Elena’s mouth opened, closed. “I—I got turned around,” she said, each word shaky but carefully placed.He didn’t buy it. That much was clear.His gaze dragged over her, slow and unreadable. “Break room’s the other way.”She took a step back, but even that small movement felt like retreating from a predator that hadn’t decided yet whether to chase.“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she tried again.“No one interrupts by accident.” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a scalpel. “Not here.”He took a slow drag, let the smoke drift between them. “Everyone who walks through Inferno’s doors brings something with them. Value… or trouble.”The unspoken question hovered in the silence: Which are you?Elena’s breath caught. Her spine stayed stiff, but her palms were damp.He stepped forward—not threatening, not fast, but with the unhurried precision of someone who never had to raise his voice to own a room. Power trailed behind him like perfume.“You’re new,” he said softly. “But n
The kettle screamed from the kitchen, but Marissa Carter didn’t move.She sat curled on the living room couch, staring at the dusty photograph on the mantle—Carter’s arm around her shoulders, Elena nestled between them, grinning with missing teeth. A different time. A different life. Before the blood. Before the silence.Her fingers trembled as she reached for the edges of the knit shawl wrapped around her frail body. The room was cold. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the cold lived inside her now—burrowed into her chest the day they brought Elena home with blood on her hands and her husband's badge in a plastic bag.She had been folding laundry when the knock came. A young officer stood there, face pale, hat clutched tight in nervous fingers. Behind him, Elena—eight years old, shivering, wrapped in a too-large jacket. Her daughter’s eyes were blank. Hollow.That was the last clear thing Marissa remembered before her world went black.The doctors said it was shock. Her body had simply… shut
The night was suffocating—thick with fog, the air saturated with the scent of rain and gasoline. Neon signs bled across the slick alley walls, casting ghostly glows in hues of crimson and blue. Footsteps echoed.Rapid. Uneven. Urgent.Elena’s tiny fingers clutched the rough fabric of her father's coat, struggling to match his long strides. She was just a child again—eight years old, confused, terrified, breath puffing white in the freezing air.“Daddy?” she whispered, her voice small against the storm of his panic.Michael Carter didn’t answer. His eyes were scanning—constantly. The gun holstered at his hip bounced slightly with each step. The alley stretched ahead like a tunnel with no end. Every puddle they passed mirrored their distorted reflections, trembling.A flicker of movement.From the shadows, they emerged.Four men—blurred and faceless, except one.The man with the cigarette.He stood with an infuriating calmness, the ember of his smoke blinking like an eye in the dark. Hi
The street outside Inferno was slick with rain, the neon lights from the club's marquee casting an eerie red glow across the puddles. Elena hit the pavement hard, knees scraping, breath catching in her throat as the bouncers released her. The club doors slammed shut behind her, muffling the pulse of music and laughter within.She sat there for a moment, stunned—her coat twisted beneath her, palms burning from the rough landing. People on the street walked past without a second glance. Just another scene in a city that didn’t care.She wasn’t sure what stung more: the humiliation, or the sound of Adrian’s voice in her ears, cold and dismissive, echoing over and over. "We’ll get back to you."It wasn’t a maybe. It was a no. It was a never. And she had known it the moment he said it, but still—still—she had gone back, begging.Elena pushed herself to her feet, her knees aching, hair falling into her face. She brushed it away and kept walking. The chill in the air seeped through her coat
The club pulsed with an energy that was both exhilarating and suffocating. The dim, golden lights cast elongated shadows along the velvet-lined walls, and the scent of expensive cologne mingled with the faint trace of cigar smoke. The applicants sat stiffly on the leather couches, each one shifting uneasily, their eyes darting toward the large mahogany doors at the end of the room.Elena stood among them, her fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her purse. Her stomach churned with unease, her chest fell heavily like a massive rock was placed on it, but she masked it with indifference, keeping her expression smooth and her face calm. She had been in worse situations. This was just another role to play. Except the stakes were higher than ever.She had researched every detail about Inferno, the crown jewel of Adrian Moretti’s empire. Everything about it screamed exclusivity, power, and danger. It wasn’t just a place to drink and dance—it was where secrets were exchanged, deals
Elena stood before the mirror, fastening the delicate silver chain around her neck. The cool metal brushed against her collarbone, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. Her reflection stared back at her—sharp cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, and a carefully neutral expression that she had perfected over the years. She smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her blouse, taking a deep breath. Today was important. Today, she would take the first real step into Moretti’s world.But first, she had to get through the morning.The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Sunlight seeped through the sheer curtains, casting golden patterns across the wooden floor. The air was thick with the scent of lavender, a desperate attempt to cover the ever-present medicinal smell that clung to the walls.Elena turned away from the mirror, her heels clicking against the floor as she made her way down the short hallway. She paused outside a door—the only one
The warehouse smelled of damp metal, motor oil, and something darker—fear. The kind that clung to the air, thick and suffocating, crawling under the skin of the men who stood waiting. A single bulb flickered above, casting long, restless shadows on the cold concrete floor.Adrian Moretti stood at the center of it all, silent as a grave.The air around him was still, heavy, and dangerous. His presence alone was enough to silence a room. His dark eyes, sharp as broken glass, flickered to the man kneeling before him—Luca Romano.Luca trembled, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His face was already a mess, swollen from the beating his own brothers had given him before Adrian arrived. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, painting his chin in sticky red. His hands—his traitorous hands—were bound behind his back, the rope biting into his wrists.He was breathing too fast. He knew what was coming.Adrian adjusted the sleeves of his black shirt, slow and deliberate. No need t
The past never truly fades. It lingers like a scar, a shadow stretching long behind every step forward. Fifteen years had passed since that night—the night her world was drenched in blood and the sound of gunfire. Elena Carter had spent every single one of those years preparing for this moment. Studying and training her ass off to be here.Tonight, she was no longer that helpless little girl. Tonight, she was a detective. And she was going to bring the Mafia to its knees. **The Briefing Room** The Organized Crime Unit was exactly as she had imagined it—loud, chaotic, and filled with the scent of stale coffee and cigarette smoke that clung to the air like an old memory. Elena walked through the precinct, her polished boots clicking against the floor, her uniform perfectly pressed. She carried herself with confidence, but the murmurs still followed her. *"Carter’s daughter."* *"Think she’s ready for this?"* *"She won’t last a week."* She heard it all. But It
The night smelled of rain and gasoline.A storm loomed over the city, thick clouds rolling in to smother the distant glow of streetlights. The wind howled between buildings, carrying the sharp scent of damp asphalt and something metallic—something Elena Carter, at only eight years old, did not yet understand.Her father’s grip on her hand tightened as they hurried down the nearly empty street. His fingers, warm and calloused, trembled slightly around her much smaller ones. He was walking too fast—almost running. His heavy boots splashed through puddles, but Elena struggled to keep up, her own rain boots sloshing through the water, her breath coming in quick, frightened gasps."Daddy, slow down," she panted, her small fingers digging into his palm.He didn’t slow.His eyes—sharp, darting, afraid—kept scanning the darkened alleys they passed. His free hand hovered near his holster. Every few steps, he looked over his shoulder, his face drawn in tight lines she had never seen before.Som