Page 14 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)
“That’s because I know something your family doesn’t.” His voice dropped, his eyes locking with mine.
“And what is that?”
“I know the real you—the person you keep hidden from others. You allow your family to think you’re reckless and childish, but you’re far from it. Isn’t that right, Sophia?”
My breath caught, but my expression remained cold. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“I know you’re a hired killer,” he said, his tone matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen the aftermath of your work. Clean kills. Precision. You’re an artist with a gun. “Don’t bother pretending otherwise. I’ve done my homework.”
My stomach twisted, but I didn’t let it show. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” he said, his tone softening but no less dangerous. “You’re good at hiding it, but you didn’t fool me. I started putting the pieces together after Naeem had to beg you not to murder me in cold blood.”
My mind suddenly flashed back to me standing over him, my Glock aimed at his head, ready to pull the trigger. If it hadn’t been for Tatum and my brother’s interference, he wouldn’t be standing here now.
“I remember how you looked at me,” Dallas continued, his voice dropping an octave.
“Like you were deciding whether to end my life or let me go. That wasn’t the look of a reckless little sister.
That was the look of someone who’s done it before and who wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. That was the look of a killer.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you then,” I replied, my voice like steel. “So why are you still here, pushing your luck?”
“Because I’m curious,” he admitted, his smirk returning. “I wanted to know if you’re as ruthless as they say and as good as the whispers make you out to be.”
“So you’re risking your life over curiosity?” I scoffed. “That’s a stupid ass reason to die, but hey, curiosity does kill the cat.”
“Maybe. Or it could be that I have a thing for dangerous women.” He tilted his head, the playful gleam in his eye making me grind my teeth.
“The way you move and the way you think fascinates me. You don’t just have skill.
You have instinct, and I’ve seen enough killers in my line of work to know when I’m standing in front of a real one—a trained one. ”
I didn’t lower my gun, but his words sent a ripple of unease through me. “And what are you planning to do with this so-called knowledge of yours?”
“Nothing,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I will never blow your cover. I just wanted to see if the infamous Sophia Bulgari really lived up to her reputation.”
“And now that you have?”
He took another step closer, closing the distance between us. His height and presence felt overwhelming, but I refused to back down. “Now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m even more impressed than I thought I’d be.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I warned, my finger still on the trigger.
Dallas leaned in, his voice dripping with confidence. “So are you, Sophia, but I think we both know you’re not going to pull that trigger—not tonight.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll show you the killer you want to see.”
Dallas bristled, but his grin didn’t falter. “You already had your chance, but you didn’t shoot. Tell me why.”
“You’re alive because of Tatum, and Tatum only. You should be thanking her.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason. I believe you hesitated because you knew killing me wasn’t the right move. You’re smarter than your brothers give you credit for.”
I hadn’t killed him while our families were still at war, and that said everything. If there was ever a time to do it, it had been then—when the bloodshed between us was justified, when revenge was expected, when I could’ve walked away without a second glance.
But I didn’t. Not because I lacked the skill, not because I questioned whether or not he deserved it, and definitely not because I had a soft spot for him. I didn’t kill him because I couldn’t afford for my brothers to know what I was capable of.
If I had pulled the trigger, it wouldn’t have been just another body added to the war.
It would’ve been a revelation, a crack in the carefully crafted illusion I had spent years perfecting.
To them, I was reckless, impulsive, a woman too wild to be trusted with real responsibility, but if they ever found out what I truly was—that I was just as much of a killer as the men they put on the front lines, everything would change.
They wouldn’t see me as their sister anymore. They’d see me as a tool to be used when it suited them. I couldn’t allow that. It was bad enough that, at any moment, I could be forced into a marriage I didn’t want, all in the name of family. I refused to give them another chain to bind me with.
So, I had let him live.
Not out of mercy, not out of hesitation, but out of self-preservation because keeping my secret was more important than vengeance. At least it was for now.
The mention of my brothers made my stomach churn. If they knew I was standing here, entertaining Dallas and his antics, all hell would break loose.
“Let me make this simple. Keep your distance or next time, I won’t hesitate,” I said, my voice icier than before.
Dallas smirked again, and for the first time, it pissed me off how calm he was under threat.
“You’re sexy as hell when you lie, but I’ll let you have your space—for now,” he replied, his voice so deep it almost sounded like he growled.
With that, he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek—light and fleeting, yet it burned like fire on my skin.
It sent an electric jolt through me, flooding my senses with confusion and desire.
My heart raced as he lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his presence enveloping me in a haze of temptation.
“Dallas…” I moaned his name as if he’d entered me, but he didn’t reply.
Instead, he took a deliberate step back and shoved his hands in his pockets, but I didn’t lower the gun until he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows.
When the tension finally ebbed, I leaned against my car, my breath coming in shallow bursts. I holstered my Glock and wiped my palms on my jacket, though they still felt damp.
As I replayed the encounter in my head, I couldn’t shake the feeling that letting him walk away had just made everything more complicated.
My family would never forgive me if they knew.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself, but something about the way Dallas looked at me and the way he spoke to me intrigued me.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, my mind burned with thoughts of Dallas.
I cranked the ignition, and the engine roared to life, but it did nothing to drown out the confusion swirling within me.
The streets were thrumming with energy, but all I could think about was that kiss on my cheek.
It was an innocent gesture that set my heart racing.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I navigated through the city. The neon lights blurred past my vision, mirroring my tumultuous emotions. Naeem and Kahlil would never understand. They saw the world in black and white while I dwelled in a murky gray.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into a parking lot behind Tap That, one of Khalil’s upscale bars.
It was a place frequented by those who knew how to keep secrets.
I parked and stepped out, my heels clicking against the asphalt, echoing the turmoil brewing inside me.
I’d come here to clear my head, not to think about Dallas or the way his lips felt against my skin.
The thought of him knowing I was an assassin—one of the best, might I add, was my biggest issue. I thought I had kept my identity a secret, but I hadn’t hidden it well enough.
I didn’t stumble into being an assassin.
I claimed it, piece by piece, like it was always meant to be mine.
Growing up as the youngest Bulgari sibling meant living in the shadow of my brothers.
The men in the cartel were born to dominate and lead.
Meanwhile, I was supposed to stay in my lane, play the role of the dutiful sister, and leave the family business to them.
However, I had never been good at staying in anyone’s lane but my own.
I’d always been fascinated with guns. Not just for the power they represent but for their beauty.
The precision, the mechanics, and the way they respond to your touch.
I remember sneaking into my father’s arsenal when I was sixteen, running my hands over the cold steel of his prized collection.
I’d spend hours taking them apart, cleaning them, and putting them back together until it felt like second nature.
Guns weren’t just weapons to me. They were an art form I wanted to master, and luckily for me, I had help with that along the way.
The first time I saw El Fantasma, I was nine years old.
I wasn’t supposed to be there. My father’s study was strictly off-limits during his meetings. That was a rule he enforced with an iron fist. However, curiosity had always been my closest companion. It was my quiet rebellion against the life dictated by Alejandro Bulgari and my brothers.
That night, I crept down the grand staircase, keeping to the shadows and trying to make myself small enough to remain unnoticed. The heavy oak door to the study was slightly ajar, and I crouched low, peeking through the crack.
Inside, my father sat in his oversized chair with a cigar balanced between his fingers, the smoke curling in lazy spirals.
Across from him stood a figure dressed entirely in black, their posture relaxed yet commanding.
Their voice was low and tinged with a faint accent I couldn’t quite place.
They spoke about strategy, clean exits, and the artistry of a perfect kill as though describing a masterpiece.
El Fantasma.