My beloved enemy

Rebeca

I laughed as I wiped the blood from my hand. Valerius—my best friend—had just cracked another tasteless joke about our current situation, and I couldn't help laughing. He always does this, and I always laugh. It's become our thing.

"I know," he said with a smug grin. "That joke killed."

I chuckled again as I slipped my pistol back into its holster.

"I'm sure our victim would've agreed," I replied. "Too bad he never got the chance to hear it."

Ben only shrugged.

"You know jokes like that fit a situation like this."

"You're unbelievable," I shot back. "Only you would have such a twisted sense of humor—death jokes and terrible puns every time we finish a contract."

"It's part of my charm," he said without the slightest hint of shame.

Valerius Benu—or simply Ben, as I usually call him—has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I honestly can't recall a time when he wasn't part of my life. We grew up together, trained together, and walked the same path from childhood.

I come from a family of professional assassins. We take every kind of contract imaginable. I'm the second oldest among my siblings, and although my father wanted to marry me off to strengthen our family's influence, I made one thing painfully clear from a very young age:

I would never let anyone own me.

I wasn't about to be sold off as some trophy wife.

No bastard was ever going to tell me how to live and expect me to smile while doing it.

I answer to no one.

When I was ten years old, I flatly refused the idea of an arranged marriage. My father, convinced I'd eventually change my mind, invited an old friend and his son over so I could meet my so-called future husband.

I made sure they heard exactly what I thought of that plan.

Then the little asshole—four years older than me—decided it would be a good idea to force himself on me.

I broke his arm without blinking.

Watching him cry while I ground my heel into his face was incredibly satisfying.

That was also the day my father discovered I'd been secretly training for years. While everyone else believed I was behaving like a proper daughter, I had been studying anatomy, memorizing every weak point in the human body, and training relentlessly whenever no one was watching.

Knowledge was another weapon.

When I threatened to kill the next boy he dared bring home, he finally realized I wasn't bluffing.

With the help of my older brother, Roderick, I convinced him to let me train alongside the recruits instead.

I'd always known I wanted to become an assassin.

I've never regretted that decision.

Killing is what I'm good at.

Yes, I know I'm not exactly normal. Maybe I'm even insane.

But I love what I do.

And I enjoy every second of it.

"We should get moving," I said, checking the timer. "Security will be here soon."

Today's target had been a wealthy, influential businessman. His wife had hired us after years of enduring his affairs and abuse. He wasn't just an unfaithful husband—he beat both her and their daughters.

Watching him die had been deeply satisfying.

She'd made one request in particular: she wanted him strangled with a bladed garrote, and she wanted him to know exactly why he was dying.

After gathering everything we needed, I took advantage of one of his disgusting habits. The bastard loved beating prostitutes, so disguising myself as one had been the easiest way to get close.

The moment Ben entered the hotel suite dressed as a waiter, we put our plan into motion.

While Ben restrained him, I made sure not to leave behind a single trace of my presence. Then I walked over, granted our client her wish, and killed the bastard.

Afterward, we cleaned every possible piece of evidence, wiped away the remaining blood, and I changed back into my own clothes.

Leaving his corpse behind, we walked out of the room as calmly as we'd entered.

Only now we were a few thousand dollars richer.

God...

I love this job.

"I think we've earned ourselves a celebration," I muttered.

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Ben replied. "We worked our asses off for this one. We had to tamper with the hotel's security cameras, clean up the entire scene, and finish everything in under an hour. I'm exhausted."

He stretched before flashing me a grin.

"I could really use a drink."

"I couldn't agree more. Besides, we should enjoy ourselves while we still can. We leave in a few days. Roderick's getting married in a few weeks, and I'll be taking over his assignments while he's away on his honeymoon."

Just thinking about leaving Milan made me sigh.

"I'm going to miss this city."

"I know, sweetheart." Ben smiled sympathetically. "Life here is a hell of a lot more fun. But this won't last forever. Before you know it, the honeymoon will be over and we'll both be back in Milan."

"I hope you're right."

I patted my cheeks with both hands, trying to shake off the gloomy feeling creeping into my mind.

"For now..."

I smiled.

"I just want to have some fun."

With that, we headed for the car.

We drove to one of the nightclubs we frequented whenever we wanted to unwind after a job.

For some reason, I felt an overwhelming urge to enjoy this place while I still could.

