Page 1

CHAPTER 1

O nce Ethan Wolf finished wrapping his hands, his gaze swept across the gym as he flexed his fingers and adjusted the tension in the fabric. The scent of sweat and old leather filled the air, grounding him in the familiar routine. Tyson’s Gym was his battleground every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Casey Tyson, a former heavyweight MMA champion, ran the place like a tight ship, and though Ethan had never officially trained under him, the respect between him and Tyson was mutual. Everything Ethan knew had been drilled into him by his father—a man whose skill in combat was more of the assassin brand than MMA.

“There you are,” Mack said, confidently stepping into the ring with him. “Thought you weren’t going to show.”

Ethan smirked. “Right. I’m not the one who skipped last week.”

Mack rolled his shoulders. “Wait until you’re a dad and your kid’s got recitals.”

Ethan chuckled. “How’d she do?”

Mack’s chest swelled with pride. “Brilliant. Prodigy-level.”

They exchanged a few more words, but the atmosphere subtly shifted when Mack finished securing his hands. Mack wasn’t just some guy off the street—he was tough, methodical, and precise. The man blended Muay Thai, Jiu-Jitsu, and Karate like a damn symphony, and Ethan had spent years deciphering his style, anticipating his movements.

As they stepped onto the mats, onlookers began to gather. Their fights were more than just sparring matches—they were technical displays, brutal but controlled. Ethan and Mack didn’t go easy on each other. Every strike was measured, every defense a calculated response.

They tapped gloves, slipping into their stances.

Casey Tyson stood by the ropes and reached over, ringing the bell.

Mack came in fast, testing Ethan’s reaction time with a series of jabs. Ethan batted them away, his forearms absorbing the brunt of the impacts. A sharp left hook flew toward his ribs—he pivoted just in time, the air slicing past his side as he moved away from the hit. Mack adjusted, shifting his weight, and Ethan saw the kick coming before it landed.

Thwack!

Mack’s shin slammed into his outer thigh, the muscle instantly burning from the impact. Ethan gritted his teeth, shifting his weight before the deadened muscle could slow him. He countered with a snap kick to Mack’s midsection. The force sent Mack back a step, his breath hissing through his teeth, but his grin remained.

“Solid hit,” Mack admitted.

“Pulled it,” Ethan shot back.

“Don’t do me any favors.”

Mack lunged, and Ethan barely got his arms up as a right hook came in hot—his forearm caught the brunt of it, sending a shockwave through his bones. The force of it pushed him back, but he used the momentum to roll his shoulder and retaliate with a sharp elbow strike aimed at Mack’s ribs.

Crack.

Mack blocked, but the impact still made his stance falter.

The second round started with no preamble.

Mack shot forward, his footfalls precise as he drove a knee toward Ethan’s ribs. Ethan twisted, but the tip of Mack’s kneecap still caught his side, knocking the wind from his lungs. He exhaled sharply, ignoring the dull ache as he countered with a low sweep.

Mack leaped over it, landing with a wicked smile. “You’ll have to be quicker than that.”

Ethan smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Don’t get cocky, old man.”

Mack snorted and came at him with a feint—a quick, deceptive movement meant to bait Ethan into committing to a block. Ethan saw it, but Mack was fast.

A real punch followed.

Ethan barely managed to evade the straight right, but Mack twisted into a brutal hook that landed flush against his shoulder. A dull thud echoed in the gym as Ethan staggered, his muscle momentarily going numb. Mack wasn’t pulling as much anymore.

“Felt that one, huh?” Mack taunted.

Ethan rolled his shoulder, smirking. “Not bad.” Then he struck.

A right jab—sharp, quick—snapped Mack’s head back just enough to expose his side. Ethan pivoted and launched a roundhouse kick that connected with Mack’s ribs. A satisfying smack filled the air, and the crowd murmured their approval.

Mack took it like a champ, but Ethan knew that kick would leave a bruise.

By the fourth round, fatigue had crept into their limbs, but neither showed it. The strikes were sharper, more deliberate. Mack came in with a brutal combination—jab, jab, hook, kick. Ethan blocked the jabs and dodged the hook, but the kick slammed into his side again, stealing his breath.

He clenched his teeth. That one hurt like a motherfucker.

Fine .

Ethan retaliated with a vicious one-two combo. A cross nailed Mack’s jaw, and as he stumbled, Ethan dropped low, sweeping Mack’s legs.

Mack hit the mat with a grunt, but he was up in an instant.

“Damn,” Mack huffed, shaking out his arms. “That was good.”

