The hum of conversation fades as I watch her.
Juliet Moretti moves through the crowd with the kind of ease that makes her look like she belongs. She doesn't. Not here, not in this world where power is bought with blood and whispered threats.
But she plays the part well.
Her deep green dress clings to her, elegant but understated. She wears no flashy jewelry, no desperate attempt to impress. She doesn't need to. Everything about her already demands attention—the sharp eyes, the confident posture, the quiet defiance in the way she lifts her chin.
She knows I'm watching.
And she likes it.
I take a sip of my whiskey, letting the burn settle in my chest. She came here for a reason.
The only question is—what does she want?
The answer comes sooner than I expect.
She moves toward me, weaving through the clusters of people like a predator picking its path. No hesitation, no last-minute change of direction. She wants this confrontation.
Bold.
The closer she gets, the more I notice. The way her lips twitch like she's biting back a smile, the way her eyes darken with something unspoken.
Then, she's in front of me.
A beat of silence.
And then—
"Signor De Luca."
Her voice is smooth, controlled. A hint of amusement lingers there, just enough to make me wonder if she's playing a game I haven't figured out yet.
I tilt my head slightly, my grip tightening around the glass. "Detective."
The corner of her mouth lifts. "Didn't expect to see me here, did you?"
I let out a quiet chuckle, taking my time before answering. She wants to rattle me. She won't.
"I'd say I'm surprised," I say, my voice low, deliberate, "but that would be a lie."
Her gaze flickers, just for a second. She wasn't expecting that.
I step closer—not enough to touch, but enough to make her aware of the space between us. Or rather, the lack of it.
"Curious," I murmur, "how a police detective finds herself at an event funded by people she's supposed to be investigating."
Her smile doesn't falter. She's too good for that.
"I could say the same for you," she counters, tilting her head. "A man fresh out of prison, standing here like he owns the room."
I take another slow sip of my whiskey. "I do own the room."
Her breath hitches—not enough for most people to notice, but I do.
She recovers quickly, her expression smooth. But I see something shift in her eyes—a flicker of something unguarded.
Intriguing.
"Is that why you came?" I ask, watching her carefully. "To see if I still belong?"
Juliet's lips part slightly, but she doesn't answer right away. Instead, she studies me, as if trying to decide whether I'm worth the truth.
Then—
"I came," she says, voice softer now, "because I don't believe in coincidences."
Her words settle between us, thick with meaning.
I smirk. "Neither do I."
Silence stretches, heavy and charged. There's something here—something neither of us is ready to name.
Juliet exhales, straightening her shoulders. "Enjoy your evening, Signor De Luca."
She turns, walking away without looking back.
I watch her go, the echo of her presence lingering in my mind longer than it should.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot.
Later That Night – The Call
The streets of Milan are quieter now, the city bathed in the glow of streetlights. I drive through familiar roads, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the car.
My mind is still on her.
Juliet Moretti.
She's reckless. Stubborn. And she's getting too close.
My phone vibrates against the dashboard. I glance at the screen.
Veronica.
I press the button on the steering wheel, answering without taking my eyes off the road.
"Talk."
"There's been movement," she says, her voice clipped, professional. "Giovanni's men were spotted near the docks. Could be nothing. Could be something."
I exhale slowly. Giorgio Giovanni—Milan's most dangerous man. If he's making moves, I need to know why.
"Send someone to keep eyes on them," I say.
"Already done," she replies. A pause. Then—"There's something else."
I wait.
"The detective," she says. "She's asking about your father."
I don't respond.
The weight of those words settles in my chest like a stone.
"She's persistent," Veronica continues. "And she's smart."
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I know."
A beat of silence. Then—
"What do you want me to do?" she asks.
I stare at the road ahead, my thoughts a storm.
Juliet is playing a dangerous game.
And she doesn't even realize she's already in my hands.
"Nothing," I say finally. "Let her keep digging."
Veronica hesitates. "And when she finds something?"
I smirk.
"Then we'll see how far she's willing to go."
I end the call.
The game has begun.
And Juliet Moretti has no idea how deep she's about to fall.