Dante stepped out of the dining room, feeling the eyes of the servants follow his movement. The hallway stretched before him; servants walked back and forth, taking care of the daily hustle.

  Cameras are functioning, security is standing nearby.

  Too exposed for an ambush, and those cameras should be off if it was meant to be here.

  He took a look at his watch and whispered.

  “Aya access the home security and vibrate when the cameras are no longer online in the house.”

  Ok then, I’ll keep moving.

  He walked with casual confidence, keeping his eyes out for potential threats. The restroom was at the end of the corridor. An occasional servant passed by, yet none cared enough to make eye contact.

  As Dante approached the bathroom, his watch vibrated against his wrist.

  Cameras down. Right on cue.

  Let’s see what you have waiting for me, Mirabella. But first.

  “Aya turn on camera if someone appears on screen vibrate.”

  He tightened his grip on the concealed steak knife and pushed the restroom door open.

  Marble walls and polished stone floors gleamed under the warm glow of lights. Against one wall sat a long washstand of dark oak, its twin porcelain basins crowned by gold faucets. Above it hung a mirror. A series of ornate grooming jars, perfume bottles, and grooming tools sat neatly arranged atop the counter.

  Then came the vibration.

  A glint caught from the corner of his eye, hidden from the mirror.

  Dante ducked.

  The attack came from behind the privacy screen from what Dante could see a large and muscular servant emerging with a garrote wire, was attacking him.

  His head tilted forward, the wire scraping the back of his neck. He dropped low, twisting his torso sideways as the assassin, dressed as a servant, was thrown off balance by the movement.

  Dante followed the movement with his steak knife shooting upward.

  The assassin put his hand in the way, intercepting the attack with his palm. The knife pierced clean through the palm, blood immediately flowing down the handle and onto Dante’s grip.

  The assassin didn’t cry out.

  Damn it, he was trained to be able to ignore pain. I have to hit him with something he doesn’t expect.

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  Instead, he used the impaled hand to lock the knife in place, twisting his wrist to control the blade while driving a brutal punch into Dante’s ribs.

  Dante shifted his body as the hit connected, rolling with the impact to minimize the damage.

  He tried to pull the knife free, but it was stuck fast in the assassin’s hand, the man’s fingers curling around the blade despite the pain, refusing to let go.

  This guy is much better than I thought.

  “Who sent you?” Dante question

  The assassin responded with silence, his answer instead came in the form of a sudden, vicious twist.

  His wrist rolled, wrenching Dante’s hand and forcing him to release the knife. In the same motion, the assassin ripped the blade from his palm with a wet shlick, blood spraying across the marble.

  Dante didn’t hesitate — he surged forward, tackling the man. The assassin braced and centered his stance, stopping the momentum cold.

  He is strong, much stronger than me.

  But it doesn’t matter this isn’t about taking him down.

  I just wanted to get close so that I could do this!

  He bit down hard on the assassin’s knife wrist.

  The assassin winced.

  “Ah” a small cry escaping his pained lips.

  He jerked, instinctively trying to pull away, but Dante held on long enough to seize the opening.

  He slammed the assassin’s wrist against the edge of the vanity.

  The knife clattered to the floor.

  Before he could reach for it, the assassin drove his forehead into Dante’s nose with brutal force, causing him to stagger a step back.

  That hurt, I’m dizzy now, but I’ll use that too.

  Dante took another shaky step back with his hand half-raised

  The assassin lunged and kicked Dante in the chest.

  Pain shot through him as his back collided with the oak counter. Glass shattering from the force.

  Fuck.

  …

  A little more.

  The assassin bent down and grabbed the fallen knife.

  Dante’s fingers curled around a nearby bottle and threw it without aiming. The assassin easily sidestepped the projectile.

  Now!

  Using the moment of distraction, Dante lunged.

  It was too late by the time the assassin felt the shard piercing into his throat.

  The assassin then stabbed with the knife, attempting to push Dante away.

  Dante pushed deeper, ramming the shard in.

  It pulsed out in hot bursts of crimson, painting Dante’s arm and soaking into the assassin’s collar. The man staggered back, the knife dropping to the ground as he clutched his throat, a wet, choking noise bubbling from between his lips. Blood spilled from both the neck wound and his mouth now, dribbling down his chin.

  He dropped to one knee, then crumpled forward.

  Dante stepped back, breathing hard. Blood clung to his hands, his sleeves, the front of his shirt.

  Dante grabbed the fallen knife and stabbed the assassin in the chest.

  “Ok he seems dead now. Why does everyone keep underestimating me?”

  “Mirabella, I’m starting to consider really killing you now.”

  With a deep breath, Dante got up and turned on the faucet, staring at the water flowing out.

  “Well guess I should wash up, Aya send Clare a message tell her I got blood all over me, and that she needs to bring me one of the many duplicated suits father had stuffed in my closet.”

  He stared at the broken shards of glass, staring back at him were a pair of deep blue eyes.