Ever since our trip to New York had been planned, I'd had this nagging feeling that something big was waiting for me there. Something that would change everything. And somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would go the way I expected.

I pushed the thought aside.

Tonight wasn't about the future.

It was about the present.

The music pounded through the club, loud enough to rattle my bones. The dance floor was packed, bodies moving beneath flashing lights.

There was no way I was dealing with that crowd sober.

Tequila seemed like the obvious solution.

Four shots later, warmth spread pleasantly through my body. Everything around me felt just a little hazy, my steps lighter, my thoughts freer.

A smile tugged at my lips.

Ben already had a woman wrapped around him, and I knew I'd be on my own within minutes.

As usual, he'd wasted no time finding company.

I figured I should do the same.

Not just any drunken idiot would do, though.

If I was spending the night with someone, he had to be worth my time. One look had to be enough to convince me he could satisfy me.

Otherwise...

I might end up killing someone out of sheer sexual frustration.

That would be rather unpleasant to watch.

Yes.

I'm a little crazy.

And more than a little volatile.

I slipped onto the dance floor, leaving Ben to enjoy himself. We never came here just to drink. Whenever one of us found someone interesting, the other quietly disappeared, giving each other complete freedom for the rest of the night.

I let the music take over, feeling every beat pulse through my body.

Then someone grabbed my hip.

The clumsy touch immediately told me everything I needed to know.

Drunk.

Or just another idiot.

I turned to face him.

A fairly ordinary-looking guy grinned back at me before trying to pull me against him.

I stopped him with one hand and gave him a proper once-over.

He wasn't ugly.

Just...

forgettable.

His hands were awkward.

His perfectly styled hair annoyed me for reasons I couldn't explain.

His shirt was buttoned almost all the way to the top.

His smile was irritating.

And worst of all...

He was shorter than me.

Honestly, if a man isn't taller than I am—even when I'm wearing heels—he doesn't stand a chance.

I've always had a weakness for dangerous-looking men.

Big.

Broad shoulders.

Messy hair like they'd just rolled out of bed.

An open shirt revealing just enough skin.

Tattoos.

The kind of man your mother tells you to stay away from.

Those are the fun ones.

Those are the ones who know exactly what they're doing.

That's what I wanted tonight.

Not this bland little pretty boy.

As soon as the song ended, I walked away without saying a word.

He wasn't even worth the effort of rejecting properly.

I assumed my complete lack of interest would be obvious.

Apparently not.

The idiot followed me all the way to the bar like an overeager puppy.

I rolled my eyes the moment he appeared beside me again, still wearing that same smug smile.

Could he really not take a hint?

My attention drifted around the room instead, searching for someone actually worth looking at.

Up in the VIP section, a man leaned casually against the railing, watching the crowd below.

A slow smile spread across my face.

Now that...

That was my type.

He looked like he could make the night interesting.

"Can I buy you a drink?" the persistent idiot asked.

"No."

The answer came without hesitation.

"Come on, gorgeous. Have a drink with me... or we could get out of here and have some fun somewhere else."

His hand slid from my waist toward my ass.

I resisted the urge to break every bone in it.

Touching me without permission was a very quick way to lose a hand.

The only reason I didn't make a scene was because I liked this club and intended to keep coming back.

"I don't want anything from you," I said coldly. "You're not my type. Looking at you is irritating enough. Touch me again, and I'll cut your hands off."

His expression darkened instantly.

He grabbed my arm.

"You're just another stuck-up bitch," he snarled. "Maybe I should teach you some manners."

Bad decision.

With my free hand, I grabbed him between the legs and squeezed as hard as I could.

His grip disappeared immediately.

His face twisted in agony.

I leaned in a little closer, tightening my hold just enough to make him whimper.

"Go ahead," I whispered. "Give it a try. I'd love an excuse to rip your hands off... and while I'm at it, I'll tear off that filthy excuse for a cock too."

I smiled sweetly.

"I'll be waiting."

Then I let go.

He collapsed to his knees, clutching himself while gasping for air.

Ignoring the shocked stares and hushed whispers around me, I simply walked away.

Now...

Time to find the man I actually wanted.

At least, that was the plan.

Then, halfway across the room, I saw him.

Tall.

Dressed entirely in black.

Covered in tattoos.

Dark hair, slightly messy, with a few loose strands falling over his forehead.

A thick, perfectly groomed beard.

Without question...

He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever laid eyes on.

It had to be him.

Or my name wasn't Rebeca.