Chapter 1 Wrong Place, Wrong Night

If Mr. Romano yelled at me one more time, I might throw hot coffee in his face.

"You call this clean?" he barked, smacking the table I'd just wiped. "Customers should see their reflections on this wood, Isla!"

I smiled sweetly, though my jaw ached from holding back words that would definitely get me fired.

"Yes, Mr. Romano."

When he finally stalked off to torment someone else, Gianna leaned over the counter, grinning.

"You're gonna kill that man one day," she whispered.

I sighed. "Not today. I need my paycheck."

"You also need a boyfriend who doesn't make your life more complicated."

My head snapped toward her. "Don't start."

"What? I'm just saying." She grinned wickedly. "He's Luca Moretti. You're dating the future Don of the biggest crime family in the city. Do you even hear yourself?"

"You promised not to say his name out loud," I hissed, glancing toward the customers.

Gianna rolled her eyes. "Relax. No one here cares. But you're smiling like a lovesick fool, so I can guess where you're going tonight."

I tried to look casual, but a smile tugged at my lips. "He's taking me to dinner. Somewhere near the pier."

Gianna gasped. "The red dress?"

I nodded.

"Oh, he's not surviving tonight."

I swatted her with my cleaning rag, laughing despite myself.

When my shift finally ended, I ran home. The apartment was empty - my cousin was still out of town - so I showered, put on the red dress, and tried not to overthink.

Luca's car was waiting when I came downstairs. Black and sleek, with tinted windows that screamed trouble.

He was leaning against it, sleeves rolled, dark hair pushed back like he'd just come from a meeting.

"Bellissima," he said, eyes traveling down the length of me.

"You're late," I teased, but I was smiling.

"You're perfect," he said simply, opening the car door for me.

Dinner was perfect too. The restaurant was all warm lighting and soft music, Luca leaning across the table to pour my wine.

"You should quit that job," he said.

"And do what? Sit at home all day waiting for you to call?"

He smirked. "I'd pay you to sit at home and wait for me."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart fluttered. Luca could be arrogant, but he made me feel wanted, seen.

After dinner, we walked along the pier. His hand brushed mine, warm and steady.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, frowning. "Business," he said, tone sharp.

"Go."

He kissed me quickly before stepping away, phone to his ear.

I wandered toward the convenience store, thinking I'd grab gum. That was when I heard it - shouting, harsh and fast, echoing from the alley.

Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked around the corner.

A man was on his knees, crying out in Italian, hands raised. Another man stood over him - tall, broad, dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than my rent.

The gunshot split the night.

I froze, every muscle locking.

The man fell back, blood spilling across the concrete.

I gasped - too loud.

The man with the gun turned, and for one terrifying moment our eyes locked.

Then his voice cut through the air, calm and cold:

"Take her."

Two men appeared from the shadows like they'd been waiting for that order.

I ran.

I didn't think - just turned and bolted down the street, heart slamming in my chest.

But they were faster.

A rough hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back so hard I nearly fell. I screamed and swung at him, nails scratching across his face.

He cursed and shoved me against the wall.

"Let me go!" I kicked, my heel slamming into his shin.

For a second I thought I'd actually hurt him - but then the other man grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides.

I thrashed and bit at his shoulder, tasting sweat and salt.

"Little wildcat," he muttered.

The man with the gun - the one who had just killed someone - walked closer, unhurried, his expression unreadable.

"You saw too much, bella," he said softly, crouching so we were eye-level.

"I won't tell anyone," I gasped, still struggling.

He smiled, slow and dangerous.

"You're right. You won't."

And then they dragged me to the car.

I kicked, clawed, screamed - but they threw me inside like I weighed nothing.

He slid in after me, smooth and calm, adjusting his cufflinks as though nothing had happened.

My chest heaved. "Who the hell are you?"

"Matteo DeLuca," he said simply.

The name hit me like a punch. I'd heard it before. Everyone in this city had.

He was worse than Luca.

He was untouchable.

"You can't just take me!"

He tilted his head, almost amused. "I already did."

The car pulled away, and my stomach dropped.

I'd fought, I'd screamed, I'd run.

And it hadn't mattered.