Twelve years ago, Detective Myra Black lost her brother to a murder the police never solved. Now, she wears the badge — not for justice, but for vengeance. When a high-profile case lands her face-to-face with Raffaele Moretti, a cold, calculating Mafia boss with secrets buried deeper than graves, everything she's built starts to unravel. He’s dangerous, untouchable, and frustratingly calm... and worst of all, he might be the key to her brother’s death. But the more Myra digs, the more the truth turns to smoke. And the more Raffaele protects her — with his dark past and darker loyalty — the more she questions whether she’s hunting a killer… or falling for one. In a city where truth is currency and lies are survival, can a woman sworn to the law trust the heart of a man who lives in the shadows?
Lihat lebih banyakThe sirens always came too late.
By the time I heard them, I was already running.
I didn’t think. I didn’t stop to grab my shoes. I didn’t even lock the door. I just ran — bare feet slapping the concrete, lungs screaming for air, heart pounding like it was trying to warn me of something I already knew.
It was Kaden.
The night was heavy with heat and tension. I didn’t know where I was going, not exactly — just that my feet carried me faster the closer I got to 147th Street. A streetlight flickered above the alley, casting jittery shadows on the sidewalk. I could already see the glow of red and blue lights in the distance. Already hear the static of police radios. Already feel the weight settling in my stomach like a stone.
People were gathered.
The alley looked like a twisted carnival, flashing lights painting the brick walls in dizzying color. But there was no music. Just silence. The kind that swallows you whole.
I pushed past the crowd, ignoring the voices trying to hold me back.
“Miss, you can’t go in there—”
“That’s my brother!” I screamed.
And I ducked under the tape before anyone could stop me.
I saw him before my brain accepted it.
Kaden.
Crumbled like a broken promise. One sneaker missing. Hoodie soaked in blood. Head turned slightly toward me like he'd been trying to look — trying to wait.
I dropped to my knees beside him.
“Kaden?”
“Kaden, wake up. Please. Please…”
A cop grabbed my shoulder and tried to pull me away, but I fought him off.
“He’s not—he’s not dead! Do something!”
“I’m sorry,” came a voice behind me. Flat. Professional.
“He’s gone.”
I didn’t cry.
I just stared.
Because this couldn’t be real. He was supposed to be untouchable. Kaden Black — my big brother. The smart one. The golden boy. He got us through everything. He talked his way out of fights, out of trouble, out of tickets and stop-and-frisks and bad blocks. He had plans. He was going to be a lawyer. He wanted to fix the system that broke us.
Now he was lying on the ground like the city had chewed him up and spit him out.
Like he didn’t matter.
The detectives didn’t have answers. Just pity. A cold badge and a colder shrug.
They said, “Wrong place, wrong time.”
Three weeks later, they closed the case.
No leads.
No witnesses.
Just another dead Black boy in the system.
That was the night I cried — alone, in the dark, wearing his old Knicks hoodie like it could hold me together.
That was the night I changed.
