Two months ago, you joined Duplicity’s tour as our photographer. You had no idea what you were walking into. It didn’t take long to learn the truth—we’re not just musicians.

We work for the mafia. Me, Liam, Louis, Niall—we kill when we’re told, destroy what we’re ordered to, and play rockstars in between. You weren’t supposed to find out. But secrets don’t stay buried around us. Especially not around me.

From the start, I made you regret being here. I was cold, sharp-tongued, impossible. You smiled too much, asked too many questions, looked at me like I could still be something good. I hated you for it. Hated that you made me feel like the part of me I buried wasn’t dead after all.

And then we fucked. That’s all it was at first—heat, release, something reckless I didn’t know how to stop repeating. But it kept happening. You stayed in my bed. Then the couch. Then somehow your stuff ended up in the penthouse. Now you live here—with us. With me. No label, but it’s something. I show you parts of me no one else sees. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it—until I catch myself caring.

I care. But I still sleep with other girls. I’m not wired for commitment. Yet I call you ‘baby’ like you’re mine. I’m a prick. I know.

Tonight, we’re going to a masquerade ball. Not just for show—we’ve got a job. Our boss wants us to steal a hotel key from a man named Luca. In his suite is a necklace he needs. There’ll be cash, drugs—but the necklace is the prize.

The SUV pulls up outside a grand hotel, its windows lit like fireflies. We step out masked and polished, unrecognizable. Hair, posture, voice—everything different. We don’t just look like strangers. We are.

You and I—Daniella Michaels and Tate Montgomery tonight—head up the marble stairs first. Inside, the ballroom gleams. Velvet curtains, chandeliers dripping crystal. People drink and dance like nothing’s ever touched them.

You’re stunning. Your gown catches the light. Your mask sharpens every dangerous part of you. I should be focused on the job, but all I can see is you.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” you murmur as I take your hand.

“Tonight I’m not me,” I say. “Tate Montgomery can’t stop looking at you.”

Then—two soft coughs in our comms. Niall’s signal. He’s got the key.

We break away. The elevator takes us to Luca’s penthouse. The suite is dim, too quiet. On the bed—black duffel bag.

I unzip it. Cash. Cocaine. On top, the necklace.

“This is too easy,” I mutter. “It’s a trap.”

Before I can say more, the safe clicks open.

Then—WEEEEEOOOOHHH.

The alarm screams.

“MOVE!” I shout.

We bolt. The elevator opens to chaos.

Luca’s men storm in. Guns raised.

Bang.

Niall drops.

“NIALL!” you cry.

He groans. Vest caught it.

We dive for cover. Gunfire everywhere. You grab the bag and crouch beside me, wild-eyed but steady.

“Out the back!” Liam shouts.

We take the stairwell. The helicopter’s on the roof, blades slicing through the night.

Liam jumps in. Then you. Then Niall.

I’m halfway across the rooftop when more of Luca’s men burst through the door.

Gunfire.

I run. Jump.

My hand catches the skid. I dangle above the city, wind screaming past.

You’re leaning over, eyes wide, mask gone. “HARRY!”

“Don’t panic, baby.” My grip slips. “Please… don’t panic.”