Dinner with the Devil
924 Words
Cassandra sat in the surveillance van parked across from the Moretti estate, a steaming paper cup of bitter coffee cooling in her hands. Her partner, Agent Morgan, watched Adrian on the monitor, the grainy image showing him exiting the mansion in a charcoal suit that hugged his form a little too well for a criminal under investigation.
“He’s going somewhere,” Morgan said.
“Restaurant downtown. La Vigna,” Cassie answered without looking. “He’s been there three times this week. Private room in the back.” She didn’t mention that she’d memorized the times, the security patterns, or the fact that she’d replayed his voice on audio clips more than she should have.
“You gonna follow him?” Morgan asked.
“I have to.”
She stepped out of the van and straightened her jacket, already regretting the heels she wore. They made her feel exposed, like she was dressing up for him instead of a mission.
She reminded herself this wasn’t personal. It was professional.
Except... it was personal now.
La Vigna smelled like old-world wealth—truffle oil, aged leather, and secrets. The maître d’ greeted her with a nod.
“He’s expecting you,” the man said.
Cassie’s pulse tripped. “What?”
The man gestured toward the private room in the back.
She stepped inside, blinking against the low candlelight.
Adrian sat alone at a small round table, a glass of wine in hand, a single red rose lying on her plate.
“I figured surveillance was exhausting,” he said smoothly. “You should eat.”
She shut the door behind her. “How did you know I was watching?”
Adrian sipped his wine. “You’re not as invisible as you think, Agent Blake. Especially not to someone who’s already seen you naked.”
Her breath hitched. “You really think this is funny?”
“I think it’s tragic,” he said, his voice low. “That you think you can sit across from me and pretend you don’t want to taste everything you already had.”
She stared at him, trying not to show the tremor working through her. “You’re under investigation for murder.”
He smirked. “That’s not dinner conversation. Eat, Cassie.”
Against her better judgment, she sat. The warmth of the candlelight softened the sharp angles of his face, but his eyes remained sharp, watching, and waiting.
“Why me?” she asked after a long silence.
“You’re intelligent. Beautiful. And you didn’t flinch when I touched you.” He leaned forward. “I like dangerous women.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. “I’m here to arrest you.”
“Are you?” His eyes dropped to her lips. “Then why haven’t you?”
“Because we don’t have enough yet.”
“Or maybe,” he said, “you don’t want to.”
Her stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong and that terrified her.
“I should walk out right now,” she said, standing.
He rose with her, stepping close enough to crowd her. “But you won’t.”
She should’ve pushed him back. She should’ve cuffed him.
Instead, she stood frozen as his hand skimmed her waist, light as a whisper.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
She opened her mouth.
Didn’t speak.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that unraveled her every defense. Her hands gripped his shirt, dragging him closer even as her conscience screamed at her to let go.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not when his kiss made her forget her name.
When they finally broke apart, she was gasping.
“That was a mistake,” she whispered.
He smiled like a man who’d already won. “Then why did it feel like a promise?”
She stormed out of the restaurant without looking back, heart racing, breath uneven. By the time she got back to the van, Morgan gave her a weird look.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she lied.
But she wasn’t.
Because she wanted Adrian Moretti again and that made her the most dangerous kind of compromised.
Back at the field office, the news was worse. Another murder. Another Moretti associate "shot execution-style and dumped in the river." The body had a playing card shoved in his mouth: the Queen of Hearts.
Cassie stared at the photo on the evidence board.
“What is this?” she asked Temple.
“A message,” Temple said grimly. “We think someone inside the Moretti family is cleaning house. Fast.”
“And you still want me to keep playing nice with Adrian?”
Temple nodded. “We need to know if he’s behind this, or if someone’s coming for him. Either way, stay close. He likes you.”
Cassie looked back at the photo, bile rising in her throat.
She wasn’t just flirting with danger anymore.
She was dancing with it in heels and losing her rhythm.
Later that night, she sat in her apartment, the unopened bottle of wine from Adrian still on her counter. Her phone buzzed. A text message from an unknown number.
Unknown Number:
"Still tasting you. Still wanting you.
Next time, don’t run."
Cassie stared at the screen.
She should block him. Report it. Delete every trace of him from her life.
But instead, she saved the number under Adrian.
And whispered to herself, “What the hell are you doing?”
- Writer
