Page 45 of The Don's Undercover Lover

"Up there!" she points to a ledge above the fighting pit, where it appears the ventilation system connects to the outside world. "We can use that to escape!"

"Are you sure?" I ask, my mind racing with adrenaline-fueled thoughts.

"Trust me," she replies, her voice full of determination. "I've done this before."

As we climb up the metal scaffolding, I can't help but wonder about Jasmine's past experiences and what led her to become the formidable woman she is today. But now isn't the time for questions – our survival depends on our ability to work together and escape this dangerous place.

"Almost there," Jasmine pants as we reach the top, sweat dripping from our brows. We quickly make our way through the narrow ventilation shaft, the sounds of the fight club fading behind us and reach the ground above.

"Thank God we made it out of there," I mutter as we emerge into the cool night air, taking in deep gulps of oxygen. My heart still races, but relief washes over me, knowing that we managed to evade the worst of it.

"Thank you," Jasmine says, her eyes locking onto mine. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Likewise," I reply, my admiration for her growing stronger with each passing moment. "You're one hell of a partner."

"Maybe we make a good team after all," she says, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Maybe we do," I agree, feeling the undeniable connection between us as we stand there in the shadows, our escape from danger complete but our journey only just beginning.

Tonight, I saw a side of Jasmine I never thought existed and that makes me even more curious to learn the depth and core of this layered woman.

Chapter 17

The Heart’s Gambit

Jasmine

I can still feel the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins as Dario and I make our way into his apartment. We've just barely escaped the chaos at the fight club, and the danger we faced only moments ago somehow makes the air between us electric.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath when I notice the blood seeping from a cut on Dario's arm. "You're hurt."

"Ah, it's just a scratch," he brushes off with a smirk. But pain flickers in his eyes, betraying his attempt at nonchalance.

"Come on," I insist, moving closer to him. "We need to clean that up."

Dario doesn't argue, allowing me to lead him to the bathroom. The bathroom we’re in is small, and I accidentally graze thigh against hand, hand against shoulder, ass against knee, while trying to reach the various things I’d need, making my heart race even faster.

I grab a washcloth and some antiseptic, gently dabbing at the wound. Dario winces but holds still, his gaze locked on mine.

"Thanks," he murmurs, his voice low and so damn sultry that I can’t bear to hear it without quivering within. I feel a tingly warmth spread through me as I tend to his injury.

As I wrap a bandage around his arm, Dario breaks the silence. "I gotta ask, Jasmine... How did you learn to fight like that? You were incredible back there."

I hesitate before answering. The weight of my deception as a spy masked in the form of a damsel in distress suddenly bears down on me. I decide to take a gamble and tell him at least part of the truth.

Even if he ends up thinking less of me, because of how I grew up, it’s a risk I am willing to take. I want to create a base of honesty between us. So much of my work life is.

"You probably heard that my parents died and I was raised by my aunt and uncle. Well, the truth is, I don’t have any other family. My sister and I partially grew up in foster care and then lived on the streets. There was a charity organization that offered free Wing Chun classes. It was a way to keep us safe, teach us self-defense."

Dario tilts his head and holds my gaze, searching into my soul. In his eyes, I see a little pain, and no judgment, all topped by sheer pride. "You're definitely not someone to be messed with, huh?"

"Guess not," I laugh softly, finishing up with the bandage, so grateful that he doesn’t think any less of me, now knowing part of my history. But deep down, guilt gnaws at me.

Dario's voice, soft and genuine, pulls me back from the whirlpool of guilt. "You're an incredible woman, Jasmine. A force to be reckoned with." He looks at me with such admiration that I feel my cheeks flush. "My mother would've loved you," he barely whispers.

Hearing him mention his mother catches me off guard, and the significance of his statement doesn't go unnoticed. Knowing how much his mother means to him, the compliment is the greatest I ever could receive from Dario.

We stand there in the dimly lit bathroom, our eyes locked as the world around us fades away. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, and I can see the same awareness reflecting in Dario's eyes.

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