CHAPTER 1- THE DEVIL OF NEW YORK

Rain fell over Manhattan like a warning. The night was thick with smoke, gunpowder, and fear. Inside an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the East River, men stood in silence, waiting for the sound of his steps. Lucian Moretti moved through the corridor with a calm that made even the air freeze. Every sound died when he entered the room. Every eye lowered.

He was not loud. He never needed to be. Power clung to him like a second skin, dark and quiet, the kind that demanded obedience without words. He wore black from head to toe, his coat brushing lightly against the concrete floor. His eyes were colder than the rain outside, sharp enough to slice through the lies that filled the air.

A trembling man stood in the middle of the room, hands tied behind his back, blood running from a cut above his brow. Two of Lucian’s men, Enzo and Matteo, flanked him like shadows. Enzo was broad and steady, the kind of man who spoke only when spoken to. Matteo had a faint smirk that never reached his eyes. Both waited for Lucian’s signal.

Lucian stopped in front of the man. His voice was soft, too soft for what followed.

“Where is my shipment”

The man swallowed hard, voice shaking. “I told you I didn’t know. They took it before it reached the docks. I swear I……”

Lucian’s gaze lifted slowly, and the man’s voice died in his throat. There was nothing in those eyes, no emotion, no hint of mercy. He turned to Enzo.

“How much was it worth”

Enzo answered without hesitation. “Six million, boss. Three containers of weapons. Vanished two nights ago.”

Lucian nodded once, as if he were merely confirming the weather. He stepped closer until his shoes touched the blood pooling at the man’s feet. His hand rose, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “You had one job. One.”

The man started to plead, words stumbling out between shallow breaths. “I tried, Lucian. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t mean to…..”

A single gunshot cracked through the silence. The echo rolled across the empty warehouse like thunder. The man dropped instantly, lifeless. Lucian didn’t blink. Matteo holstered his weapon again and looked to Lucian for instruction.

Lucian spoke quietly. “Clean it up. Make sure his family gets the message.”

No one questioned him. They never did. The Devil of New York didn’t forgive mistakes. In his world, loyalty was life and betrayal was death.

He turned away and started walking toward the exit, his expression as unreadable as ever. Vince was waiting outside the door, younger than the others but sharp and efficient. He handed Lucian a phone, the screen already glowing with new messages.

“It’s done,” Vince said. “But there’s something else. You might want to see this.”

Lucian took the phone, eyes narrowing slightly as he opened the file Vince had sent. A photograph filled the screen. A girl. Long dark hair. Soft features. Eyes that held a quiet kind of fire. Her name was written below in neat letters — Aria Russo.

He studied the picture in silence. The room seemed to still again, the sound of rain faint in the distance.

“What’s her connection” Lucian asked.

Vince shifted uneasily. “She’s the daughter of Oliver Russo. The man who owed you before he disappeared. The debt hasn’t been settled. Someone left this photo at the front gate this morning. No message, just her name.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Oliver Russo had been a traitor. He’d stolen money, disappeared, and left a trail of bodies behind. For months, Lucian’s men had searched for him with no success. But now, this photo felt like bait.

“Find her,” Lucian said finally. “Bring her in.”

“Alive” Vince asked.

Lucian’s eyes lifted slowly from the photo. “Of course. She’s the key.”

As he handed the phone back, a flash of lightning lit the skyline through the warehouse windows. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, a face sculpted by control and absence. No one dared to meet his gaze. No one ever did.

He stepped outside. The night air was cold, slicing through his coat. The city spread before him, glittering and rotten at the same time. Every inch of it belonged to him — the streets, the clubs, the men who whispered his name like a curse.

Lucian Moretti ruled with silence and fear. He was the reason other mafia bosses couldn’t sleep. The reason debts were paid before sunrise.

As he reached his car, Enzo joined him again, wiping blood from his gloves. “You think she’s bait, boss”

Lucian glanced at him briefly. “Everyone is bait until proven otherwise.”

They entered the black car waiting by the curb. The driver didn’t speak, only pulled away from the warehouse, blending into the dark rain-soaked streets. Lucian leaned back, the photo of Aria still vivid in his mind. Something about her expression lingered longer than he expected. She looked nothing like her father. There was innocence there, strength even, hidden beneath those calm eyes.

He closed his own eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the thought. Emotions were weakness. He had learned that lesson long ago when emotion cost him everything.

“Where to” the driver asked quietly.

Lucian opened his eyes, voice even. “Back to the office.”

The headquarters of the Moretti empire was a high-rise building in midtown, disguised as a luxury real estate firm. The lobby gleamed with marble floors and gold accents, a reflection of power disguised as elegance. Everyone who worked there knew who they served, though no one dared to speak his real name. To the outside world, Lucian Moretti was a businessman. To those in the dark, he was the Devil himself.

Inside his office, the city stretched beneath him through floor-to-ceiling windows. He poured a glass of whiskey and stood in silence, watching raindrops trail down the glass. The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

Vince entered a few minutes later with a tablet.

“I’ve started digging on her, boss. Aria Russo, twenty-two. Works part-time at a small café downtown. Lives alone since her mother died three years ago. Clean record, nothing suspicious so far.”

Lucian took a slow sip, eyes fixed on the skyline.

“And her father”

“Still off the grid. But this photo wasn’t random. Someone wants you to find her.”

Lucian turned toward him, setting the glass down.

“Then we’ll give them what they want.”

“What do you mean”

Lucian’s lips curved slightly. “If they want me near her, I’ll play along. But I’ll set the rules.”

Vince hesitated, recognizing that tone. Once Lucian took interest, there was no turning back.

When Vince left, Lucian sat behind his desk and opened the drawer where he kept a single black notebook. He wrote something inside — one line, neat and sharp.

Aria Russo - debt unpaid

He closed the book and leaned back, the sound of rain still echoing faintly in the distance. The Devil of New York had a new target.

He didn’t know that the girl in that photograph would be the one thing capable of shaking the foundation he had built his life upon.

But fate had already started moving, quiet and unseen, like the storm outside.

And for the first time in years, Lucian Moretti felt something unfamiliar stir beneath the armor of control he wore so perfectly. He ignored it, convinced it was nothing. But deep down, even the Devil knew that once you let emotion in, everything begins to burn.