He Hired a Curvy Security Expert to Test His Mansion—By Noon, She Had Broken Into the Mafia Boss’s Home

The fourteenth floor was completely quiet, insulated from the thumping bass of the ballroom orchestra below.

Tessa moved like a shadow along the plush gold-and-maroon carpet. She had kicked off her high heels at the end of the corridor, holding them in one hand while she glided silently toward Suite 1402.

She reached the door.

Two men stood outside—broad-shouldered, scarred, with earpieces coiled behind their ears.

Tessa didn't try to sneak past them.

She stumbled slightly, letting out a soft, giggly gasp, and swayed toward them, clutching her emerald purse against her chest as if she had consumed one too many martinis.

"Oh... thank god," she breathed, batting her dark eyelashes at the larger of the two guards. "Is this... is this the powder room? That man downstairs was being terribly aggressive..."

The guards exchanged a look of annoyed amusement. "Private suite, lady. You’re on the wrong floor."

"Are you sure?" Tessa took another unsteady step forward, closing the distance between them. "He had these terrible tattoos and... oh dear, I feel dizzy..."

She leaned directly into the larger guard's chest.

The moment his hands came up to steady her waist, Tessa’s drunken expression vanished.

Her right hand shot upward, driving the heel of her palm into his nasal bone with a sickening *crack*. Before the second guard could react, Tessa spun on the ball of her bare foot, using the entire momentum of her hips to whip her heavy, metal-plated designer clutch across his jaw.

The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting wet clay.

The second guard hit the carpet, unconscious before he landed. The first guard, reeling from his shattered nose, reached frantically for his shoulder holster.

Tessa didn't give him the chance.

She hooked her leg behind his knee, drove him hard against the wall, and delivered a brutal, precise knee strike to his solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs in a wheezing gasp, and he collapsed beside his partner.

"Never underestimate the purse," Tessa muttered, rolling her shoulders.

She dragged both men into the nearby linen closet, wedged the handle with a maintenance rod, and turned her attention to Suite 1402.

She extracted an electronic bypass tool from her garter, slotted it over the electronic card reader, and watched the digital sequence cycle through four thousand combinations.

*Click.*

The lock engaged green.

Tessa slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

The suite was dark, save for the blue glow of two ruggedized laptops sitting on the glass dining table. She hurried over, plugged her flash drive into the primary terminal, and watched the decryption software begin its work.

*0%... 25%... 50%...*

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Tessa’s hand dropped instantly toward the ceramic blade in her garter.

"I wouldn't," a rasping voice said from the shadows of the bedroom doorway.

Lorenzo Moretti stepped into the light, a suppressed silver Beretta leveled directly at her chest. Behind him stood three more armed men, their weapons drawn and ready.

"Ms. Morgan, isn't it?" Moretti sneered, his thin lips pulling back over yellowed teeth. "Did you really think Marco was the only one who did background checks? When you showed up on his arm tonight, my friends in municipal data gave me your entire portfolio within twenty minutes."

Tessa slowly straightened, her hands held open at shoulder height. The green silk of her dress shimmered under the dim lights. Her face was completely calm.

"Then you know my fee is very high, Lorenzo," she said smoothly. "And you can't afford me."

"I don't need to afford you," Moretti said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You're the leverage that guarantees Marco signs over his transit routes tonight. Tie her up."

One of the men stepped forward with heavy zip-ties.

Tessa didn't move. She simply looked past Moretti toward the balcony doors behind him.

"You forgot something, Lorenzo," she said quietly.

Moretti frowned. "What?"

"Marco didn't let me come up here alone."

The reinforced glass of the balcony window exploded in a rain of glittering, lethal shards.

Marco Duca breached the frame like an avenging demon from the night.

He didn't hesitate. Before Moretti’s men could turn their weapons, Marco fired three rapid, suppressed rounds from his sidearm. Two guards dropped instantly.

The third lunged forward, but Marco intercepted him with terrifying violence, grabbing the man’s throat and slamming him violently through the glass coffee table, shattering it to splinters.

Moretti screamed, spinning to fire at Marco.

Tessa moved instantly.

She didn't wait to be rescued. She surged forward, drove her shoulder into Moretti’s gun arm, knocking the weapon aside just as it discharged into the ceiling plaster. She grabbed his wrist, executed a flawless hip throw, and slammed the older mob boss flat onto his back.

Marco stepped over the wreckage of the coffee table, his tuxedo torn, blood grazing his left cheekbone, looking completely feral.

He planted his heavy combat boot squarely on Lorenzo Moretti’s sternum.

Moretti wheezed, gasping for air, staring up at Marco with sheer terror in his eyes.

Marco didn't even look down at Moretti.

His eyes were locked entirely on Tessa. He swept his gaze over her, checking her from head to toe, his chest heaving with adrenaline.

"Are you hit?" Marco demanded, his voice raw, shaking with an intensity she had never heard from him before.

"I'm fine," Tessa breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs—not from the fight, but from the terrifying, magnificent sight of him. "I'm completely fine, Marco."

Marco reached out, grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him.

He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate.

He crushed his mouth against hers in a fierce, possessive, desperate kiss that tasted of iron, smoke, and raw hunger.

Tessa gasped against his lips, her hands burying themselves in his dark hair, pulling him closer as she met his intensity with her own. The world around them—the shattered glass, the fallen enforcers, the groaning mob boss under his boot—completely vanished.

When Marco finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His dark eyes burned like molten silver.

"Nobody touches you," he growled against her lips. "Ever."