The Devil's Luna

I never thought I'd be stealing from the most dangerous man in New York to save my grandmother's life.

But here I am, crouched behind a mahogany desk in Giovanni Marchetti's private office, my fingers trembling as they close around the USB drive that contains enough evidence to destroy his empire. The one that could buy Nonna's surgery. The one that could get me killed.

My wolf whimpers inside me, warning me this is suicide. She's right. Giovanni Marchetti isn't just a billionaire who owns half of Manhattan's luxury hotels and underground casinos. He's the Alpha of the Obsidian Moon Pack, the most ruthless werewolf syndicate on the East Coast. They say he's killed men for looking at him wrong. They say his wolf is pure black, like his soul.

They say a lot of things about Giovanni Marchetti, and every single one makes my hands shake harder.

The elevator dings from somewhere down the hall. My enhanced hearing picks up footsteps—multiple sets, heavy and purposeful. Security doing their rounds. I have maybe thirty seconds before they reach this floor.

I shove the USB into my bra and dart toward the window, my heart hammering so loud I'm sure the entire building can hear it. Forty-two floors up. Even with my wolf's strength, that fall would shatter every bone in my body.

The footsteps grow closer. Twenty seconds.

I sprint toward the bookshelf instead, remembering the servant's passage the cleaning lady mentioned. My fingers fumble along the leather spines until—click. The hidden door swings open just as voices reach the main office door.

"Mr. Marchetti wants the quarterly reports on his desk by morning," someone says.

I slip into the darkness and pull the door shut, holding my breath. The passage is cramped, musty, built decades ago when the building housed Prohibition bootleggers. How fitting that it now belongs to a different kind of criminal.

My wolf's night vision kicks in as I navigate the narrow corridor. Just get to the service elevator. Get out. Give the drive to Detective Morrison. Collect the fifty thousand he promised. Save Nonna.

Simple. Except nothing about Giovanni Marchetti is ever simple.

I'm three feet from the service elevator when a hand clamps around my throat, slamming me against the wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, stars exploding across my vision.

"Well, well." The voice is deep, smooth as aged whiskey, with an Italian accent that barely colors the edges. "What do we have here? A little mouse in my walls?"

My eyes adjust to find myself staring into the most devastating face I've ever seen. Giovanni Marchetti is six-foot-five of lethal perfection—sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, a jaw carved from marble, and eyes so dark they seem to swallow light. His Armani suit probably costs more than my entire life, and even in the dim passage, his presence fills every inch of space.

But it's his scent that destroys me. Expensive cologne mixed with something wild, dangerous—pine forests and winter storms and pure, concentrated power. My wolf goes insane, throwing herself against my mental walls, screaming a single word that makes my blood turn to ice.

Mate.

No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.

His nostrils flare, those obsidian eyes flashing gold as his wolf surfaces. His grip on my throat tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me I'm completely at his mercy.

"Giulia Rossi," he says, and my stomach drops. He knows my name. Of course he knows my name. "Twenty-three years old. Bartender at Luciano's. Grandmother currently dying of lung cancer at St. Mary's Hospital." His thumb traces my racing pulse. "And apparently, a thief."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I rasp.

He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. "Lying to your mate is a dangerous game, piccola luna."

Little moon. The endearment in Italian makes something hot and unwanted coil in my belly. I try to knee him in the groin, but he anticipates it, pressing his body against mine to pin me completely. Every hard inch of him molds against my curves, and I hate how perfectly we fit together.

"Let me go," I snarl, my wolf fighting me for control. She wants to submit. She wants to bare her throat to our mate. She's going to get us killed.

"The USB drive," he says calmly, like we're discussing the weather instead of my impending murder. "Give it to me, and I might let you live."

"I don't—"

His free hand slides down my body, and I freeze as he traces the outline of the drive through my shirt. His touch leaves trails of fire on my skin, even through the fabric. "Last chance, Giulia."

My options are limited. Give him the drive and lose Nonna's only hope. Refuse and die here in this passage, probably after he tortures the location out of me anyway.

Or option three—the desperate, insane option my wolf is screaming for.

I surge up and kiss him.

For a heartbeat, Giovanni goes completely still. Then he growls—a sound that vibrates through my bones—and crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss is violent, consuming, nothing like the sweet first kiss mates are supposed to share. His tongue invades my mouth as his hand moves from my throat to tangle in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the angle.

I bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

He jerks back with a snarl, and I use his momentary surprise to break free, my knee finally connecting with his groin. He doubles over with a vicious curse in Italian, and I run.

The service elevator is right there. I slam my palm on the button, diving inside just as Giovanni straightens, his eyes now fully gold, canines extended.

"You can run, piccola luna," he calls out, his voice echoing with dark promise. "But you can't hide from fate. You're mine now."

The doors slide shut on his beautiful, terrifying face, and I collapse against the wall, my entire body shaking. The mate bond pulses under my skin like a living thing, already trying to pull me back to him.

I've just made the worst mistake of my life. I've stolen from my mate.

And Giovanni Marchetti doesn't forgive.

The elevator spits me out in the parking garage. My beat-up Honda Civic looks pathetic next to the collection of Ferraris and Lamborghinis, but it starts on the first try. I peel out of the garage, tires squealing, checking my rearview mirror obsessively.

He's not following. Why isn't he following?

My phone rings—Unknown Number. I ignore it. It rings again. And again.

On the fourth call, I answer. "What?"

"Giulia." His voice through the speaker makes my wolf whine. "You have something that belongs to me."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about my grandmother's medical bills." The words come out before I can stop them. "Fifty thousand dollars. That's what Luciano owes her for twenty years of service, but mysteriously, her pension disappeared when your pack took over his restaurant."

Silence. Then, "You're stealing from me to pay for medical treatment?"

"I'm taking back what's mine."

"Everything in this city is mine, piccola luna. Including you, now that we've found each other."

I slam on the brakes at a red light. "I reject the bond."

He laughs—dark, rich, genuinely amused. "You can't reject what's already taken root. You feel it, don't you? The pull? The need? It's only going to get worse."

He's right. My skin already feels too tight, like my wolf is trying to claw her way out to get back to him. "I'll leave the city."

"I own the airports. The train stations. The harbor." His voice drops to a lethal whisper. "There's nowhere you can go that I won't find you."

The light turns green, but I can't move. Can't breathe. "What do you want?"

"Come back. Now. We'll discuss your grandmother's situation like civilized people."

"So you can kill me in person?"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd never have made it to the elevator." I hear leather creaking, like he's leaning back in a chair. "You have ten minutes to return, or I'll come collect you myself. And Giulia? I won't be nearly as gentle."

The line goes dead.

I sit at the green light until someone honks behind me. Ten minutes. I could drive to the police station, give Morrison the drive, get the money. But Giovanni would find me. And Nonna would pay the price.

My wolf howls in victory as I make a U-turn.

I'm going back to the devil.