MY RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE BOSS CAUGHT HIS BODYGUARD TOUCHING ME—UNTIL HE REALIZED THE DEADLY SECRET HIDDEN IN MY ROOM

Elena slammed the door of her hotel suite, breathing hard. Her pulse thudded behind her ears, half from fury and half from the stubborn, humiliating fluttering in her chest.

Jealous.

Enzo Moretti—the cold, calculating king of Moretti Global Logistics, a man who negotiated multi-billion-dollar shipping mergers without a blink—had looked at Marco’s hand on her shoulder like he wanted to commit homicide. For two years, Elena had convinced herself that to Enzo, she was just an exceptionally competent executive assistant who knew how to balance offshore ledgers and memorize his grueling schedule.

She walked over to the vanity, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for her compact mirror. "Idiot," she muttered to her reflection. "He's your boss. He owns half the freight lines in Europe. He doesn't look at employees that way."

A knock sounded at the door—firm, heavy, and unmistakable.

She swung the door open, ready to unleash another reprimand, but the words died in her throat. Enzo stood in the threshold. His jacket was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing the dark ink of a coiled viper tattoo wrapping around his wrist. His eyes were no longer merely irritated; they were black with lethal intent.

"Pack your essentials. Only what fits in one bag. You have three minutes," he commanded, stepping inside and locking the heavy oak door behind him.

"Excuse me? I am not taking orders on packing because you threw a tantrum on the terrace—"

Before she could finish, Enzo’s arm shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her forcefully toward his chest.

"Enzo! Let go—"

Crack.

The sound was like a whip snapping in the air. A clean, round hole appeared in the center of the double-paned balcony glass, followed instantly by the spiderweb shatter of safety glass. A bullet embedded itself directly into the plaster wall right where Elena had been standing three seconds prior.

Elena’s breath hitched. The air vanished from the room.

Enzo didn't yell. He didn't flinch. In one fluid, terrifying movement, he wrapped his body over hers, driving them both to the carpeted floor beneath the heavy mahogany desk. His weight was heavy, solid, and radiating an overwhelming heat. One of his large hands cradled the back of her head, pressing her face against the crook of his neck. She could smell cedar, expensive espresso, and the sharp metallic tang of raw adrenaline.

"Stay down. Don't look at the window," he murmured against her ear. His voice was steady, shockingly calm, yet vibrating with pure murder.

"Was that... a sniper?" Elena whispered, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as the reality of death brushed past her cheek.

"Seven-point-six-two millimeter," Enzo said coldly. "Suppressor equipped. Fired from the rooftop of the casino across the plaza."

He reached beneath his armpit, unholstering a sleek, matte-black handgun. He flicked the safety off with his thumb—a mechanical click that sent a shiver down Elena’s spine.

"The sunscreen," she breathed, piecing together the broken puzzle. "Marco wasn't just being nice... you weren't just being arrogant..."

"The bottle was poisoned with organophosphates," Enzo said, shifting his weight to shield her entirely as another silenced round punched through the drapes above them. "Someone wants you dead, Elena. And to reach you, they have to go through me."

The connecting door to Marco’s room kicked open. Marco entered in a low crouch, carrying an automatic submachine gun.

"South fire escape is clear," Marco barked. "Black Mercedes SUV idling in the basement garage. We have two minutes before the local gendarmes react to the window alarms."

Enzo looked down at Elena. His hazel eyes were locked onto hers with an intensity so raw it took her breath away. "Can you run?"

"I... yes."

"Good." Enzo pulled her to her feet, keeping his body positioned between her and the shattered balcony. "Hold onto my belt. Do not let go, no matter what you hear. Marco, suppressive coverage on the rear."

They moved through the service corridor at breakneck speed. The sterile concrete stairwell echoed with their footsteps. Down three flights, Elena heard the muffled sound of gunfire echoing from the upper floors.

"They brought a squad," Marco muttered, checking his magazine. "This isn't an assassination. It’s an extraction attempt."

"They won't get within ten feet of her," Enzo vowed.

They burst into the underground parking garage. The scent of motor oil and damp concrete hung thick. A black armored SUV sat waiting with the engine rumbling.