The Assassins Kiss

Chapter 1

Ezra's POV

I burst through the heavy double doors, my boots slamming against the marble with purpose.

My hands rest low by my hips, fingers twitching, swaying with each step like a coiled predator stalking its prey.

The men flanking the grand foyer move fast—guns raised, safety clicks off, eyes wide. But it's their fingers that give them away. Trembling.

Cowards.

These are the infamous mafia men. Laughable. Dressed in tailored suits, chests puffed out, but beneath it all?

I don't stop walking. Don't flinch. Just stare them down as I pass, daring one of them to twitch wrong.

At the base of the sweeping staircase, I see him.

The one man in the room who doesn't need a weapon to feel dangerous. He stands tall, backlit by the chandelier, a ghost draped in silk and menace.

"Father," I say, voice sharp as broken glass.

"Ezra," he replies, cool and composed like this is a family reunion, not a war brewing in his foyer.

I cut to the point. "Where's my daughter?"

He pauses for half a beat. Calculated. "She's in her room," he says, voice unreadable. "But first—we need to talk."

Then he turns his back to me and starts up the stairs like he still has the right to dictate anything.

I groan, jaw clenching, every step he takes dragging me deeper into a conversation I don't want to have.

But I follow.

Because as much as I hate it—I need answers before someone ends up dead.

As I trail behind him, I let my eyes sweep over the hallway. The walls are lined with expensive art and darker memories. This house, this cursed place. I hate it here.

The air is too clean, too still. Like it's holding its breath, waiting for blood to be spilled. Again.

He opens the door to his absurdly lavish office—leather walls, gold trim, and a bar stocked like a king's last supper. I've always hated how this place reeks of ego.

He sinks into his chair like a king settling into his throne. I take the seat across from him, legs crossed, arms folded. My eyes stay locked on his.

"It's time," he says, leaning forward, voice low and deliberate.

I arch a brow. "Time for what exactly?"

He doesn't blink. "The Vincenzos."

Ah, the Vincenzos—our lovely, bloodthirsty rivals. My father's been trying to erase their name from the earth for as long as I can remember. And they've been doing the same to us, only with more style and more success.

They're the number one mafia. My father? He likes to pretend he's number two, but let's be honest—he's barely clinging to tenth. That doesn't stop him from puffing his chest and snarling orders like the leader he wishes he was.

Don't get me wrong—he's still a dangerous man. Feared, even. Mostly because of his unpredictability. That, and the fact that he's got one of the deadliest assassins in the entire underworld on his leash.

cough cough Me.

I lean back in my chair, arms still crossed. "That's a suicide mission."

His eyes narrow slightly, and a cold smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. The kind of smile that tells me this conversation isn't over—no, it's just getting started.