Zadie’s POV
They say the fastest way to a man’s secrets is through his stomach. That wasn’t why I offered to cook, but if it helped, I wasn’t complaining. His kitchen was spotless. Marble counters, matte-black everything, knives too sharp to be decorative.
Lazaro leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching every move I made. He didn’t talk much. But his eyes didn’t miss anything. I moved like I belonged there, liike Marina Velastro knew how to whip up dinner in a billionaire’s kitchen. I’d trained for this. I wasn’t new to pretending.
“You know your way around a pan,” he said eventually.
“Surprised?” I said, not looking up.
“Pleasantly.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Good. Let’s keep it that way. Dinner came together fast. Simple, clean, elevated, just enough to keep the act tight. We sat across from each other at the table. He didn’t touch his plate.
“Try it first,” he said. I took a bite. Swallowed.
“Still alive.” He smiled faintly, then started eating.
“Are you always this paranoid?”
“Are you always this prepared?” I have to be. You’re the enemy.
We ate in silence, tension hung low. He wasn’t flirting, but something in the air buzzed between us. He liked the food. His posture loosened, his eyes didn’t.
“How’s the food?” I asked casually.
“Delicious,” he said. “Just like the one who made it.” Don’t react. Stay cold. Don’t forget what he is.
I reached for the wine. “You remembered.”
He didn’t even blink. “You think I forgot?”
I poured for both of us. “Drink with me?”
He took the glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To whatever is at stake.” We drank. One glass. Then two. Then, I Forgot to count.
He loosened up first, or maybe I did. I wasn’t sure anymore. My body relaxed before my brain did. My cheeks were warm. My limbs, too comfortable. The wine crept smoothly… slowly.
“You’re good at pretending,” he said, refilling both glasses.
“Is that a compliment?” I asked.
He stared at me, eyes sharp but amused. “Depends on what you’re hiding.”
I’m hiding that I’m here to ruin you, and I almost forgot it for a second. We kept drinking. Not too much, but enough that I started laughing more than I should. He made a dry joke about the assistant on the 15th floor. I made one about his taste in artwork. And for a second, it felt almost normal.
I managed to let him spill his secrets. He is a womanizer, loves going out to bars. A hot bachelor who loves his goddamn dirty mafia business more than anything. Then it got blurry, and I didn’t realize I passed out.
All of a sudden, I woke up in the guest room. Still in my dress, slightly twisted, one shoe on. My head pounded, and I felt fuzzy. I sat up fast and looked around. Shit. Lazaro was asleep in the chair across the room. Still dressed, but leaned back, one hand loose at his side, his chest rising steadily.
No threat. Not now, at least. I rubbed my temples and cursed under my breath. I shouldn’t have stayed. Shouldn’t have let the wine loosen anything.
He’s not a man, he’s a mission. A target. A goddamn criminal. But this… this was the moment I’d been waiting for. I reached into my clutch, the tracker was small. I scanned him. A man like him can easily check a tracker. But this drunk ass? He will never notice a tracker inside his watch.
One second. That’s all I needed. I crouched near his arm, and slowly used my tool to open the top of his watch. After removing the tol glass, I inserted the small tracker in the side of his watch unnoticeably when he suddenly…
“Hmm…”
“Shit shit…” I whispered when he suddenly moved.
Fuck this job. My heart skipped a beat. I thought I could die from that. And focus again, with the softest click. Tracker activated and undetectable. And then I placed the top glass of his watch, specifically his million dollar rolex.
I stood slowly, heart hammering, and backed away. He didn’t stir. I slipped back, pulled the covers over me, and stared at the ceiling. Now that the mission was successful, I grabbed my bag and did my best to slowly get out of his penthouse and take pictures.
Got you, Lazaro Saventino.