They say everyone has a debt to pay. Mine just happens to be my life.
My name is Lana Denver, and for the past six years, I've lived in the shadows, gathering secrets, playing roles, and finding my way into the hearts of dangerous men. I'm not a cop, not a hero, and definitely not someone who sleeps easy at night. But what I am is a survivor—a survivor indebted to one man: FBI agent Charles Gregory.
I remember flipping open yesterday's newspaper, with my coffee on the counter. As always, his name was splashed across the headlines in bold letters.
"FBI's Golden Detective Cracks Another Case: Charles Gregory Stays One Step Ahead of Crime"
I recall skimming through the article, already knowing what it will say:
"Gregory's instincts and exceptional dedication have once again led to a major breakthrough in a case that baffled authorities for months. Insiders at the Bureau describe him as a force to be reckoned with, a man who sees what others don't. His latest victory is evidence of his unmatched brilliance."
I remember tossing the paper aside and leaning back, laughing. Unmatched brilliance? Sure.
No one ever asks how Charles gets his leads, or why his "instincts" always seem so spot-on. He takes the credit, as he always does, and I stay in the shadows where I belong. Because that's the deal we made.
It was Charles who saved me when I was barely more than a kid, stumbling out of a mess I barely understood. It was Charles who gave me a purpose, or maybe a punishment, depending on how you see it. For all the years I've worked for him, for all the criminals I've seduced, outwitted, and sold out, it's always been to pay back the life I owe.
Now, here I am, sitting in the back booth of a fancy bar, swirling a cocktail I've barely touched. Across the room, my latest target is laughing, throwing back drinks with his goons, unaware that every word he whispers my way will end up in Charles' hands by morning. I watch, and I wait.
I don't need a name to know who he is—the arrogance, the expensive suit, and the way the men around him move as though he's a god all give him away.
And then, he spots me.
His dark eyes lock onto mine, and a slow smile plasters on his face. He bites his lower lip as if contemplating his next move. I hold his gaze, smirking slightly as I shift in my seat, with the fabric of my dress tightening in all the right places. The way he looks at me tells me I have his full attention.
This is what I do—what I've always done.
This life isn't glamorous. It's not thrilling. It's dangerous, dirty, and requires pieces of me I'll never get back. But if it keeps me out of the grave, if it keeps me from running... then it's worth it.
I notice him standing up from his table, with his drink in hand, and making his way towards me. Ricardo Borrelli. I don't know much about him, just that he's my target tonight. The man I need to charm, to disarm, and to leave vulnerable enough for me to get what I need.
He's tall, broad-shouldered, and moves with the kind of confidence that makes people step aside without a word. His suit is expensive, custom-made, the kind that screams power without trying too hard. His dark hair is slicked back, and his jawline is perfect.
And then there's his smile—slow, devious, and aimed directly at me.
I adjust in my seat, crossing my legs and tilting my head just so. My hair is perfectly styled, cascading over one shoulder, and my lips are painted blood-red, the color of temptation. The silver dress I'm wearing is so short and tight, enough to grab attention without looking desperate. I know I look good.
He looks at me from head to toe, lingering just long enough to tell me he likes what he sees. When he reaches me, he leans against the booth with a smirk on his face.
"Mind if I join you?" His voice is deep, the kind of charm that could disarm anyone.
I return his smile, gesturing to the seat across from me. "Be my guest."
He slides in, like he has all the time in the world. "You caught my attention the moment you walked in. What's your name?"
"Felicity," I reply with a soft tone.
"Felicity," he repeats. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
I chuckle, leaning forward just enough to let the neckline of my dress do its job. "You don't waste time with subtlety, do you?"
"Why would I? Life's too short for games."
I lean in slightly, letting my flirtatious tone take center stage. "So, what do you want from me, sir?"
He smirks. "Don't call me sir. Call me daddy."
The boldness of his words makes me shudder, but I keep my composure. I tilt my head, biting my lip as I ask, "What do you want from me, then... daddy?"
His dark eyes are filled with amusement, and he raises a finger, signaling for me to come closer. I obey, leaning in until his lips are near my ear.
"I wanna fuck you," he whispers.
A coy smile appears on my face as I lean back and whisper in return, "Took the words right out of my mouth."
I stand, letting the silver dress do its job as I walk towards the door seductively. I can feel his eyes on me. When I glance back, I see the hunger in his expression.
Ricardo signals the bartender, tossing a few bills onto the counter. "Tieni il resto, bellissima." ("Keep the change, gorgeous.")
He rises from his seat and follows me outside.
As I step outside, I pull out my phone and quickly dial Charles.
"What did I tell you about calling me when you're on a mission?" he snaps the moment he picks up.
"I know, I know," I say, lowering my voice so Ricardo doesn't overhear. "I just wanted you to wish me good luck."
Charles sighs, his tone is indifferent. "Good luck. Now can I go?"
His words sting, but I swallow the hurt. "Okay," I murmur, before the line goes dead.
Sliding my phone back into my clutch, I turn to see Ricardo stepping out of the bar, with his eyes on me.
"Who were you talking to?" he asks with an edge to his tone.
"A friend," I reply with a soft smile. "Just letting her know I won't be coming home tonight."
He smirks, clearly pleased by my answer. Moments later, his car pulls up—a sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom. The driver steps out, hurrying to open the door.
"Sir, the car is ready," the driver announces, holding the door for him.
Ricardo waves him off with a slight shake of his head. "I'll sit in the back tonight."
He steps aside, gesturing for me to get in first. I glance at him with a smile, and he returns it with one of his own— an expression that shows me that Charles is going to get what he wants, yet again.