at my hand, the weight of it steadying something fractured in my chest.
"We're going to pay Orchid a visit," Adrian said, and the smile that crossed his face made me remember why I'd been afraid of him in that gray room, why I should still be afraid of him now.
The hunger that had consumed me in his bathroom transformed into something sharper—the specific appetite for answers, for blood, for someone to pay for my parents' bodies on that kitchen floor.
If Orchid had orchestrated this, if he'd pointed Mare Nero at me like a loaded weapon, then he'd learn what happened when you created a monster and forgot to keep it leashed.
"Good," I said, and meant it. "Let's go make him regret being findable."