Whispered Promises of the Heart

I was the daughter of the East Coast's most powerful mob boss. For six months, I was blackmailed into being the secret lover and informant for the FBI's golden boy, Kaiden Walter. But just as I fell for him, he announced his engagement to a senator's daughter on national news.

He called our relationship a "political arrangement" and told me I was just collateral to keep my father in line.

His new fiancée then publicly humiliated me, calling me "trash."

I had sacrificed everything for him, even the secret child we might have had, only to be used and discarded like a toy he got tired of. Was I ever anything more than a job to him?

The shame of my public disgrace killed my grandmother. My father, seeing my world destroyed, took his own life to give me a new one. He faked my death, gave me a new identity, and left me a fortune. Anya Chambers was dead, but Anna Russo was just beginning her revenge.

Chapter 1

Anya Chambers POV:

The first time I saw Special Agent Kaiden Walter, he was standing across the crowded ballroom of the St. Regis, a glass of bourbon in his hand, looking like he owned the place. He probably did. The annual FBI gala was his kingdom, and everyone in it was a subject.

He was the guest of honor, representing the Bureau.

I shouldn't have been there. My presence was an insult to everything this night stood for. I was Anya Chambers, daughter of the most powerful mob boss on the East Coast. To these people, I wasn't a guest; I was the enemy, dressed in couture.

Kaiden was everything I was not. He was the law; I was the crime. His family name was etched into the history of federal law enforcement, a legacy of honor and duty. My family name was whispered in back alleys and spoken in hushed tones in courtrooms, a legacy of fear and blood. We were two sides of the same tarnished coin, forever opposed.

And yet, every eye in that room was on him. They watched him with a mixture of awe and respect, their conversations lowering to a murmur whenever he passed. He had a reputation for being ruthless, ambitious, and brutally effective. He was the future of the FBI, they said. A rising star.

Our eyes met for a fleeting second across the room. His were a startling, piercing blue, cold and analytical. They swept over me without a flicker of recognition, as if I were just another piece of the ornate decor.

But I knew better.

Later, as the orchestra played a soft melody and couples swayed on the dance floor, he walked past me. The scent of his cologne, a sharp, clean mix of bergamot and something darker, like cedar, washed over me. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

As he brushed past, my gaze fell to the crisp white cuff of his shirt. Just beneath the expensive fabric, peeking out from under his sleeve, was the faint, dark trace of a tattoo. It was a familiar pattern, a small, intricate design of intertwined thorns.

A design I knew intimately, because my own matching tattoo was hidden beneath the silk of my gown, a secret mark just above my hip.

I saw him subtly adjust his cuff, his movements smooth and practiced, hiding the mark from view. It was a quick, almost imperceptible gesture, but it sent a shiver down my spine. The secret we shared was a dangerous fire, one that could burn both our worlds to the ground.

Hours later, the gala was a distant memory. The suffocating formality was replaced by the silence of his high-rise apartment, the city lights glittering like scattered diamonds below. The air here was different, charged with a tension that was both terrifying and intoxicating.

He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me, the city casting long shadows across the room. He had loosened his tie, and the top button of his shirt was undone.

"You were staring," he said, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence.

I didn't deny it. "So were you."

He turned then, and the cold mask of the FBI agent was gone. In its place was the man I knew in the stolen hours of the night, the man whose touch was both a punishment and a prayer.

"It' s a risk, Anya," he murmured, crossing the space between us in three long strides. His hands found my waist, pulling me against him. "You know that."

I did. Oh, I knew. The daughter of a Mafia kingpin and the FBI' s golden boy. It wasn' t just a risk; it was a suicide pact. If anyone ever found out, my family would be destroyed. His career, his legacy, would be annihilated. We were playing with matches in a room full of gasoline.

Just as his lips found mine, a sharp buzz vibrated from his phone on the coffee table. The sound shattered the moment, pulling us back to the brutal reality of our lives.

He pulled away, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, and picked up the phone. The screen cast a pale blue light on his face, illuminating the hard lines of his jaw.

Then I saw it. The headline that flashed across the screen.

FBI' s Kaiden Walter Announces Engagement to Senator Merrill' s Daughter, Kendal Merrill.

The air rushed out of my lungs. The world tilted on its axis. My heart, which had been hammering against my ribs just moments before, felt like it had stopped cold.

"Kaiden?" My voice was a choked whisper.

He didn' t look at me. His eyes were still fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable.

I pushed myself away from him, the warmth of his body now feeling like a burn. "What is this? An engagement?"

He finally looked up, his blue eyes as cold and distant as they had been at the gala. "It' s a political arrangement. It' s good for my career."

The words were like slaps to the face. Each one colder and harder than the last. "And what am I?" I asked, my voice trembling with a hurt so deep it felt like a physical wound. "What have I been to you for the past six months?"

He didn' t answer. He just watched me, his face a blank canvas.

"Am I just… collateral? A way to keep my father in line?"