Chapter 1 The devil is free

Aria

The sky cried the day he was released. Fitting, really.

It wasn't a thunderstorm, no. That would've been too dramatic. Too easy. No, the heavens poured in this quiet, miserable drizzle like grief held in the chest too long. Like a whisper soaked in anger.

I sat in my car just outside the gates of Red Hollow Prison, watching time slip into the morning fog. The clock on the dash said 6:57 a.m. I'd been here since five.

Waiting.

Not because I needed confirmation. I already knew what was going to happen. I just wanted to see his face when he stepped out. I needed to look the devil in the eyes again.

Sixteen years ago, I watched Dominic Virelli murder my father in cold blood.

I was six. Hiding behind the curtains in my favorite pink pajamas. He didn't know I was there, but I saw everything my father, a decorated LAPD officer, bleeding out on our living room floor. And Virelli? He didn't even flinch. Just wiped the blood off his glove and walked out like it meant nothing.

That moment broke something in me.

And now he's walking free.

They say he's sick. Liver failure. Filed for compassionate release. Apparently, even mass murderers deserve mercy when death knocks on their door.

I fought it. God, I fought hard. Pulled every string, chased every lead, dug into every file. I gathered footage, snuck medical reports, visited the prison's staff pretending I was a journalist.

But in the end, none of it mattered. The system that let him slip through its fingers sixteen years ago just did it again.

A black SUV rolled up to the curb. Slick. Tinted windows.

Then the gates creaked open.

He stepped out slowly, as if the world hadn't changed without him. Still tall. Still sharp. Hair silvered at the temples now, suit as black as the day he killed my father. He looked like power. Untouchable. Unbothered. Unforgiven.

My stomach twisted. It was like watching a ghost crawl out of my childhood.

His eyes scanned the lot casually.

And then he looked at me. Through the windshield. Through the storm.

Like he knew.

I didn't blink. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He smirked.

And in that moment, I didn't feel twenty-two. I didn't feel like the youngest detective in my division. I didn't feel like the woman who clawed her way through the academy with no favors from her mother's fortune.

I felt like a little girl again.

A six-year-old hiding in her living room. Watching her father die.

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. My sidearm sat cold against my hip, heavier than usual. But I didn't move.

Not yet.

The SUV door opened. He slid in, smooth and confident. The car pulled away and disappeared into the fog like he'd never been caged to begin with.

8:14 a.m. – Downtown Precinct

Lieutenant Harris didn't look up when I walked in.

"You've seen the news?" I said, dropping a file on his desk.

He sighed. "Morning to you too, DeLuca."

"They let him out."

"I know."

"He's not sick."

"You already filed your appeal, Aria."

"It wasn't enough. The man who killed my father is free. Walking the streets of L.A. like he doesn't still have blood on his hands."

"And you think you're the first cop with a vendetta?"

I narrowed my eyes. "He didn't kill a stranger. He killed my dad. A legend. And we let him go."

"No we didn't. The court did. You need to let this go before it drags you under."

I shook my head. "No chance in hell."

He rubbed his temples. "I say this with respect, Aria you're a damn good detective, but don't let personal demons screw your career. You want to investigate Virelli now? You better have cause. Real evidence. Or you stay the hell away from him."

"I'm not afraid of Dominic Virelli."

"You should be."

7:03 p.m. – DeLuca Mansion

"You look exhausted," my mother said, barely glancing up from her wine glass. "Or like you haven't slept in a week."

"Thanks," I muttered, kicking off my boots.

Catherine DeLuca was still the queen of her empire. Classy, ruthless, and wrapped in silk. She was the kind of woman who built an empire from a courtroom and didn't flinch even when reporters called her cold. My mother didn't need to raise her voice to own a room. She was the room.

And she hated my job.

"I assume you've heard," I said, pouring myself water.

"About the monster who murdered your father walking free?" she said, tone icy. "Yes. I'm aware."

"He's not dying."

"And yet the court believes he is." She took another slow sip. "We can't change that."

"I'm not done trying."

She set her glass down, sharply. "You should be."

Silence hung between us like a third person in the room.

"You could be running your own legal team by now," she said. "Hell, you could be on track for judge if you'd followed my advice. But no. You're out there chasing criminals like your father."

"I'm not chasing criminals like him. I'm chasing his killer."

My voice cracked at the end, just a little.

She flinched.

"I didn't raise you for this life," she whispered. "And your father wouldn't have wanted it either."

"You don't know what he would've wanted. He's dead."

She said nothing. Just raised her glass again with trembling fingers.

Midnight – My Apartment

I stared at the board on my wall. Maps. Notes. Names. Lines drawn in red between businesses and shell companies and unsolved murders.

And at the center of it all Dominic Virelli.

They think he's out to die peacefully.

I know better.

A man like Dominic doesn't ask for mercy unless he plans to use it. This isn't the end.

It's the beginning.

And I'll be there when the devil slips up.

He may have escaped justice once.

But not again.