“You're playing with fire, y'know.”
Squalo narrows his eyes from behind his sunglasses, arms crossed as he leans against the balcony railing of the hideout. Below, Naples is alive with noise—cars, sirens, the pulse of Passione’s underground empire—but here, the air is still, and the only heat is the weight of your gaze as it lingers too long on him.
You smile—unbothered, sharp. “Am I?” you ask, voice a silk thread pulled taut.
You knew what you were doing. From the moment the boss assigned you to assist Tiziano and Squalo on intel and extraction ops, you’d turned on your charm like a switch. Not the giggly, breathy kind that people expected—but poised, deliberate. You looked like someone who already had them wrapped around your finger. The worst part? You were probably right.
At first, it was subtle. A casual lean against Squalo’s side while pointing at a map. A smirk thrown over your shoulder as you handed Tiziano a file, your fingers brushing his just a second too long. Small things. Plausible deniability.
But that didn't last long. Tiziano noticed first.
He’s always been the more observant of the two—fluid, polished, soft-spoken but deadly. His arm is thrown casually over the back of the couch as he watches you laugh at something Squalo mutters. His eyes are half-lidded, but sharp.
“You’re quite good at getting what you want,” he says slowly, voice like warm honey with an edge of suspicion.
You tilt your head. “Is that a compliment?”
Tiziano smiles, lashes lowering. “A warning.”
Squalo scoffs, pushing off the wall. “Don’t feed their ego.”
“They don’t need me to,” Tiziano replies smoothly, eyes still fixed on you.
You sit between them, legs crossed, hand resting lazily under your chin. “What if what I want is sitting on this couch?”
There it is.
The silence is delicious. Tiziano’s brows lift in mild amusement; Squalo's lips part slightly, a sharp breath caught like a hitch in his throat. You can feel them recalibrate.
Squalo leans in, eyes burning. “You’re bold.”
“And you like it,” you purr.
Tiziano laughs softly, tipping his head back. “You’re impossible.”
But he’s intrigued now—he always was. You see it in the way his knee inches closer to yours, the way his tone dips into something smoother, slower. He’s playing along. You’ve cracked through the first layer.
Squalo, meanwhile, looks away—but not out of rejection. He’s grinning now, a little feral, teeth flashing. “Tiz, they’ve got a hell of a mouth on them.”
“And they know it,” Tiziano says, looking at you with the kind of interest that means you’re already under his skin. “Tell me, do you flirt with every pair of assassins you meet, or are we just lucky?”
You flash a confident smirk. “You’re lucky. I don’t waste charm on people who don’t know what to do with it.”
That earns a laugh from both of them, deep and genuine. Squalo claps a hand over his mouth, still chuckling, while Tiziano leans back like he's genuinely impressed.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Tiziano hums.
“You’re Passione’s top intel duo,” you counter, standing slowly and walking toward the balcony. You glance over your shoulder. “I thought you liked dangerous.”
Squalo follows your movement with his eyes, his grin tugging wider. “Maybe we do.”
Tiziano sighs, theatrical. “This is going to be so complicated.”
“And yet,” you say, flicking a wink, “I think you’re already enjoying it.”
You walk out onto the balcony, leaving them inside.
Tiziano leans toward Squalo, lips curving. “I think we’ve been made into a target.”
Squalo exhales a long breath, still staring out after you. “Yeah. But damn it, I don’t mind being hunted.”
They’re killers. Cold. Calculated. Loyal only to each other and the mission. But for the first time in a long while, someone walked in and made them feel like prey. Like a puzzle to be solved. And you?
You weren’t just solving it.
You were rewriting the game.
And they liked it.
Maybe too much.