SINS OF SYNDICATE

I sat across from Victor Kane in the dimly lit basement of a safe house on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place that smelled of damp concrete and stale coffee. My hands rested calmly in my lap, the picture of poise, while my mind catalogued every exit, every shadow, and every micro-expression on my editor’s weathered face.

Victor slid a thick folder across the table. “Matteo Valenti. Underboss of the Valenti Syndicate. You get close to him, you stay close, and you burn his empire down from the inside.”

I opened the file. A sharp black-and-white photo stared back at me—Matteo Valenti in a tailored black suit, expression cold enough to frost glass. High cheekbones, dark eyes that looked like they’d seen every sin the world had to offer, and a presence that radiated off the paper. He wasn’t just handsome. He was dangerously beautiful in the way only truly powerful men could be.

“Three years at Shadow Ledger,” Victor continued, voice gravel-rough. “You’ve handled dirty politicians, human traffickers, and that arms dealer in Marseille. But this is different. Valenti is paranoid, meticulous, and lethal. One slip and you’ll disappear so cleanly even I won’t be able to find your body.”

I looked up and gave him the soft, sweet smile I’d perfected over years of undercover work. “Then I won’t slip.”

Victor studied me for a long moment. He knew the real me—the one who stayed up until 4 a.m. piecing together financial trails, who could recite organized crime family trees like bedtime stories, and who refused to let another girl disappear into the machine Matteo Valenti helped run. But the world would only ever see Elena Moretti: gentle, efficient, slightly wide-eyed, and utterly non-threatening.

I was very good at being underestimated.

“Background is airtight,” he said. “You’re Elena Moretti, former executive assistant at a shell tech company we created. References check out. You’ve been prepped on his schedule, his preferences, even the way he takes his espresso. Get the job. Get close. Feed us everything—accounts, shipments, names. We’re talking front-page exposés for the next decade if you pull this off.”

I closed the file, my pulse steady. “And if I have to get very close?”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “You do what you need to do. Just don’t lose yourself in the process.”

Too late for that warning, I thought dryly. I’d lost pieces of myself on every assignment. This one would probably take the rest.

Two weeks later, I stepped into the gleaming marble lobby of Valenti Tower wearing a fitted black dress that was professional yet flattering, heels that clicked with quiet confidence, and a delicate gold bracelet that hid a micro-recorder. My heart beat slow and strong. Showtime.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt eternal. When the doors opened, a tall, scarred man with a permanent scowl was waiting for me.

“Marco,” he grunted. “Head of security. Mr. Valenti is expecting you.”

I offered a small, warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Marco. I’m Elena.”

He didn’t return the smile. His eyes scanned me like I was already guilty of something.

He led me through a series of sleek, intimidating corridors until we reached a set of double doors made of dark wood. Marco knocked once, then opened them.

And there he was.

Matteo Valenti stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a crystal glass of what looked like whiskey. He turned when I entered, and the full force of his gaze hit me like a physical thing. Those obsidian eyes swept over me slowly, deliberately, missing nothing.

“Elena Moretti,” he said. His voice was low, smooth, and carried the faint trace of an Italian accent that made something dangerous flutter low in my stomach. “You’re early.”

“I believe punctuality is the first form of respect, Mr. Valenti,” I replied softly, keeping my tone gentle and sincere. Inside, my mind was already noting the exits, the two hidden cameras in the corners, and the way his tailored shirt stretched across broad shoulders.

He set his glass down and approached me. Up close, he was taller than I expected—easily over six feet—with a presence that seemed to pull all the air from the room. Power clung to him like cologne.

“Respect,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We’ll see.”

Isabella, an elegant woman in a crisp cream suit, stood off to the side watching our exchange with cool interest. Marco remained by the door like a sentinel.

Matteo stopped just inches away from me. “Before we discuss your duties, there is one requirement. Everyone who works this closely with me undergoes a security screening. Thorough.”

I tilted my head slightly, letting a flicker of nervous innocence show in my eyes. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

A dark glint passed through his gaze. He turned to the others. “Leave us.”

Marco hesitated. “Boss—”

“Now.”

Once the door clicked shut, Matteo circled me slowly, like a predator assessing prey. He stopped behind me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Arms out,” he ordered quietly.

I obeyed, lifting my arms gracefully. His hands settled on my shoulders first—large, warm, and surprisingly careful as they moved down my sides, skimming my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hips. Clinical. Professional.

Until they weren’t.

His fingers brushed the outside of my thighs, then moved inward with deliberate slowness. When his hand slid up between my legs, pressing the fabric of my dress against my core, my breath hitched sharply. I kept my face soft, cheeks flushing with what I hoped looked like modest embarrassment.

Matteo’s breath ghosted against my ear. “Something wrong, Miss Moretti?”

“No,” I whispered, voice sweet and slightly breathless. “Just… not what I expected on a first day.”

He made a low sound—almost a hum—then turned me to face him. For a moment we simply stared at each other. The air between us felt charged, heavy.

Then he reached behind me and slowly unzipped my dress.

My pulse spiked as the fabric loosened and slid down my body, pooling at my feet. I stood before him in nothing but black lace lingerie and heels.

Matteo’s eyes darkened as they raked over me. He stepped closer, one hand coming up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip.

“Thorough,” he reminded me, voice rougher now.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth claimed mine with raw intensity, tongue sweeping in like he already owned every part of me. I melted into the kiss exactly as a soft, overwhelmed assistant should—pliant, responsive, a quiet moan slipping from my throat. Inside, my mind was screaming that this man was far more dangerous than even Victor had warned.

When he finally pulled back, my lips were swollen and my breathing unsteady.

Matteo stared down at me, thumb still tracing my jaw. “You’ll do.”

He stepped back, picking up my dress and handing it to me as if he hadn’t just kissed me senseless.

“Get dressed. We start in ten minutes.”

I nodded, offering him a shy, sweet smile while my heart thundered.

As I slipped the dress back on under his watchful gaze, a single thought cut through the haze:

This is going to be far more complicated than I planned.

As I followed Matteo out of the office toward what would become my new workspace, I heard him speak quietly into his phone behind me.

“She’s clean… for now. But watch her closely, Marco. Something about her feels… familiar.”