Chapter 2

Chapter Two

P acing the length of my little dorm room, I try to think of what reason he could possibly have to take my picture. It's my first day here. I'm supposed to stay under the radar, get close enough to get the intel the bureau needs to put this family away for good.

I've spent my career going after the lowest of the low. Criminals with no regard for anyone or anything but their own greedy gains. Lining their pockets with blood money. Albeit my career has been short. This is my third year into the job. But I've already put a lot of assholes behind bars. Assholes like the ones who killed my father right in front of my eyes. I was only thirteen. They're remorseless. As long as they get what they want, they don't care who they hurt to get it. I remember the day my father was taken from me like it was yesterday.

I sit on my bed, close my eyes, and force myself to relive the moment. I do this to make sure I never forget.

I'm hiding under the table, but the man can see me. My mom's screams deafen me. I can't hear anything but her screams. And then one of the men hits her across her face. She falls to the floor. My father fights against the zip ties that are holding his arms behind his back.

I don't understand why this is happening. What do these men want? Why are they hurting my parents? My dad is an accountant, and my mom works in a dress store at the mall. Why are these men in fancy suits pointing guns at my father's head?

"No, please, don't." My strangled plea has the men looking my way. One of them drags me out by my foot.

"Don't touch her. Let her go!" my dad shouts, while my mom cries harder from her spot on the other side of the room.

"You need to watch this. Your old man did this to himself. He took something that belongs to me, and I don't like when people steal from me," the angriest looking man tells me with a sneer. "Now he's going to pay for that crime with his life. But don't worry, sweetheart. Once he's dead, you and your mom will be joining him."

I watch in horror as he points his gun at my father, and in the blink of an eye, he pulls the trigger. My father's eyes are on me as he falls to the ground. And then the man is letting go of me. People are screaming and someone is scooping me up.

Blinking my eyes open, I swipe at the tears before wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. I let myself feel the grief because that's what keeps me going. It wasn't God who saved me that day. It was the FBI. They stormed the house while my father lay dying on the floor. An agent picked me up and carried me out to an ambulance. My mom was right next to me.

I don't remember much of what happened after that, except for the promise I made following the court hearings, when that man who shot my father got off with barely a slap on the wrist. He'll be out in a handful of years. I vowed then and there that I'd spend my life making sure people like him were left to rot behind bars. My mom and I went into witness protection. We were given new names. New identities. A fresh start is what we were told. I was never allowed to mention my father or what happened. We weren't allowed to keep any pictures of him either. Not that I need a photo. I could never forget what he looked like.

You could say I was a daddy's girl. I know that asshole said my father stole something from them, but I refuse to believe that. My dad was a good man. He would never get involved with scum like that. He wouldn't put my mom and me in danger.

My thoughts drift back to the lecture hall. It took every ounce of my control to not freak out, to not overreact when Enzo Valentino took a picture of my face. The cocky son of a bitch didn't even try to hide what he was doing. Have I've been made already? I've never been made while on a job. I'm too good at what I do.

Then again, I've never gone after a family as notorious as the Valentinos. Catching them will be like winning the damn lottery. The Valentinos are well-rooted within the city and have ties back to Italy. From the research I've done, the family has recently changed hands. The eldest Theo Valentino retired and handed down the reins to his son, Theo Valentino III.

Like I said, this family goes back generations within this city, which is why I've positioned myself in college, going for the younger members of the organization. My plan was to watch them from afar first, get a feel for what their habits are, and then pick one to get close to. I wasn't planning for any of them to approach me. I'm a nobody. Why would they even notice me?

What could he possibly be doing with that photo? There's only one thing, and that's looking up who I am. He won't find much, though. Everything from before I was thirteen has been scraped from existence, and everything since then has been carefully curated to make me look like your everyday girl next door. He can't possibly find out who I really am. There are no links to my face, my job, or my real identity. At least I certainly hope there's no way for him to link me to the job. If he does, well then, I've fucked up this whole case on day one. And I might as well say goodbye to my career as well as my life.

It sounds dramatic, but if a family like the Valentinos found out I was an undercover agent, they wouldn't think twice about disposing of me. They see me as the enemy, as they should. Unlike me, though, they shoot first and never ask questions. While I'm more of the ask questions and let you rot in a cell type. Death is too kind for monsters, and that's exactly what these people are. Monsters disguised by good looks and money.

I can see the appeal. Enzo, for instance. I've spent longer than I care to admit looking at his profile images. There's something about him that captivates me. It's not the man himself, though. It's the thought of catching him. The rush of it. At least, that's what I'm telling myself, because I cannot be lusting over a mark. I will not lust over a mark. I'm not risking everything I've worked for just to throw it away for a pretty smile and a nice set of dimples.