Emilia Russo had never considered herself lucky. Life had a funny way of reminding her that, from her cracked apartment ceiling to her constantly empty wallet. At twenty-three, she worked at a tiny diner that smelled perpetually of burnt coffee and grease. The tips were meager, and the hours long, but at least it kept her independent.
Tonight, like every other night, she wiped down tables, rearranged chairs, and made small talk with the few late-night customers who wandered in. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her green eyes were tired from staring at receipts, mugs, and the flickering neon sign outside. She was dreaming, as she often did, about a life that didn't involve overworked shifts and ramen noodles. Maybe a life where she didn't have to constantly worry about paying the rent on time.
It was during the lull between the dinner rush and closing that she saw something she shouldn't have.
At first, she thought it was a homeless man scuttling behind the diner, trying to avoid the cold night air. But the way the figure moved—the precision, the force—made her stomach twist. There was a struggle, brief but violent. A flash of steel glimmered in the dim light. A scream—or maybe a grunt—pierced the silence, cut short almost immediately. And then, just like that, the alley fell silent again.
Her pulse raced. Her instincts screamed at her to look away, to run back inside and pretend she hadn't seen a thing. But curiosity rooted her to the spot. She edged closer to the alley, her fingers curling around the edge of the dumpster. Shadows twisted around her, playing tricks on her eyes.
And then she saw him.
A man in a dark tailored suit, hair slicked back, moving with a predatory grace that made her stomach clench. He knelt beside the fallen figure, inspecting his work, almost casual in the way he adjusted his cufflinks afterward. Emilia's breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
The man turned, just for a fraction of a second, and their eyes met. Her breath hitched. There was something about him—something terrifying, magnetic, undeniable. His dark eyes bored into her soul, unflinching. And in that instant, she knew she had just seen a man whose reputation was legendary… and lethal.
Dante Moretti.
The name had come up before, whispered in hushed tones in the diner's back rooms or on the news when some gang feud erupted downtown. He was the kind of man people feared, the kind of man who could destroy lives with a single decision. And now, he knew she had seen him kill.
"Move," he said, his voice low, dangerous, smooth like silk over steel.
Emilia froze. Her body refused to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain herself—but no sound came out.
Dante took a step closer, each movement deliberate, like a predator circling prey. He was tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him exuding power and danger. Her stomach knotted in fear… and something else she wasn't ready to name.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Yet, here you are."
Her mind raced. She could run, she thought. She could scream. But if she did… would anyone hear her? And would it even matter? This was Dante Moretti she was dealing with, the underboss who controlled the city's darkest corners. Running was an option for someone else, someone luckier. Not her.
"I… I didn't mean to see… anything," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "I—"
"You did," he interrupted, cold, almost amused. "And now, that makes you… valuable."
Emilia's stomach dropped. Valuable? Her life had never felt more fragile. Valuable was a dangerous word in the hands of a man like Dante Moretti. She had a sudden, horrifying clarity: she wasn't just a witness. She was a problem, a liability. And in his world, problems were… disposed of.
Before she could react further, shadows shifted behind her. Two men stepped out, faceless in the darkness, muscles taut, hands resting casually near the weapons at their hips. Emilia's mind screamed at her—run, fight, hide—but she was frozen in place.
Dante's gaze never left hers. There was something in the way he looked at her, something dangerous and intoxicating all at once. His presence pressed down on her chest, a physical weight she couldn't ignore.
"You will come with me," he said finally, and though it sounded like an order, there was an almost imperceptible undertone of curiosity. He wasn't just taking her; he was studying her, testing her.
"Wait—" she tried, but one of the men behind her stepped forward, blocking her escape. Her heart hammered in panic.
"You don't understand," she whispered, realizing the truth of her situation. She wasn't running from just any man. She was caught in the orbit of Dante Moretti, and he didn't let anything—or anyone—slip away unscathed.
He extended a hand, not rough, but firm, an invitation she had no choice but to accept. Hesitantly, trembling, she let him guide her through the narrow alleyways and onto the deserted streets beyond. The city around them was indifferent, the neon lights flickering over empty pavements, oblivious to the danger walking among them.
"Who are you?" she asked finally, trying to steady her voice.
Dante's lips curved into the faintest smirk, though his eyes never softened. "I'm the man who decides if people live or die. And right now… you're living because I say so."
The words chilled her, yet stirred something she didn't want to admit—a dangerous thrill, the kind that made her pulse spike and her skin tingle. She knew she should hate him, fear him completely… but there was a pull, magnetic and unavoidable.
By the time they reached the black car waiting at the curb, Emilia's mind was a storm of fear, confusion, and something dangerously close to curiosity. She had just glimpsed the edge of a world she had only read about in headlines and whispered rumors. And now, she was stepping into it.
Dante opened the car door for her, an act so civilized it was almost jarring. She hesitated, glancing at him. His eyes caught hers again, cold and calculating, but now… just for a moment… there was something else in them. Something like… interest.
"You're coming with me," he repeated. "And from this moment on, your life… will no longer belong to you."
Emilia swallowed hard, her throat dry. She nodded, though every instinct screamed at her to resist. Her life, as she knew it, was over. The dangerous, alluring world of Dante Moretti had claimed her.
And somehow, she knew… she would never be the same again.