ROOFTOP – NIGHT

Sin Kravinoff moved like a phantom, clad in black, body coiled tight like a panther in the dark. His gloves were slick with moisture, and his breath—controlled, invisible. He'd been following this man for eleven days.

A rat who sold secrets. A traitor who thought he could hide in Sin's city.

Below, the target stumbled into view—drunk, cocky, unaware he was already dead.

Sin crouched on the ledge, blade drawn. He liked it personal. Intimate. The kind of kill where you looked a man in the eyes before you ended him.

He tensed, preparing to descend—

Then—

Crack. A single shot. Muffled. Clean. Precise.

The target jerked, mouth gaping as a hole erupted in his throat. Blood splashed across the concrete. He fell. Twitched. Still.

Sin froze mid-step. Blade still in hand. A long, sharp silence followed.

Then—

His eyes lifted.

Across the street, on the opposite rooftop—

There you were.

Perched like a shadow. Rifle still warm. Wind catching your coat.

You weren't hiding. You were waiting for him to look. And when he did, you lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.

Like a signature. Like a challenge. Like you meant to steal his kill.

Sin's lips parted—not in rage, but something darker. Something hotter.

Admiration laced with fury.

"Well," he murmured, breath low. "Looks like the city has another ghost."

You disappeared into the dark.

Sin stayed on the ledge, breath shallow, heart thunderous, cock twitching behind his zipper. You'd stolen his kill...

And made it look easy.

---

THE CLUB – LATER

The club pulsed like a living thing—drenched in smoke, sex, and deep red light.

Sin Kravinoff leaned in the back booth beside Drous, Damian across from him. He hadn't touched his drink. Hadn't spoken since arriving.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the ghost in his bloodstream to walk through those doors again.

You.

You hadn't seen each other in months. Not since Naples. Not since you rode him like vengeance, made him beg, then vanished by sunrise.

But he remembered.

He remembered the marks. The sounds. The warning you whispered against his throat:

"Don't fall for me."

But he had.

And now—you were here.

"She's here," Damian muttered, lifting his drink.

Sin looked up.

And there you were.

Wrapped in black silk. All curves and cold fire. Your heels clicked like a countdown. You kissed Drous's lover on the cheek. Hugged Damian with a low laugh.

Then you turned.

Eyes locked with his.

The world dropped out.

You smirked like you hadn't once screamed his name with a knife in your hand.

Sin stood. You met him halfway across the floor.

"We doing this?" you asked, voice like a purr behind a blade. "The stare-off?"

"You always did like dramatics," Sin said. "Even when you were moaning into my mouth."

You stopped—but only for a second.

"Careful, Sin," you said softly. "Reminding me how good you were doesn't win points. Reminding me how you left does."

"I didn't leave," he growled, voice lower. "You ran."

"I disappeared," you corrected. "You? You stayed and tried to fuck the memory out of your system. Didn't work, did it?"

He didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

The way he looked at you said everything: Starved. Furious. Still yours.

"I've missed you," Sin admitted, voice hoarse.

"I haven't," you lied.

But your eyes betrayed you.

And so did the subtle clench of your thighs. The way your breath stuttered when his hand ghosted your waist like it used to.

"Liar," he whispered against your ear. "You still get wet thinking about me."

"Still talk too much," you murmured. "Still cocky. Still dangerous."

"Still want you," he rasped.

The music shifted.

You pulled back with a smirk.

"Then come earn me back."

And you turned.

Disappearing into the crowd.

This time, Sin followed.