Kyle slipped out from under the tangled sheets, careful not to disturb the peaceful rhythm of Ellaâs breathing. The room was bathed in the soft, predawn haze filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over her form. Her red hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink, her lips slightly parted in sleep, a faint flush still coloring her cheeks from the orgasm they shared. She looked vulnerable in a way she never allowed when awakeâher usual fiery armor stripped away, leaving only the woman whoâd surrendered to him hours ago. Kyle paused at the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over her shoulder for a moment, tempted to wake her with a kiss or a whisper. But no. She needed rest after what theyâd shared.
He dressed quietly in the dim lightâjeans, a dark hoodie, sneakersâgrabbing his keys and phone from the nightstand. The apartment felt too still, too intimate, as if the walls themselves were whispering judgments about the complications heâd just amplified. With one last glance at Ella, her chest rising and falling in serene oblivion, Kyle slipped out the door, locking it behind him with a soft click.
The hallway air hit him like a cold slap, grounding him in the reality waiting outside.
Stepping into the crisp evening chill, Kyle slid into his driverâs seat, the engine purring to life with a low rumble that mirrored the turmoil in his gut. He pulled out onto the empty streets.
Confusion gnawed at him like a persistent itch he couldnât scratch. Nakamuraâs plan echoed in his mind: hop a flight to England, kidnap Marcelloâs daughter, use her as leverage to dismantle the mafia threat. It sounded straightforward in theoryâa surgical strike to end the dangers creeping into his life. But Kyle wasnât a fool. The girl heâd encountered beforeâthe one whoâd tried to orchestrate his deathâmight be a spoiled brat, entitlement dripping from her every word and glare. Yet, Marcello, that calculating bastard, wouldnât have shipped her off without reason. Protection? A strategic move to keep her out of the crossfire? Kidnapping her would shatter whatever fragile peace Marcello was enforcing, forcing his hand into something drasticâretaliation that could engulf everyone Kyle cared about.
And what about the mafiaâs reach? Kyleâs knuckles whitened on the wheel as he merged onto the highway. They could have gone for Ella already. Hell, they probably knew about herâher ties to Cleopatra, her proximity to him. It wasnât like he was some invincible guardian, a supernatural shield against bullets and blades. He was just a man with a rebate system and a knack for survival, not a god. If they wanted her, theyâd take her, rules or no rules. But maybe there were rules.
Like in those old movies he used to bingeâThe Godfather, Goodfellasâwhere family was off-limits, a sacred line even monsters wouldnât cross. Was that Marcelloâs code? Or just Hollywood bullshit? Crossing it himself by snatching the daughter could unravel that unspoken pact, turning a cold war hot and painting targets on Jane, Cassandra, even little Jasmine.
Nakamuraâs angle twisted the knife deeper. Was the sly bastard setting him up? Kyleâs mind raced through the possibilities as streetlights blurred past. Nakamura played the mentor, the partner, but his Yakuza roots ran deep.
Sending Kyle across the ocean for a high-risk grab screamed misdirection. What if the "shield" Nakamura promised was just bait, drawing Kyle into a trap where the families or even Cleopatra could pick him off? The rebate system had made him untouchable in wealthâbillions stacking up like digital bricksâbut money didnât stop a sniperâs bullet or a poisoned drink. True power needed backing, alliances forged in blood and sweat before he could truly soar. Without it, he was just a rich mark waiting to be killed.
Cleopatra flickered in his thoughts like a dark flameâruthless, enigmatic, with resources that could eclipse even Marcelloâs. She could be his way in, a twisted alliance to topple the mafia from within. Her demand to kill Marcello aligned with Nakamuraâs play, but trusting her felt like dancing with a viper. If all else failed... Kyleâs stomach turned at the thought. He could use Ella and take over the power Cleopatra had maintained after their parentsâ passing which meant he would need to get Cleopatra out of the way.
There was only one way to do that, a bullet through the head.
He needed clarity, one final gauge of Marcello before committing. Seeing the Don face-to-face, reading the cracks in his armorâthat could tip the scales. Like clockwork, as if the universe mocked his indecision, his phone rang from the cupholder. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number, no caller ID, just a string of digits that screamed burner. Kyleâs pulse quickened; he tapped the Bluetooth, the call connecting with a faint static hum.
"Hello?" His voice was steady, laced with caution.
A womanâs voice filtered throughâsmooth, accented with a French lilt that carried authority like a well-worn crown.
[[Mr. Kyle. Or should I say, the rising star of Hollywood? This is Isabeau Delacroix. I believe youâve heard of meâor at least, the family I represent,]] The voice said over the phone.
Kyleâs breath caught. Isabeauâthe head of the Delacroix family, one of Marcelloâs key allies in the mafiaâs fractured empire. Her name didnât ring a bell but how she presented it implied she belonged to one of the families. What the hell did she want?
"Madame Delacroix. This is unexpected. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Kyle knew he had to maintain his composure as this was the only appropriate response in such a situation. Her laugh was low, melodic, like velvet over steel.
[[Pleasure? Perhaps for you. The Dons are gathering againâurgent matters, as Iâm sure your little bird Nakamura has hinted. Marcello extends an invitation. Neutral ground, tomorrow night. Come alone. We have much to discuss about your... entanglements.]] Isabeu pointed out and Kyleâs heart felt like it was about to implode the moment he heard this.
Entanglements. Cleopatra? The daughter? Kyleâs mind whirredâ this could be the face-to-face he craved, a chance to probe Marcelloâs defenses. Or a trap, luring him into the lionâs den.
"Why me? Iâm just a producer with a side hustle," Kyle was trying his best to downplay his importance.
[[Donât play coy,]] she purred, her tone sharpening.
[[Youâve dipped your toes in our waters. Cleopatraâs whispers reach far, and Marcello dislikes loose ends. Attend, and perhaps youâll find the backing you seek. Refuse... well...]] She didnât complete the sentence but Kyle knew exactly what she was implying.
How did she know about Cleopatra? This was the most worrying thing out of everything she had said.
The line went dead, leaving Kyle in the roar of his engine and the weight of choices.
"Yeah... Iâm fucked," Kyle muttered under his breath as a coordinate appeared on his navigator.