Page 72 of Masked Seduction

Sleep evades me.

I toss and turn all night, entangled in dreams of Jenna in my bed, Jenna laughing in my arms, Jenna walking away… looking back just once before disappearing into the shadows.

It’s unsettling. Not the dreams, I’ve had worse, but how much they affect me.

I’ve had one-night stands, flings, women I saw a handful of times, women I’ve dated on and off. Hell, I’ve been married.

But Jenna? This is something else entirely. Imissher. I feel like she took a part of me with her last night, and now I’m walking around without it.

If I feel this way already, if she means this much, then she’s a liability. A weakness someone could use against me.

If my enemies were to find out…

She could be in danger. No. I will never allow it. She’ll be protected. I’ll make damn sure of it.

By the time the sun rises over the city, I’m already in the car. I skip the valet, taking the long way around to the private parking entrance under the building. The office isn’t open yet, but I told Mikhail and Denis to meet me there early. We need to be ready before paying the Agostis a visit.

However,, something feels off. The tight coil at the base of my neck, the one that starts to wind when shit’s about to gosideways, is tugging hard. It’s the kind of edge I’ve learned to trust. It’s saved my life more than once.

I pull into the private garage and kill the engine. My hand goes straight to the glove box, retrieving my Glock. I tuck it into the waistband at my back, covering it with my suit jacket.

It’s probably nothing. But probably has no place in my world.

I get out, slow and steady, eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the garage. It’s too quiet. The familiar air smells of concrete and car exhaust. But the tension in my gut doesn’t ease.

No guards. No entourage. I don’t keep a detail around me constantly—not because I can’t, but because I don’t like the message it sends. Makes a man look weak. Afraid.

I’m not afraid nor am I weak.

I’m cautious, smart.

And it appears I’m alone.

I’m halfway to the private elevator when I hear it.

Engines. Low. Controlled. Three of them.

I turn just as they appear—three black SUVs rolling in like goddamn storm clouds, driving just a little too fast, parking just a little too close.

My jaw tightens. Nico Agosti doesn’t believe in subtlety. Or respect.

I don’t reach for my gun. I won’t give Nico the satisfaction. He wouldn’t dare try anything. Not here. Not with his father still clinging to power and the Bratva watching every move.

My senses are sharp; I notice every detail in my periphery.

The first SUV door opens. Then the second. Then the third. One by one, six bodyguards step out—jacked, suited, all wearing an unmistakable air of overcompensation. Expensive watches. The obvious outline of a weapon under each of their jackets. Dark sunglasses.

Then Nico emerges.

He’s in his early thirties, handsome in a way that probably works on club girls and Instagram models. His hair is slicked back, and he wears a charcoal pinstripe suit with shiny loafers and a watch that screamsnewmoney. His smirk is all teeth and ego, and he walks like he owns the goddamn world.

His cockiness will be his undoing.

“Morning,” I say dryly. “Was bringing the cavalry really necessary?”

He spreads his arms, cocky and defensive, like a teenager trying to act tough when he’s been caught with his daddy’s car. “You wanted a meeting,” he says. “Let’s meet.”

I don’t move. “How the fuck did you get into my private garage?”