Fifteen.

I enter the office like a naive little girl.

I know I should heed to my inner Goddess, who is howling at me,

'This is a trap; flee before it is too late.'

And she is right; it is too late; I brush past him, my sight settling on the chair in front of the enormous mahogany desk, which I slip into.

I hear the faint sound of the door closing and the click of the door locking. I keep my gaze straight ahead, attempting to maintain an increased level of awareness while I wait for him to take his seat in front of me.

I am too intrigued to hear his proposal for me to get up and walk out. Something deep inside me screams out that his proposition will cost me my soul but could possibly benefit me at the same time.

He sinks into his chair, opens the top drawer of his desk and extracts a bottle of Glenfiddich. I stare at him as he fills his tumbler glass three fingers high, and then replaces the bottle in the drawer.

His presence alone screams power that steals the air from me. His masculinity is undeniable the fear of his superiority over Trent only adds to the forbidden discomfort that rages through me.

He is a man that little girls should be taught to fear in bedtime stories.

Leaning back in his chair, he swirls the contents of his glass as he raises it to his nose and takes a whiff of it before taking a hearty sip, the glass nestled in his hand when he's done.

His gaze is drawn to mine, he looks at me with curious eyes, and I mirror his expression since the connection is mutual. A million thoughts begin to race through my mind, such as...

Is he trustworthy? Is he deliberately setting me up to fail? Will his scheme result in my death or the kidnapping of my child?

The longer I sit here staring into his ocean baby blue eyes, the more agitated I grow as the desire to discover what he seeks progressively dwindles.

"Ti trovo molto interessante," He says breaking the silence between us.

"I'm sorry, my Italiano is a bit rusty." I keep my voice calm as I continue to remember he is more powerful than Trent.

He returns his glass to his mouth, his eyes smiling at me over the rim as he masks his smirk with the glass.

"I said," he says as he slightly lowers his drink, "that I find you very interesting." He tilts his glass towards me and takes another sip before lowering it onto the desk.

I don't respond, not just because I'm at a loss for words, but also because I've learned that one should avoid exposing too much of oneself to a consigliere.

If he deems I am more of a liability than an asset to him, he only needs to say so to Trent and the lights will go off permanently for me.

"Are you aware of the reason why I brought you here?"

"You stated that you have a proposition for me, but you never specified what it contained," my brows pinch together.

"Si," (Yes), "I am aware of Trent's treatment of you, and I am also aware of who the genuine father of your child may be." With a heavy accent, he says.

"The true identity of my baby's father," I murmur, swallowing the moisture collecting in my mouth.

"Si, the man with whom you slept prior to waging a war against the Mc Carthy Irish family."

"I don't respond well to those who attempt to blackmail me," I slowly begin to rise from my chair. Regret steadily seeps into my pores as I begin to doubt my sanity.

"Sit, per favore." (Please) he pleads as he rises from his chair. "Your secret is safe with me, and I will do everything I can to ensure Trent does not touch you and that you are treated with respect." His words have a promising tone to them, and I'm inclined to believe him.

"Since there is always a cost involved, my question to you is-"

"I need you to go on an assignment and bring me something that will help cripple another man's empire after you give birth to your child." He responded as he cut me off in mid-sentence and his face transformed; he was suddenly all business.

"Why would I assist you in destabilising another man's company?" I question him, wondering why he is so hell-bent on wrecking this man's life that he needs to work with me to execute his plans.

"Because none of the men are Bellissima (Beautiful) enough to get into the company." His eyes squint as the corner of his mouth forms an asymmetrical smirk.

"Look, I'm not interested in whoring myself out. I'm not sure what you've heard, but I do have morals." I attempted to seem as inoffensive as possible but tragically failed.

I watch as his eyes widen with a grin that spreads across his face, and he tosses his head back in laughter at me.

The sound of his rumbling laughter ricochets off the walls, colliding with me and I jump with shock at his unexpected outburst of laughter.

"Vedo che ci divertiremo molto a lavorare insieme" (I see we will have a lot of fun working together.) He snorts as he wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes with his hands while his shoulders bob up and down.

I make a conscious effort not to scowl back at him in disgust as I wait patiently for him to sober up. "When the time comes, I'm going to need you to apply for a position as Mr Buraks' personal assistant; you'll earn enough of his trust that he'll show you his latest shoe design, which he'll unveil at his five-yearly release party."

"Okaaay" I reply, "Sounds simple enough to execute."

"That's the easy part."

Oh, wonderful! I mentally facepalm myself knowing that nothing is straightforward when it comes to the mob life.

"Mila, what I acquire from you is the shoe." He declares openly like it's no biggie.

"You want me to steal a pair of shoes?"

"Si (yes), but these are not just any shoes. Burak Legacy Designers are the most sought-after shoes around the globe, and he is banking on the sale of this one shoe to keep his business viable." He kindly explains as his ocean baby blue irises study me.

"What has this Burak person done to earn your interest in bringing his company to an end?" I enquire with curiosity, the name oddly sounding familiar.

"Let us simply state that the Esposito family does not accept cazzate (Bullshit) from any family with whom we do business. Especially the Turkish mafya (mafia)." He sneers, his eyes becoming clouded with contempt.

"By coaxing me into the Turkish mafya, you're putting me on a suicide mission." I rise from my chair with my mind made up. "Regretfully, I am willing to take a chance on Trent and Ace. If I've survived this long, the odds appear to be in my favour." I step up to the door, unlocking it as I turn the handle, and as I ajar it, Castello's hand slams against the door above my head, forcing it shut.

I feel the front of his body press against mine, fear pricks my skin, and I stifle the screams that attempt to escape my lips. His hot whiskey-infused breath fans the exposed flesh on the crook of my neck, and I sense him leaning in closer.