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“What do they mean?” I asked, leaning forward in anticipation. “Can they help us bring down their operation?”

He held up a hand, his gaze still locked onto the screen as he navigated through the images, his brow furrowing in concentration. “These are promising,” he said, his tone carefully measured. “But it’s not enough yet. We need more concrete evidence. This is a good start, though.”

“And what if my cover gets blown before I find that proof? What if Dante...?”

Morrow’s gaze snapped up to meet mine, the hardened edge in his eyes softening just enough to offer me a crumb of reassurance. “You’re a good agent, Natalia,” he said firmly, his voice steady and confident. “You’re smart, resourceful, and most importantly, you’ve got instincts that money can’t buy.”

He paused, his gaze never wavering from mine. “You’ve got a good thing going with Eva’s character. It’s believable, it’s alluring, and it’s got Dante’s attention. Keep that up, and keep him close. Just remember?—”

“Don’t get too close,” I finished for him with a weary sigh, repeating the mantra that had been drilled into me since day one of my training. But it was easier said than done, especially when dealing with Dante Reyes.

Morrow nodded, giving me a stern look of warning. “Exactly. Keep your head on straight, and keep us in the loop with anything—and I mean anything—that could be even remotely useful. If you feel like things are getting too hot, pull back and regroup.”

I nodded in understanding as I thought about the implications of this latest development. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

After that, the conversation shifted to more mundane matters - updates on the team, check-ins on my safety and well-being, and reminders of protocol and procedure.

As the video link went dark, I slumped back in my chair, releasing a slow, steadying breath. The path ahead was fraught with danger, pitfalls, and temptations at every turn.

But at least my cover was still safe.

EIGHTEEN

DANTE

Sinking back against the plush red velvet couch, I narrowed my eyes as I scrutinized the dancers rehearsing on the small stage. Something was off with their timing, their movements lacking the seamless precision I demanded in my club.

“Again, from the top,” I barked, the sharp edge of my voice cutting through the thumping bassline. “I want to see some real fire, ladies. This is Diablo, not some rinky-dink strip joint off the interstate.” I took a sip of my whisky and plunked the glass down hard.

The dancers exchanged glances but obediently reset their positions and began the routine anew. As the music swelled, their bodies moved in tandem, hips swaying, muscles rippling beneath glistening skin.

I nodded, satisfied that the message had been received. Perfection was the minimum expectation here – anything less was unacceptable.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration jolting me from my intense focus. A glance at the screen revealed Sofia’s name and smiling face.

“What is it, sis?” I answered gruffly, my attention still divided between her call and the performance unfolding before me.

“Dante!” Her voice, bright and cheerful as ever, pierced through my darkening mood. “You, Eva, Allen, and I—dinner on Friday. There’s a new fusion place on Ocean Drive I’m eager to try.”

Hearing Allen’s name, an image of his smarmy face flashed before me, instantly grating on my nerves. That guy was the epitome of a pompous ass, oozing an air of entitlement. The very definition of a jerk, the type I made it a point to avoid.

“I thought I made it clear to stay away from him. He’s nothing but trouble.” My voice held an edge, a warning.

I could almost feel her steeling herself over the phone. “I don’t care, Dante. Eva encouraged me to be more assertive. So, that’s what I’m doing. Standing my ground with you and Allen.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died on my lips as a stray movement on stage caught my attention. One of the dancers, a willowy blonde with endless legs, had abandoned the routine and was now making her way toward me, her hips swaying hypnotically.

“What the–” I sputtered, my phone nearly slipping from my suddenly nerveless fingers as the dancer planted her topless body on my lap, her large breasts mere inches from my face.

“Dante?” Sofia’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinny and distant. “Are you still there?”

The dancer smirked, her tongue darting out to trace the shell of my ear as she undulated against me, her movements slow and sinuous. I bit back a groan as I desperately tried to regain control of the situation.

“Yeah, uh... dinner sounds great, Sof,” I managed to choke out, my voice strained. “Count us in.”

I barely registered Sofia’s delighted response before ending the call, tossing the phone aside as I surrendered to the dancer’s sensual assault. My hands found her hips, guiding her motions as she rolled and gyrated in my lap, her fingers tangling in my hair.

The rehearsal was supposed to be an opportunity to fine-tune our performances for the club. But this dancer changed everything when she latched onto the sensitive spot below my ear. This was so very crossed-lines territory.