THE WOMAN WHO TAMED THE DEVIL

Alessandro De Luca did not believe in love. He believed in power. He believed in loyalty bought with fear. In blood debts that never expired. The private too of the night club pulsed with bass-heavy music ,muffled behind sound proof walls. Red lights bled across velvet couches and crystal glasses filled with expensive liquor. Women surrounded him— beautiful, half-dressed, laughing too loudly, touching him like he was something to be claimed. He felt nothing. One woman straddled his laps, her fingers tracing the open collar of his shirt. Another leaned in close, whispering promises she thought he wanted to hear. He let them. He always did. It was always easier this way— bodies without expectations, pleasure with attachment. “Boss,” his right-hand man, Marco, said quietly from the doorway. “We have a situation.” Alessandro’s dark eyes flicked up, sharp and instantly alert. “Speak.” “There’s been a breach. Not here—uptown. One of our shipments.” The woman on his lap pouted when Alessandro stood, already shrugging her off like she was nothing more than a jacket. He adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. “Handle it,” he said. “Quietly.” Marco nodded. “There’s more.” Alessandro paused. He hated when Marco said that. “There’s a witness.” Silence stretched between them. “A woman,” Marco continued. “Wrong place, wrong time.” Alessandro’s jaw tightened. “Then she won’t be a witness for long.” “That’s the problem,” Marco said carefully. “She disappeared before our men could reach her.” Alessandro urned fully now, his gaze cold. “Find her.” “We’re trying.” “Try harder.” ⸻ Isla Moretti had learned two things in the past twenty-four hours. First: running in heels was a terrible idea. Second: some secrets could get you killed. She locked the door of her tiny apartment and leaned back against it, chest heaving. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her face, replaying the night over and over in her head. The gun. The shouting. The man with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. She hadn’t meant to see anything. She’d just been taking a shortcut through a back alley, trying to get home before midnight. Then the black SUVs had appeared. Men with guns. Crates being unloaded. And him. He hadn’t looked at her at first. He’d been giving orders, calm and controlled, like he wasn’t surrounded by violence. But when his gaze finally lifted and met hers… She felt it. Like the world had tilted. She didn’t wait to be noticed again. She ran. Now, in the safety of her apartment—if it could even be called that—Isla slid down the door and hugged her knees to her chest. She was no one. Just a woman trying to survive. She couldn’t afford to be dragged into something this dark. She just hoped he’d never find her. She was wrong.