Chapter 3 – The Devil in a Suit
I lean back in the leather seat, the scent of espresso and aged wood filling my office. The city hums beyond the tall glass windows, but my focus is elsewhere. The past has a way of finding me, even in the silence.
The ring on my finger glints under the dim light as I turn it absently, my thoughts tangled in the weight of old betrayals. The golden band was once a symbol of power, a legacy passed down by my father. Now, it's nothing but a reminder of the blood that runs through my veins—De Luca blood.
A knock at the door. Sharp. Measured.
Veronica steps inside before I even respond, her movements graceful, controlled. She knows she doesn't need permission to enter anymore. She's worked beside me long enough to understand that my silence is not rejection, but calculation.
"Your schedule for the evening, Adonis." She places a folder on my desk, her emerald-green eyes searching mine for any sign of the man I used to be—the man I buried ten years ago.
I take the folder but don't open it. "Anything important?"
"The mayor's fundraiser. Your presence has been requested."
I let out a quiet breath, fingers tapping against the desk. Fundraisers, politicians, and empty conversations laced with hidden threats—I've played this game before.
"I'll think about it."
Veronica nods, but she doesn't move. Her hesitation is subtle, but I notice. I always do.
"What is it?" My tone is flat, expectant.
"There's… been an inquiry."
I raise a brow. "From who?"
Her gaze flickers, just for a second. "A police officer. A woman."
I go still.
She places a file on my desk, sliding it toward me like an offering. I don't need to open it. I already know who it is.
Juliet Moretti.
My jaw tightens. I should have expected this.
She's been looking into Diamante, digging into the past. Into me.
Veronica shifts, waiting for a response, but I give her none. Juliet's persistence is dangerous. And yet, I can't ignore the way my mind keeps drifting back to her—the fire in her eyes, the way she looked at me in the café, like she knew me but didn't want to.
A challenge.
A warning.
I reach for the file, flipping it open. Her picture stares back at me—hazel eyes sharp, determined. Too damn beautiful for her own good.
"What do you want me to do?" Veronica asks, her voice quieter now.
I close the folder.
"Nothing," I say. "Not yet."
She hesitates. "Adonis—"
"I said not yet." My voice is steel, and she knows better than to push further.
She gives a slight nod and turns to leave, her heels clicking against the marble. The door closes behind her, leaving me alone with the weight of my own thoughts.
I glance back down at the file. Juliet Moretti.
A cop with a vendetta.
I should be worried. I should put a stop to it now, before she gets too close.
But instead, a smirk plays at my lips.
Let's see how far you're willing to go, detective.
Later That Night – The Fundraiser
The air inside the grand ballroom is thick with wealth—tailored suits, diamond-studded wrists, champagne flowing like water. I walk through the crowd with the ease of a man who belongs here, even if I despise every second of it.
I shake hands, offer practiced smiles, exchange pleasantries that mean nothing.
And then I feel it.
A presence.
A gaze burning into me from across the room.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to confirm what my instincts already know.
Juliet.
She's here.
She's out of uniform, but she doesn't blend in. She doesn't even try to.
The deep green dress hugs her figure, her hair swept to one side, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. She doesn't fidget, doesn't falter under the weight of these people's judgment.
She meets my gaze across the room, and for the first time since I laid eyes on her, she smirks.
Bold.
I lift my glass to my lips, hiding the amusement that tugs at my mouth.
Game on, detective.