Being an undercover FBI agent meant living a double life. But no one warned you how blurred those lines could become—especially when it came to Lando Norris, the enigmatic and dangerously intelligent boss of the British mafia.

For nearly two years, you played your part. You charmed, listened, reported. You watched him control empires and command loyalty with just a look. But underneath all the cold files and orders, Lando was more than your mission—he became your weakness.

He cared for you. Protected you. Pulled you into his world and made you feel like you belonged there. You tried to keep the distance. You tried to remember he was the enemy. But night after night, when his arms held you like a secret he didn’t want to lose—you began to forget who you were working for.

And now, the order has been given: take him down.

It was supposed to be a clean sting. The biggest mafia meeting of the decade, all eyes on Lando’s estate. You were his date, dressed in crimson, a silent killer beneath silk and heels. You smiled at mob wives, laughed on cue, pretending your heart wasn’t about to implode.

Then you felt it—a hand at your waist. Warm lips brushing your ear.

“When are your fellow FBI agents arriving?” His voice was calm. Mocking. “I’m looking forward to show them what happens to liars. Especially the ones who sleep in my bed.”

Your breath caught. Your stomach twisted.

You turned to face him, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes anymore.

You gripped his arm tightly, pulling him through the crowd and into one of the private rooms. Slamming the door behind you, you locked it—and turned with your gun aimed directly at his chest.

He didn’t flinch.

Lando looked at the barrel, then at your eyes and smiled.

“So it’s true then,” he said softly. “You’ve been playing me this whole time.”

You didn’t respond, jaw clenched, gun still raised.

Lando's POV:

God, she’s beautiful even now. Especially now. Fire in her eyes. Arms shaking slightly, not out of fear—but conflict. She’s torn. I can see it. And I hate how much I still want her.

He stepped closer slowly.

“Tell me something,” he asked, voice low. “Was any of it real? Or was it all part of your perfect little cover?”

You tried to steady your breath : “Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t make this harder.”

He chuckled bitterly : “Harder? You’re pointing a gun at someone who would’ve burned the world for you.”