Page 28 of All's Fair In Love & War

And I loved it.

I loved the precision, the control, the way the world sharpened in those moments. I loved the dance between life and death, the power of being unseen and unstoppable.

When she disappeared, I didn’t ask why. In our world, people like her didn’t retire. They faded into legend, but her legacy lived on in me.

Every job I took and every life I ended was a tribute to the woman who saw me in the shadows and taught me how to own them.

What I love most about this life is the freedom it gave me. When I was on the job, I wasn’t Sophia Bulgari, the girl who was grossly underestimated. I was whoever I needed to be--a shadow, a ghost, an apex predator. I could slip in and out of places no one else could. I disappeared without a trace and left a trail of whispers behind. It was the kind of power that didn’t come with being born into a powerful family. It was the kind I took for myself.

And yeah, I played the part around my family. To them, I was the reckless little sister who was constantly pushing boundaries and making trouble. They don’t know the half of it. They thought my late nights and disappearing acts were just me being irresponsible, and I let them believe that. The truth was mine, and I wasn’t about to share it with anyone until I was ready.

When I was alone with my weapons, though? That was when I could really be myself. There was something almost meditative about the process: the weight of the gun in my hands, the sound of a magazine clicking into place, the smell of gun oil. It was the one thing in my life that felt completely mine. It was untainted by anyone else’s expectations or rules.

This life wasn’t for everyone, but for me, it was perfect. The thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of a flawless kill, the knowledge that I was the best at what I did, it was addictive, and I didn’t feel guilty about it. Not one bit. That was who I was, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I parked and stepped out, my heels clicking against the asphalt, echoing the turmoil brewing inside me. I’d come here to clear my head, not to think about Dallas or the way his lips almost brushed against my skin.

As I approached the entrance, I spotted Khalil leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on me. His presence loomed large and was a constant reminder of our family’s legacy.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone sharp. “You’re late.”

“I had some business to take care of,” I replied coolly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

His brow furrowed, and skepticism was apparent in his gaze. “Let me find out you’re up to your old bullshit.”

I waved him off. “Whatever. I need a drink and some dick. Let’s get this meeting over with so I can get out of here,” I replied as I pushed past him into the bar.

Chapter 9

Club Inferno

Dallas Veneto

The acrid stench of charred leather and burned wood thickened the air, clinging to my lungs and coating my throat like tar. Every breath tasted of smoke and ruin and was a bitter, suffocating reminder of what had been stolen from me. Deep, jagged burn marks stretched across the walls like open wounds, and the shards of glass crunching beneath my soles served as cruel echoes of destruction. The air itself reeked of loss, thick with unfinished business.

My empire had been gutted, reduced to nothing but a brutal testament to everything that had been ripped from my grasp.

Ash settled on my shoulders as I stepped deeper into the wreckage of Club Optimum, my fury low and simmering, held tight but never dormant. How could it be? This place wasn’t just another club. It was the foundation of everything I had built.My first real claim to power in this city. And now? Now, it was nothing more than a fucking graveyard.

The Bulgari had made sure of that when they bombed it. They’d torn through my dominion, left it burning, and walked away unscathed like they hadn’t just set fire to years of my work.

Optimum had been the city’s crown jewel, a temple of indulgence and excess. Its neon glow had drawn in the rich, the ruthless, and the reckless, promising them everything they craved—for a price. The bass had once pulsed through the walls, drowning out whispered threats and breathy moans. The back rooms had been where men with blood on their hands and money to burn came to negotiate, spend money on pussy they’d never own, get their dicks sucked, and cut deals that changed the game.

Now? Now, those same neon lights flickered weakly, barely clinging to life.

The damage had been done before the war ended, but that didn’t mean I had let it go. How could I? My club. My men. My business. The Bulgari had set it all on fire, and I was supposed to move on because some ink dried on a fucking peace treaty?

Fuck no.

The battle had ended, but the war was still mine to finish.

They had stripped me of power, taken my people, and stomped on my goddamn pride, then had the nerve to walk away without a scratch. And worse, my own father, Enzo, had been the one to put me in this position. His arrogance and his obsession with the Bulgari festered his inability to see past his own ego. That was what cost me everything. That selfish, power-hungry bastard had played everyone like a fiddle while the rest of us bled for his bullshit.

He should have been the one standing in the middle of this destruction, inhaling the smoke of his failures. Not me.However, maybe that was for the best because if Enzo had still been breathing, I would have put him in the dirt myself.

I felt like a damn fool for letting Enzo wind me up like a toy soldier and send me after the Bulgari like I had a personal vendetta. That was my mistake. I let him put a key in my back, let him use me like a pawn in his never-ending war, and for what? A woman I never gave a fuck about.

Tatum had never been mine, never would’ve been. She was fine, no doubt. Most men would've killed to have her in their bed, but that was the thing—I didn’t want her in mine. I didn’t want her at all. Not because she wasn’t bad as hell, but because she wasn’t for me.

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