Ethan grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ve been practicing.”

The final round was a war.

Their movements blurred. The sounds of fists and feet colliding with flesh filled the gym. Each strike was met with either a calculated block or a brutal counter. Mack was breathing heavily, and Ethan felt the burn in his lungs. His body ached, muscles screaming in protest, but he didn’t stop.

Mack threw a high kick. Ethan ducked.

Ethan launched an uppercut. Mack dodged.

The final seconds of the match were a flurry of rapid blows, and at the last moment, Ethan landed a sharp cross to Mack’s side, making him stumble back a step.

The bell rang.

Both men stood there for a beat, chests heaving, sweat dripping onto the mat.

Mack exhaled a short laugh and reached out. Ethan clasped his hand, shaking firmly.

“I’d say you got me this time,” Mack admitted, rubbing his ribs. “But next time, I’m coming for you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Ethan smirked, rolling his sore shoulder.

They moved into their cooldown stretches, the fight still buzzing in Ethan’s veins.

“I have to say,” Mack muttered, flexing his hands, “your counters have gotten sharp. Almost didn’t see them coming.”

Ethan grinned. “I’ve been watching and learning.”

“Good.” Mack smirked. “Because next time? I’m not going easy on you.”

Ethan chuckled, shaking out his arms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Ethan stood motionless under the steady stream of hot water, head bowed as the shower pounded against his shoulders. His muscles felt like overcooked spaghetti. Physically, he was spent. The fight had taken everything out of him. Mentally? His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour.

His mentor, whom he still hadn’t met after ten years, had dropped another puzzle in his lap last night. “Puzzle” in the loosest sense of the word. Every challenge was intricately woven into Guardian’s security infrastructure. Sometimes, it was the computer systems. Other times, it was the communications network or logistical frameworks. The workout at Casey’s with Mack was what he needed to get himself out of his own head.

Ethan wasn’t just a CCS operator anymore. He’d become more. Unknowingly, over the years, he’d been groomed into the guardian of Guardian. The systems he monitored weren’t just limited to private security anymore. His reach extended to government institutions—the White House, Congress, international banking systems—places he’d once thought were untouchable. His skills had expanded exponentially, and he owed it all to his enigmatic mentor.

The man had an uncanny way of stretching Ethan’s abilities past what he thought possible, constantly testing, pushing, and daring him to redefine his own limits.

And Ethan had.

Exhaling sharply, he ran his hands over his face. The fact that he was a genius meant little in the world of Guardian Security. Intelligence was practically a family trait. His father, Lycos, was a certified genius. Ethan would never consider his sperm donor his father. That bastard was evil to the core, and he was glad he was dead. Lycos was the only father he’d ever known. His twin half-brothers, Dixon and Drake? Equally brilliant. His aunt, Jewell? Insanely smart.

And yet, his mentor had chosen him. The elite of Guardian had agreed he was capable, and for the last ten years, he’d worked his ass off to prove to them they hadn’t made a mistake. It was unbelievable that out of everyone he could’ve chosen, his mystery mentor had seen something in him—something worth investing in. That was why Ethan worked himself into exhaustion, grinding through problems, redesigning schematics, and finding solutions no one else could. And while he’d worked, he’d started to believe in himself.

And he was getting shit done. He smiled as he remembered his favorite saying his father had taught him. “If you think you can’t, you probably can’t. If you think you can, try harder and do that shit like a motherfucking boss.”

Ethan snapped his head up, blinking away the water. His old companion, Thor, let out a huff from his spot outside the shower as his gray face watched Ethan with interest.

“That’s it, buddy.” Ethan pointed at the dog. “I have to assume it can be done. No more limiting factors.” Thor flicked an ear. Impressed? Probably not. “If I approach the problem assuming limitations don’t exist, then I can complete it first and figure out the bridge later.” Ethan grinned, slapping the shower tile with enthusiasm. “Do that shit like a motherfucking boss.”

With a renewed sense of determination, he shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried off. Thor gave him a slow, judgmental blink from his mat.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ethan muttered, yanking on a pair of jeans. Commando. Comfort over everything. Then he strode out of the bathroom, heading downstairs. “Come on, old man. We’re going to work.”

Thor let out a dramatic sigh but got up to follow. Ethan detoured to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of juice from the fridge while waiting for Thor to descend the stairs like a king. Once the dog made it down, Ethan opened the secure basement door, letting Thor in first before following. Then he got to work.

Ethan wasn’t sure how long he’d been buried in his work when?—

BAM. BAM. BAM .