Because if the system wouldn’t give me justice,
I broke every speed limit on the way to her apartment. The thought of someone threatening Myra—my detective—had adrenaline pumping through my veins like jet fuel. I wasn’t sure if it was rage, fear, or something darker threading its way through my chest, but whatever it was, it had me gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me from losing control. When I reached her building, I didn’t bother waiting for her to buzz me in. I’d memorized her code the second time I visited—just in case. Now I was using it. She opened the door before I even knocked. “Nice timing,” she said, arms crossed, but I could tell by the way she hovered near the entrance that she was spooked. I stepped inside, scanning the space. Neat, minimal, functional—like her. But the tension in the air was anything but minimal. It was thick, coiled, hot. “Tell me what happened,” I said,
I’d barely made it home when I tore open the folded paper Moretti had given me. Five names. Two dates. A location I hadn’t heard since my brother’s funeral—The Kingsmill Dockyard. Abandoned. Sealed off years ago. Now it was just a graveyard of rusted ships and broken deals. I recognized three names on the list. All tied to petty crimes. Nothing big. But one name made my blood run cold. Marcus Vento. A dirty cop. Still active. Still shielded by the force. And worse—he used to be Kaden’s partner when he first went undercover. I sat on my couch, the paper in one hand, my service weapon on the table beside me, and a storm raging in my chest. I’d been chasing shadows for years, and now suddenly the shadows were chasing me. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. You’re digging in places you shouldn’t. Let the dead stay dead. I stared at the screen, pu
Raffaele I watched her leave, heels clicking against my marble floors, her ponytail swinging like a warning not to follow. Detective Myra Black. Sharp tongue. Quick mind. Eyes full of fire—and suspicion. Damn, she was trouble. And I liked trouble more than I should. The door closed behind her, and silence settled in. I leaned against the bar, poured myself a drink—something stronger this time—and stared at the glass like it had answers. I didn’t kill her brother. But I didn’t save him, either. And that guilt? It settled in the pit of my stomach like rust on a blade. “She’s not going to stop,” a voice said behind me. Luca, my right-hand man, stepped into the room, arms crossed. He’d been eavesdropping, of course. That’s what he did best. That and keeping my enemies off my back. “No, she won’t,” I muttered. “She’s getting close. I
I’d like to say I walked into Raffaele Moretti’s mansion with confidence, chin up, badge out, and justice on my heels. But no. Instead, I was soaked in sweat, nerves wrapped around my ribs like a corset, and I nearly tripped over one of his ridiculously polished marble steps. The damn place was a fortress—gates taller than my apartment building, cameras everywhere, and guards who looked like they could bench-press a car. I wasn’t even sure why I agreed to this meeting. Well, I knew why. Because he was a suspect. Because I needed to question him. Because he knew things about my brother Kaden’s death, even if he hadn’t said it out loud yet. And maybe—just maybe—because when he touched my hand last week, something inside me short-circuited. Now I was here. “Detective Black,” Raffaele greeted, his voice smooth like aged whiskey. He wore a navy dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out. His smile? Smug. Dangerous. Stupidly attractive. “I’m not here for small t
There are lines you don’t cross.At least, that’s what I always told myself. It was easier that way. Easier to keep my badge clean, my thoughts clear, my heart sealed shut.And yet… here I was. Again.Standing in Raffaele Moretti’s penthouse. Alone. At night. With the city glowing behind him and a silence between us that felt more intimate than any touch.“You came back,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he hadn’t been haunting my thoughts since that envelope hit my hands.“I needed answers,” I replied.He took a step forward, barefoot, casual, annoyingly calm. “You always say that. But it’s not just the answers, is it?”I said nothing. Because I didn’t have the energy to lie. Not tonight.“I opened the envelope,” I said, breaking the tension. “Read the name. Cross-referenced it. You weren’t bluffing.”“I rarely do,” he replied, his voice lower now, more serious. “Especially with you.”That made my throat tighten, and I hated how easily he could do that—
"You followed me,” he said, like it was charming. Like it was a joke.It wasn’t.He stood in the open doorway of his penthouse, shirt half-buttoned, espresso in hand, looking like he had been expecting me. And maybe he had.“I’m not stalking you,” I said, brushing past him without an invitation. “You walked away mid-sentence. I had questions.”“And you thought following me home was the best approach?” he asked, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. “Admit it—you missed me.”He had no idea how close that was to the truth. And that terrified me.“I came for the truth,” I said, keeping my voice level as I took in the sleek, ridiculously expensive decor of his space. Minimalist, masculine, and impossibly clean. Of course.He walked past me, barefoot and smug. “And coffee, apparently.”I turned, arms crossed. “You’re enjoying this.”“Of course, I am.” He handed me a mug. “You’re in my home. You’re off-duty. You’re not threatening to cuff me. Yet.”“Don’t tempt me.”That smirk agai
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