The Devil In White

I stood in front of the mirror, straightening the black suit that felt heavier than usual. Not the weight of the fabric, but the weight of everything—today, this moment, the life I had never imagined. My hands shook slightly. I rarely shook. But Isabella… she made me feel things I thought were impossible. For a long time, I believed my heart was stone. Cold. Empty. I was Moretti. That was enough. But then she came along. One look. One smile. And suddenly, everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. I remembered the first time I saw her. She had been standing in the market, sunlight catching her hair like fire. She laughed at something I couldn’t hear, and I… I wanted to know that laugh forever. I hadn’t known it then, but I was already lost. “Adrian?” Luca’s voice broke my reverie. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking like always. “You’re smiling like an idiot.” “It’s my wedding day,” I said, trying to sound calm. “No,” he said, tilting his head, “it’s worse. You’re

The villa was quiet in the morning. The echoes of yesterday’s massacre still haunted the halls. I could still smell gunpowder, still see the blood on the white roses, still hear my father’s last words. "Someone close" The warning repeated in my head, an endless loop of betrayal. I paced the study, hands clenched into fists. Luca sat nearby, tense, ready for anything. “They’ll come for us again,” he said, eyes narrowing. “We need to be ready.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to play their game. I want justice, Luca. Not more blood.” “You think you have a choice?” he asked. “This isn’t about what you want. This is Moretti business.” He was right. The Moretti empire did not wait for the grieving. It demanded strength, control, power. And now, it demanded me. I turned toward the window, catching a reflection, my own face, drawn and hollow. Behind me, Isabella stood silently, her presence quiet but steady. She said nothing, only watched. Her eyes were soft, concerned maybe, but imp

Adrian POV "Business doesn’t stop for grief. The Moretti empire demands attention, control, precision, and a spine of steel." My father used to say that. I used to think it was cruel. Now, it’s the only truth left. I stand in the study, sleeves rolled up, the desk buried under ledgers and coded reports. The lamp casts a dull yellow glow across the papers, and the smell of old leather and gun oil mixes in the air. Luca leans beside me, flipping through a folder, his expression tight. “We have shipments delayed,” he mutters, eyes scanning. “And there’s chatter in Palermo. Someone’s testing us.” I clench my jaw. Testing us. That word grates on me. “Not just Palermo,” I say. “Someone close wants me dead.” Luca glances up, reading the tension in my voice. “You think it’s connected to your father’s assassination?” I didn't answer right away. The memory still burns, the gunfire, the smell of blood, my father’s voice fading in my arms. Someone close. Finally, I nod. “Whoever struck yes

Adrian POV Night falls the way it always does in this house—slowly, with purpose. The lamps throw long shadows over the marble; the portraits on the wall watch like jury members waiting for a verdict. I move through the corridors with my gun low, senses taut. Every footstep is measured. Every door I pass is a question. The villa has become a fortress by design and a cage by choice. I walk past the servants’ quarters where a woman folds bedding with hands that tremble just a little too much. I pass the wine cellar that still smells faintly of blood and varnish. I pass the study where the maps are spread like battle plans. Each room carries the echo of the day that changed everything; the echo keeps me walking, keeps me awake, keeps me dangerous. Hours of planning today, alliances rechecked, routes adjusted, men reassigned. I told them I would take command, that every thread ran through me now. It felt right to say it aloud—felt like taking the first step off a cliff and choosing th

Adrian POV Morning creeps in behind gray clouds, washing the villa in a pale, exhausted light. The rain from last night still clings to the windows, streaking the glass like veins. I haven’t slept. I can’t. My mind keeps replaying the footage—the hooded figure, the black corridor, the moment the camera died. A ghost walking through my house. Luca is already waiting in the study, a mug of coffee untouched beside the files. He looks like hell, but focused hell. “Guards swept again at sunrise,” he says. “Nothing. Whoever came in knew where every blind spot was.” “Inside help,” I answer. My voice sounds calm, but the words taste like iron. “Only a handful of people have access to those feeds. You, me, and the technical crew.” “And Isabella,” he adds carefully. He’s watching me, measuring my reaction. I don’t look up. “She wouldn’t—” He cuts in. “You said that about half the council before they turned on your father.” The truth of it burns, but I don’t let it show. I flip open the