Chapter 4 The Quiet Game

Alessandro Gerardo......

She didn't flinch.

Most people flinch.

When I get close. When I speak. When I watch them too long.

But not her.

The new girl - Isabella. Sharp tongue. Steady eyes. The kind of woman who spoke like a dare and moved like she'd been through worse than anything I could do to her.

I watched her leave the lounge, back straight, shoulders square, like she hadn't just stood inches from a man who's ended lives for far less than her attitude.

She was trouble. No doubt about it.

The question was,what kind?

I poured another finger of scotch, stared at the amber swirl, then downed it without tasting. My reflection in the darkened window stared back unreadable even to myself.

I didn't like unknowns.

And she was too much unknown.

Ten days ago, she showed up through Luca - said she needed work, needed cash, didn't care what the job was. My brother, with his reckless charm, liked the fire in her. But fire burns. Eventually.

"Boss," Matteo's voice crackled through the intercom. "Sofia's asking if you've seen the new girl."

I clicked the button. "Tell Sofia to worry about herself."

A pause. "Noted."

I turned away from the window.

The new girl.

That wasn't enough anymore. I needed details.

I pulled out my phone, dialing a private number. Two rings.

"Gerardo," a low voice answered.

"Run someone for me," I said. "Name's Isabella. Hired through Inferno last week. I want birth records, ID history, family ties - the works."

"Any reason to flag her?"

"She looks me in the eye when I talk," I said quietly. "That's enough."

Another pause. "You got it."

I ended the call.

I wasn't paranoid. Paranoia was messy. I was methodical. Always had been. The difference between surviving and being a headline was how fast you spotted a lie.

And Isabella?

She smelled like one.

-

Later that night, I watched her from the upper floor of the club.

She moved like she belonged. Laughing at Luca's dumb jokes. Ignoring Sofia's icy stares. She even gave Matteo shit when he asked her to serve his drink faster - and lived to smirk about it.

But her eyes... they were never soft.

Not once.

They were always watching. Always calculating.

Like mine.

And yet - and yet - when she smiled at one of the bartenders, it looked real. Not faked. Not rehearsed. Real.

A woman who could fake a real smile was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with knives or guns.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated even more that I cared.

"What's got you brooding up here?" Luca slid into the booth beside me, grinning as usual. "Let me guess - our new girl?"

"Do your job," I said flatly.

He snorted. "That is my job. Keeping an eye on the club. And she's part of the club now."

"She's part of something. We just don't know what yet."

Luca raised a brow. "You always assume the worst."

"It's kept us alive this long."

He sighed, grabbed a whiskey from a tray, and leaned back. "You think she's a cop?"

"Possibly."

"Too obvious," he said. "She doesn't act like one. She's too smooth."

"That's exactly what makes her dangerous."

He gave me a look. "You're obsessed."

"No," I said calmly. "I'm alert."

"There's a difference?"

"Yes. One gets you killed. The other doesn't."

Luca grinned. "You always were the dramatic one."

I stood up. "Keep watching her."

"You do enough of that already."

I didn't answer.

Because he wasn't wrong.

-

That night, in the quiet of my penthouse, I pulled up security footage. Not just from tonight - from the last week.

I watched her.

I watched the way she lingered near the back rooms. The way she observed conversations she wasn't part of. The way she always had a hand on her phone, even when she wasn't using it.

I paused the video at a frame where she was leaning against the bar, laughing with Luca.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

My jaw tightened.

Was she gathering intel? Feeding someone information? If so - who?

And why hadn't she slipped yet?

They always slip.

Eventually.

But she was too composed.

Too... perfect.

And that made her dangerous in a way I couldn't ignore.

Or maybe, just maybe - and I hated this thought most of all - maybe I didn't want to ignore her.

Not because I trusted her.

Not because I believed her.

But because when she looked at me, there was no fear.

And for a man like me - whose entire world is built on control - that was intoxicating.

I leaned back, eyes still on her frozen image.

Whatever game Isabella Vitale was playing...

She'd just become my favorite opponent.

And if she was lying?

I'd tear her world apart.

But if she wasn't?

God help me - I might let her tear apart mine.