He stiffened. Then exhaled. Of course. The hammering could only mean one thing. His neighbor. Star Peterson. His mind’s eye immediately called up the sexy, tight, and lithe body. Her long, straight, sandy brown hair and big hazel eyes were beautiful. She was everything he hadn’t known he desired until she moved in. Bottom line, he had one hot neighbor. Still, the woman was like a human tornado, wreaking havoc in the most absurd ways possible. She’d moved into the crumbling Victorian next door about six months ago, and from day one, she’d been an enigma wrapped in a hurricane surrounded by a tsunami.

They hit it off—fast. She was funny, pretty, capable, and determined. Ethan would’ve pursued something more, except …Well. There was a small issue. The Star Curse. Her words, not his. Everything Star touched broke. Or exploded. Or, somehow, became a weapon of minor destruction. Every time Ethan tried to get closer, she’d manage to destroy, damage, or otherwise create chaos in the most spectacular fashion imaginable, ending his attempt to ask her out. So, he’d settled into a sexually frustrated, friend-slash-rescuer dynamic.

Ethan wanted more. Star? God only knew what she wanted. He’d learned that any thoughts of a relationship with Star were like a live grenade without a pin—one he had no idea if he should be holding onto.

Still, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by her. He’d done a full background check because, duh, security. Her past was mostly unremarkable. Her parents had died in a freak accident. She’d sold their family home because of limited life insurance and an astronomical tax bill. She’d started her own little business. It wouldn’t make her rich, but it paid her bills. She had no criminal record and no suspicious activity. Just an unexpected inheritance from a dead great uncle she’d never met—a man who turned out to be an accountant for not one but two major Mafia families.

Yeah. Two.

Her great-uncle Nico, had played the Russo and Bianchi crime families against each other for years, keeping their books until he’d died peacefully of old age, which was, frankly, a miracle.

When he passed, the Victorian house, or what Ethan called the money pit, had gone to Star. It took years to go through probate and for Star to be tracked down, but she was finally notified.

She’d told him she had no clue who the hell Nico was, but that hadn’t stopped Ethan from falling down a research rabbit hole when she’d moved in. At first, he’d been more interested in the uncle than Star. Then he’d spent time with her and realized—she was chaos incarnate.

When Thor let out another sigh from his corner, Ethan glanced at him. “Yeah, she’s always making noise, isn’t she?” Thor groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side.

Ethan shook his head, turned back to his screen, and then …

CRASH!

Followed by … “Son of a?—”

Star never swore. Thor sat up like he’d been electrocuted. Ethan froze, then pushed back from his desk, moving quickly. Thor moved as quickly as he did, proof that adrenaline worked at any age.

“Yeah, we’re going to check on her,” Ethan said. He secured the basement, jogged up the stairs, grabbed his cell phone, and jogged outside. The moment he stepped into the side yard, he spotted a fallen ladder sprawled across the concrete like it had been murdered. His eyes scanned for Star. Nothing. His stomach tightened as he called, “Star?”

Ethan exhaled, already bracing himself for whatever fresh disaster she’d created.

“Uhhh … up here!”

Ethan’s head snapped up as his frown deepened. What the hell? At first, he didn’t see anything—just the Victorian house next door, the one Star had been slowly and disastrously attempting to renovate. Then, movement caught his eye.

There, dangling from the edge of the roof like a wayward cat, was Star Peterson. Ethan exhaled through his nose, already bracing for the inevitable chaos.

“Well,” she called, her voice painfully casual for someone actively defying gravity, “I was fixing some shingles that came loose, but the ladder fell. Do you think you could help me, please?”

As soon as he fully processed the sight of her hanging precariously from the steep-pitched, accident-waiting-to-happen roof, Ethan didn’t waste time. He vaulted over the fence, grabbed the fallen ladder, and set it against the house in record time.

Then Ethan started climbing. Fast.

“No, no, no!” Star panicked. “I can do it! You don’t need to come up.” She was tiptoeing on thin air, balancing on the top of the ladder like some unhinged acrobat. “Just hold it for me, would you?”

Ethan stalled, slowed down, and then backed down the ladder to hold it, but his jaw tightened. “Star, I think I should?—”

And that was when she did the thing.

She let go of the roof.

Landed both feet on the ladder’s top platform.

And squatted like a smug little gremlin.

“No, see? I’ve got it,” she chirped, all confidence, flashing a grin.

Ethan’s brain screamed. Then …

One moment, she was fine.

The next?

Her foot missed the first rung.

