Part 1: The Kidnapping
Rain painted the night in slick sheets of silver as David Moretti leaned against the sleek black car, his dark eyes locked on the art gallery across the street. He looked like a ghost in the shadows, his presence invisible to anyone passing by—but deadly if crossed. Thirty years old, powerful, untouchable. That was his reputation. No one dared question the mafia leader who built his empire brick by bloody brick.
Tonight, however, wasn't about business. It was personal.
She stepped out of the gallery's glass doors like a whisper in the chaos of the city. Elena Harper. Museum curator. Ordinary. Innocent. And now, a pawn.
David's jaw clenched as he watched her laugh with a coworker, her warm smile completely unaware of the storm heading her way. She had no idea who he was—or why he wanted her. But she would soon.
"Elena Harper," he murmured, like tasting the name would make sense of this madness.
He hadn't planned on her. She was just the younger sister of a man who owed David a debt he couldn't pay. And debts in his world were paid one way or another.
He nodded once. His men moved in.---
Elena had barely rounded the corner of the alley near the parking lot when a hand covered her mouth. Panic surged through her as arms pinned her tight. She kicked, bit, screamed behind the gag, but it was useless. Blackness swallowed her as a sharp sting hit her neck—and everything went silent.
When she woke, the air was cold and smelled faintly of smoke and leather. Her eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room. Opulent, in a dark and unsettling way. Heavy curtains. Expensive furniture. A fireplace that crackled in the corner like it was mocking her.
She bolted upright. "Where am I?" she gasped, heart hammering in her chest.
"You're safe," came a smooth, deep voice.
Elena's head snapped toward the source. A man stepped from the shadows like he belonged to them. Dark hair, darker eyes, tailored black suit. He looked carved from marble—cold, perfect, and dangerous.
"Who are you?" she demanded, voice shaking.
David studied her quietly. He expected fear. Maybe tears. But not this fire in her eyes. It threw him off more than he liked to admit.
"My name is David Moretti," he said finally. "I brought you here."
Elena's lips parted. The name struck her like lightning. She'd heard of him—everyone had. He was the ghost that haunted the criminal underworld. Ruthless. Untraceable. Untouchable.
"Why?" she whispered.
David walked to the window, rain tapping like fingers on the glass. "Because your brother made a mistake. One that cost me. And I collect what I'm owed."
Elena's breath caught. "So you're using me to get to him."
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them. David expected her to plead. To cry. But instead, she stood, her legs shaking but her spine straight.
"You won't get anything from me," she said. "I'm not afraid of you."
Something stirred in him—something inconvenient. A flicker of respect. Maybe even... interest.
He turned back to her slowly. "You should be."