Lena's POV.
I paced outside the restaurant, my patience running thin. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling street. My phone buzzed in my hand, but I didn't need to look at it to know who it was.
"Where the hell are you, Henry?" I snapped, pressing the device against my ear.
"We were supposed to meet at two. It's three-thirty."
"Sorry, ma'am, I got stuck in traffic," he said, his voice breathless, like he had been running.
I hung up before he could say another word and went back into the restaurant. Henry never ran late. If you set a meeting with him for one o'clock, he'd be there by twelve-thirty, waiting with a cup of coffee and a smug look. But getting caught in traffic in Milan—especially on a weekend—was believable. The city was notorious for its congested streets, and Henry lived on the opposite side of town. Still, it didn't sit right with me.
My own delay wasn't much better. My apartment was only fifteen minutes away, but I'd barely arrived thirty minutes ago. I told myself it was because I had stopped by a shop I frequented—a small, tucked-away store that catered to spies like me.
The owner, a retired RAW agent, always had the best gadgets for specific missions. He was my mentor, an old friend of my father's.
My father.
I clenched my fists, the familiar ache pressing against my chest. Eight years had passed since his death—a few years after he was transferred to Milan. Officially, they said it was natural causes. Just an accident. But I never believed that.
Something happened to him.
And I was going to find out what.
That was another reason for this mission—another reason I had to get into Nexus Corp. I was convinced they had something to do with my father's death.
A sharp voice yanked me from my thoughts.
"Your order, ma'am."
I turned to see the waitress setting my plate on the table—a sandwich and a side of chicken wings. Had Claire been here, she would have given me an earful.
"It's good to have a fit body, but take care of it, girl," she always scolded.
Sometimes, I wondered if my mother's spirit had possessed Claire. The way she nagged, the way she worried—it was the same.
I smirked, shaking my head before picking up my sandwich. But just as I took my first bite, a commotion outside caught my attention.
At first, it was just noise—muffled voices, the rising hum of a crowd gathering. Then, a man's voice, desperate and shaking.
"Please, sir, I'm sorry!"
Another voice answered—not with words, but with the dull, sickening sound of a fist meeting flesh.
I turned, my stomach twisting at the sight. A man was on the ground, curled into himself, shielding his head as another man stood over him, delivering blow after merciless blow.
The crowd did nothing.
They just stood there. Watching.
My grip tightened on the sandwich before I dropped it onto the plate and stood. Anger burned through me like fire. Without thinking, I pushed through the crowd, my heart hammering in my chest.
The man doing the beating had his back to me. Broad shoulders. Black silk-like hair. Piercings glinting in the afternoon light.
Something about him felt familiar.
But I didn't care.
I reached for him, grabbed his arm, and without hesitation, I slapped him across the face.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few people stumbled back as the man's head jerked slightly from the impact.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I spat. "The man was begging! And you just—"
My words died in my throat as he turned to face me.
Cold. That was the only way to describe his eyes—piercing and utterly devoid of emotion. A deep scar ran down the side of his jaw, barely noticeable against his sharp, chiseled features.
Recognition slammed into me like a freight train.
Asher Fernando.
My stomach twisted.
This was him.
The man I was supposed to go undercover to investigate.
And I had just slapped him.
I barely had time to react before his hand shot forward, wrapping around my throat in a vise-like grip.
The world tilted.
I gasped, my hands flying to his wrist, nails digging into his skin. His grip wasn't tight enough to cut off my air completely, but it was firm—a warning.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. "You're lucky I have something more important to do. If I didn't, your face would be a mess right now."
His voice was like ice—low, dangerous.
He released me abruptly, pushing me back slightly. I stumbled, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Remember this," he muttered, spitting on the ground near my feet before turning and walking away.
I stood frozen, my breath shaky, my skin prickling with fear.
He wasn't supposed to see me.
I was supposed to approach him under controlled circumstances, when I was disguised—when he had no reason to remember my face. But now…
If he had a good memory, he'd recognize me the second time we met.
Damn it.
A gentle voice pulled me back. "Are you okay, ma'am?"
I turned to see a concerned man—one of the bystanders—watching me carefully.
"Yeah," I whispered, my throat still burning. "Thank you."
I barely made it back into the restaurant before the waitress came rushing toward me.
"Are you hurt? Did that man—?"
"I'm fine," I cut her off, forcing a tight smile. "Just… needed some air."
I sank into my seat, trying to calm my racing pulse.
By the time Henry arrived, I had mostly gathered myself. Without mentioning what had happened, we proceeded to the mall to gather what we needed.
The disguise had to be perfect.
We picked out cheap, worn-out clothes—something that would make us look like struggling siblings. I got a rubber chest piece to flatten my figure and makeup that would sharpen my features, making me appear more masculine.
"That should do," Henry said, examining our haul.
I nodded. "Now, next is the house."
We needed to rent a place in the ghetto side of the city, somewhere believable for our cover. We had already found a woman in need of a kidney transplant willing to play the role of our sick mother. She had signed the contract, and once we secured the house, we would brief her on what she needed to say and do.
"She was admitted at San Raffaele Hospital, near Quarto Oggiaro," Henry confirmed.
Good. Everything was falling into place.
"And the research on Nexus Corp?" I asked.
Henry gave a tired smirk. "Moving along well. I found out they're holding a seminar this week. Invite-only. But it's our easiest way to get to Asher."
"Perfect," I murmured, already running through the plan in my head.
We were ready for the show.
The Next Day
Sunday rolled in, and I was free from immediate tasks.
Henry, on the other hand, spent the whole night working, dissecting every last detail of Nexus Corp's inner workings.
Claire walked into the living room, arms folded, her face set in that familiar expression of disapproval.
"How's the mission preparation going?" she asked.
"We had some setbacks," I admitted. "But everything is under control now."
She studied me for a moment before nodding. "Good. You guys should be careful. It's a dangerous world out there."
I smirked. "We know, Mom. We'll be fine."
She rolled her eyes, but I saw the worry flicker behind them.
Truthfully, I wasn't fine.
I had come face to face with Asher Fernando.
And he had already left a mark.
One way or another, this mission had just gotten a hell of a lot more dangerous.