He watched in horrified slow motion as she flailed, grabbed for the top of the ladder—missed completely—and let out a tiny, utterly undignified squeak before plummeting.

Ethan lunged forward, arms outstretched to catch her. Only catch was the wrong word.

Because, one second later, they were both on the ground. More accurately, Ethan was on the ground. Star flattened on top of him. She let out a groan and rolled off, sitting up. She whispered, “Oh my. Not again.”

Ethan closed his eyes, sprawled on his back, hands limp at his sides. Could he feel his fingers? Yep. Toes? Yep. Back, oh, hell, yeah. Shirtless, the concrete had no doubt given him one hell of a road rash. He turned his head to look at her. Neck worked. So, relatively unscathed. “Yeah. Again.”

Star shook her head, then turned to him, wide-eyed with guilt. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Also … why don’t you have a shirt on? Or shoes? Oh, you’ve been sparring again. Ouch, I don’t know how you do that brutal sport.”

Ethan lifted his head just enough to glare at her. He knew she didn’t like MMA. She called it ruthless, which it kind of was, so he ignored those comments. “I was working downstairs. I forgot to get dressed.”

Star blinked. Then, as if the sheer absurdity of his response finally hit her, she burst into laughter. “You forgot to get dressed?”

Ethan sighed, dropping his head back down. “And you forgot how to get off the roof.”

“It wasn’t that hard to get up there,” she defended, rubbing the back of her head.

Ethan followed her gaze to the sharp pitch of the roof and the highly questionable ladder placement.

Star gestured vaguely at the house. “If you’d put the ladder a little closer, it would’ve been easier for me to climb down. That’s how I got up there in the first place.”

Ethan sat up, gave her an incredulous look, then gestured at himself, lying in a heap on the concrete. “Of course,” he deadpanned. “You could’ve told me that.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.” After a beat of silence, Star perked up. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Ethan sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing but my pride.”

Star waved away his comment with a casual flip of her hand. “Oh, I have no pride left. I’ve bruised it so much I think it died a long time ago or at least crawled into hiding.”

Ethan chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet and brushed off his jeans. Then he extended a hand, effortlessly pulling her up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, scanning her for injuries.

She nodded. “Yup. I rarely get hurt in these situations.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “You save that honor for me?”

Star crossed her arms and winced. “Yeah, sorry. It’s almost like my curse protects me and preys on others.”

She wasn’t wrong. Ethan just shook his head, grinning. “I’d say it’s funny, but it’s really not.” She could’ve broken her leg or her neck. He rolled his eyes. Or his leg or neck.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Star said, patting his arm.

Ethan gave her a look. “You know, I could help you with some of this stuff.” He offered every time he had the opportunity. It would mean more time with her, and as dangerous as that sounded, it was something he wanted.

Star sighed dramatically. “Ethan, we’ve talked about this. I’m doing this myself. I get instructions from the people at the hardware store. I watch YouTube videos. I’m in a Facebook group with other women who do home repairs. I have my research and all the answers I need.”

Ethan folded his arms. “Right. And yet, you still fell off the roof.”

Star grinned, unbothered. “You know, this reminds me of the time I got stuck behind the dryer?—”

Ethan groaned. “Star.”

“—and you had to come over and rescue me.”

Ethan sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes. I remember.”

She poked his arm playfully. “So, see? It’s good you live next door.”

Ethan turned back toward his house where Thor waited patiently beside the fence, watching with the tired expression of a dog who’d seen way too much.

As Ethan walked away, he decided to go for it. “Do you want to have dinner this week?”

Star brightened. “How about I cook for you? Your kitchen?”

Ethan cocked his head. Wait, what? “Why can’t you cook in your kitchen?”

Star sighed, hands on hips, nose scrunched. “I think the wiring is bad. It popped and fizzed and sparked, so I turned everything off.”

Ethan froze. “Star.”

“It’s fine!” she said quickly. “I have three electricians coming to give me quotes on fixing it this week. I’ll just eat out until then.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want me to check the wiring?”

Star waved him off. “Nope! Uncle Nico left me enough money to restore the house, so I’m getting it fixed properly.”

Ethan still didn’t love the idea of her kitchen actively catching fire, but he forced himself to let it slide.

Star started jogging toward her back door. “I’ll see you Saturday night. You can’t back out. You asked, remember? I hope you like pasta. I make a really good sauce.”

Ethan laughed and held up a hand in farewell. Then, as she disappeared inside, he shook his head with a grin. That whirlwind of a person was his neighbor.

She was beautiful.

She was hilarious.

And she was a disaster.