Chapter 4 - Saved by the Devil

Luciano Salvatore leaned back in his chair in the club like a bored king ignoring his subjects. He barely paid attention to the woman in front of him who was sliding off the pole and dancing like it was her last.

She was beautiful, no doubt—a curvy redhead, her body moving with trained seduction under the flashing club lights. But to him, it was nothing more than background noise. A performance he had seen a thousand times.

He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze flicking to the screen of his phone as it buzzed with the notification of a new text.

Dante: It’s done. Their warehouse is gone.

Luciano nodded as he clicked the call button and lifted the phone to his ear. A moment later, Dante’s voice came through.

“It’s done,” Dante repeated. “The Irish won’t be making any more moves on that side of the city. The explosion was clean.”

Luciano’s fingers tapped idly against the glass in his other hand. “Casualties?”

“Only theirs. None of ours.”

“Good. That’s how it should be. Don’t forget to check our warehouse in the countryside before you go home ” He ended the call without another word, his mood no lighter than before.

“Jesus,” a voice drawled behind him. “You’ve got the worst expression for a guy watching a show like this.”

Luciano exhaled sharply. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Sergei Antonov,” he said flatly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sergei stepped into view, all sharp angles and ice-blue eyes. He carried himself with the easy arrogance of a man who knew he was untouchable. The Bratva’s second-in-command, a man Luciano had clashed with more times than he cared to count.

Sergei smirked, grabbing a drink from the table. “What’s the problem? Your panties in a twist because one of your warehouses got blown up by the Irish?”

Luciano’s jaw tightened. “And how would you know about that?”

Sergei shrugged. “Bad news travels fast. Especially when it’s about a fallen empire.”

Luciano’s fingers curled around his glass, his patience thinning. “A fallen empire?” he repeated, his voice deceptively calm. “I don’t recall my empire falling, Antonov. But I do recall leveling a few of my enemies’ homes to the ground.”

Sergei chuckled. “Relax, Luciano. I’m just enjoying the sight of you pissed off.”

Luciano rolled his shoulders back, feigning indifference. “You’re talking to me a lot for a man who’s supposed to be my enemy. Is this your way of saying you finally want our two families to kiss and make up?”

The amusement in Sergei’s eyes disappeared in an instant, replaced by something far colder. “Never.”

Luciano smirked. How predictable.

“This feud is a relic of our parents’ time,” he said, swirling his drink. “It would be mutually beneficial if we buried the hatchet. We both know it.”

Sergei’s jaw tightened. “Beneficial for who? The Italians? So you can sink your claws into what’s ours like parasites? No thanks.”

Luciano sighed dramatically, setting down his drink. “Suit yourself. But if I were you, I’d watch my back. You’re in my territory, after all.”

Before Sergei could respond, Luciano’s phone buzzed again. It was another call from Dante.

Luciano answered. “What now?”

There was a pause before Dante spoke. “We found something—someone, actually. A woman collapsed in front of the warehouse.”

Luciano frowned. “Who?”

“She looks like some homeless girl, but something I'm not so sure. Could be a spy. Or worse. Want me to handle it?”

Luciano exhaled sharply. “No. I’ll take care of it myself.”

He ended the call, already making his way out of the club.

As he entered into his black Escalade, his guards filled into cars of their own and followed behind him. Usually, a man of his status wouldn’t drive himself but Luciano took whatever chance he could to get behind the wheel. Driving always cleared his head. The hum of the engine, the rhythmic blur of streetlights, the shape of the wheel, it all helped him think.

And lately, with the trouble rival mafias were giving him, the alliance he was trying to acquire, his father breathing down his neck, and memories of his sister, he had a lot to think about.

But before he could dwell on it, the warehouse came into view. As he pulled up and got out of the car, he saw Dante standing just outside, pointing his gun at someone, his expression unreadable.

And in front of him and his pistol was a woman.

She was on her knees, clutching her small hands together and shaking as she sobbed.

“Please, don’t arrest me, officer!”

Luciano blinked. What the hell was she talking about?

Dante looked just as baffled, his gaze flicking to Luciano. “Here she is, boss.”

Luciano stepped forward, his eyes narrowing.

The girl was trembling, her face streaked with tears. She was dressed in a thin, wrinkled white dress, her shoes scuffed, her dark hair tangled from the wind.

As soon as she saw him, she let out a small gasp. He had the face of the princes read about, with sharp features, flawless tan skin, and perfectly styled hair. But there was something dark about his aura that she couldn’t place. Something not so princely. But that didn’t matter right now, she reminded herself and began to plead with the man.

“Oh my gosh, are you the chief of police? Is this your property? Please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trespass!”

She looked absolutely terrified and so...broken.

It wasn’t the kind of fear he was used to—the kind that came from knowing who he was, and what he could do. No, this was something else. Pure. Desperate. She was begging him like he had the power to take her life with a single word. Or more like her life had already mostly been lost and she was trying to cling onto what little of it she had left.

And then she did something that left him speechless.

She threw her arms around his knees, hugging him as she sobbed, her entire body shaking.

“Please don’t arrest me,” she whispered.

Luciano stood completely still.

Dante looked just as thrown off, eyeing the girl with something bordering on disbelief. Sensing Luciano’s discomfort, the girl removed herself from him and leaned back, eyes still red, puffy, and pleading.

But then, as Luciano looked closer, something caught his eye.

A glint of light against her skin. His gaze dropped to her neck. Instantly all humor and amusement in his gaze dissipated and his expression turned cold.

“Why are you really here?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Araceli wiped at her tears, her hands still trembling. “I already told the guy over there” She pointed at Dante and sniffled. “I—I was supposed to be married today.” Her voice wavered, raw with emotion. “But he—he married someone else instead. And then he threw me away like I was dirt under his expensive shoes. I have nowhere to go. No place at all.”

Luciano’s jaw ticked. Would a spy be so raw and slightly pathetic? If she was undercover she was playing it well. And yet…

Before he could push further, she lifted her head, her eyes suddenly lighting up with something like hope.

“Please, sir,” she said, her voice breathless. “Can you give me work? Anything at all?”

Luciano arched his brow. “Work?”

She nodded rapidly, gripping the fabric of her dress. “Yes. I just need to make enough money. I need to become… better. Classier. Then he’ll see me.”

Luciano frowned. “Who?”

She hesitated before whispering, “My husband. The one God ordained for me.”

Luciano stared at her. Okay, maybe this woman was on some sort of cheap drug.

Or maybe she’s just delusional.

But still, he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen on her. It wasn’t exactly something a girl like her should have. And that made her his problem. He needed to keep her close.

“Fine,” he said smoothly. “What can you do?”

Her face lit up, and she straightened, eager. “I can cook. And clean. I’ve done it all my life.”

She hesitated, clearly remembering something painful. But then she forced a determined smile.

“I’ll be your maid,” she declared. “I’ll cook whatever you want. I’ll clean the walls, the floors, every crevice, every nook and cranny. I’ll do it all.”

Luciano exhaled slowly, his mind already calculating. Keeping her close would be beneficial.

“Alright,” he said finally, glancing at Dante.

Dante gave him a ‘seriously?’ look.

Luciano ignored him.

“Come with me,” he told her. “Let’s go to my house for your first interview.”

Araceli dusted herself off and rose up eagerly as she whispered a small thanks to God. He had sent her a savior in her lowest time of need.

And so the girl naively followed the devil that she thought had saved her.