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

The interior of the SCADA control tower was deafeningly loud with the hum of industrial server racks and cooling fans.

Enzo Vane stood behind the bulletproof dispatch glass, frantically screaming into a radio while three of his remaining lieutenants aimed shotguns at the reinforced stairwell door.

"Where is Moretti?" Enzo screamed. "Why isn't he answering the damn phone?"

The steel door suddenly blew inward with a violent shockwave.

A flashbang grenade detonated in the center of the room with a blinding white flash and an ear-splitting crack.

Enzo’s men staggered back, blinded and disoriented, firing blindly into the smoke.

Marco emerged from the haze like a wrathful god.

He disarmed the first man with a brutal wrist break, slamming his elbow into his jaw before spinning to put two rounds into the second guard's shoulder, neutralizing him instantly. The third man dropped his weapon and fell to his knees with his hands locked behind his head.

Enzo scrambled backward toward the emergency exit, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from his waistband.

"Marco! Wait!" Enzo shrieked, backing against the server console. "It wasn't personal! Moretti was going to take the docks anyway! I was saving our family!"

Marco stepped through the smoke, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes cold, empty, and pitiless. He raised his weapon.

"You sold my father's legacy to a dog," Marco said, his voice cutting through the hum of the servers like a razor. "There are no second chances for treason."

"Marco, look behind you!" Enzo screamed, raising his revolver.

From a crawlspace above the server racks, a concealed gunman dropped down, his rifle aimed squarely at Marco’s back.

Marco began to turn, but he was already too late.

*Crack.*

A single gunshot echoed through the control room.

The hidden gunman went limp, tumbling off the catwalk and crashing dead onto the server floor.

Standing in the doorway, rain-soaked, her Glock smoking in her steady two-handed grip, was Tessa Morgan.

Enzo froze, staring at her in sheer horror.

Marco didn't waste the opening. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance, knocked the revolver from Enzo’s hand, and drove his fist into the traitor's jaw. Enzo went down hard, his head bouncing off the server rack, unconscious.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the steady dripping of rain and the hum of the cooling fans.

Marco stood over Enzo’s body for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned toward Tessa.

She lowered her weapon, her chest heaving, the rain plastering her dark curls against her cheeks. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide as the adrenaline began to slowly drain from her veins.

Marco walked toward her.

He didn't look at the bodies. He didn't look at the servers. He reached her in four long strides, dropped his weapon onto the floor, and grabbed her face in his large, scarred hands.

"You saved my life," he whispered.

"I told you," Tessa said, her voice trembling slightly despite herself, "I don't let my clients die. It looks terrible on my professional Yelp reviews."

Marco didn't laugh.

He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist, lifting her clean off her feet as he buried his face in her wet neck. Tessa wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, holding him with every ounce of strength she possessed.

Behind them, Cal walked through the shattered doorway, took one look at the unconscious Enzo, then at the dead sniper, and finally at Marco and Tessa embracing in the middle of the control room.

Cal slowly reached up, tapped his radio, and spoke into the microphone.

"All teams, secure the perimeter. The empire is safe. And someone order twenty crates of pears to the mansion immediately."

Tessa laughed against Marco’s chest, the sound pure, bright, and victorious.

Marco pulled back just enough to look into her amber eyes. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, and finally her lips—softly, reverently, with a tenderness that no one on earth would have believed Marco Duca possessed.

"It's over," Marco said.