His rose

The Devil in a Suit

Chapter 2

Alexander Knight’s POV

“Sir, you have a meeting at 3:30 p.m. with Mr. Williams.”

I did not look up from the file in front of me.

“Cancel it.”

A short silence followed.

My assistant, Daniel, stood near the entrance of my office, tablet in hand, wearing the expression of a man who wanted to argue but valued his life too much.

“Mr. Williams has been waiting for this meeting for three weeks,” he said carefully.

“Then he has developed patience. Useful quality.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “He may not take it well.”

I finally lifted my eyes.

Daniel immediately stopped talking.

I did not raise my voice. I rarely needed to. Men understood power better when it was quiet.

“If Mr. Williams has a problem,” I said, “he can take it somewhere else.”

Daniel nodded once. “Understood, sir.”

I leaned back in my chair and closed the file.

The top floor of Knight Tower was silent except for the soft hum of the city beyond the glass walls. New York stretched below me, a kingdom of steel, greed, light, and secrets.

Most people saw beauty when they looked at this city.

I saw ownership.

Territory.

Debt.

Blood hidden beneath expensive shoes.

To the public, I was Alexander Knight, CEO of Knight Hotels and one of the most powerful businessmen in the country. Magazines called me private, disciplined, unreachable. Women called me cold. Men called me dangerous behind my back and sir to my face.

None of them were wrong.

They just didn’t know the half of it.

Knight Hotels was only the face the world was allowed to see.

Behind the luxury suites, charity events, business deals, and polished interviews, there was another empire.

One built in shadows.

And I ruled it.

The door opened again.

This time, Daniel stepped aside without being told.

Damien Cross walked in.

My right hand.

My most trusted man.

My weapon when a bullet was too quick and a warning needed to be remembered.

He wore a black suit like the rest of us, but Damien had never managed to look harmless in one. There was something in his eyes that told people he had seen the worst parts of the world and had not been disturbed by them.

“Boss,” he said.

Daniel left immediately, closing the door behind him.

I looked at Damien. “Report.”

He placed a thin folder on my desk. “We found Carlo.”

My expression did not change.

Carlo Russo had worked under my protection for five years. He had eaten at my table, taken my money, used my name, and then sold information to the Moretti family.

A stupid betrayal.

But betrayal did not need to be intelligent to be punished.

“Where?” I asked.

“Warehouse twelve.”

“Alive?”

Damien’s mouth curved slightly. “For now.”

I stood and buttoned my suit jacket. “Good.”

The elevator ride down was silent.

No music. No conversation.

Damien knew better than to fill silence for no reason. I valued that about him. Most people talked when they were nervous.

Damien only talked when there was something worth saying.

The car waited in the private garage. Black. Armored. Tinted windows.

My driver did not ask where we were going. He already knew.

Twenty minutes later, we entered warehouse twelve through the back entrance.

The smell hit first.

Dust.

Oil.

Fear.

Carlo Russo sat tied to a chair beneath a hanging light. Blood marked the side of his mouth, but he was still conscious. Two of my men stood nearby. Neither spoke.

Carlo’s eyes widened when he saw me.

That was the problem with traitors.

They always believed they would have more time.

“Alexander,” he breathed. “Please.”

I walked toward him slowly.

The warehouse was cold, but sweat slid down Carlo’s temple.

“Please?” I repeated.

His lips trembled. “I made a mistake.”

“No,” I said. “A mistake is dialing the wrong number. You gave my shipping routes to Moretti.”

“I was desperate.”

“Everyone is desperate.”

“I can fix it.”

I stopped in front of him and studied his face.

Men became honest when death sat close enough to hear them breathe.

“You cannot fix what I no longer trust,” I said.

Carlo began shaking. “I have a wife. A son.”

There it was.

The plea every coward saved for the end.

“You should have remembered them before you betrayed me.”

His eyes filled with panic. “Please, boss. I swear I didn’t tell them everything. I swear on my son—”

“Do not use your child as a shield.”

My voice dropped.

The room went still.

Even Damien’s expression hardened.

There were rules in my world. Not many, but enough.

Children were not bargaining chips.

Women and children stayed untouched unless they chose to step into war. Abusers were not tolerated under my name. Traitors were punished. Loyalty was rewarded.

Simple rules.

Rules that kept monsters from becoming animals.

Carlo lowered his head, crying now. “What happens to me?”

I looked at Damien.

Damien stepped forward and placed another file in my hand.

Inside were bank transfers, messages, dates, names. Proof. Too much proof for mercy.

“You gave Moretti information that could have killed my men,” I said. “You took payment for it. Twice.”

Carlo sobbed. “I was scared.”

“You should be.”

I closed the file and handed it back to Damien.

Then I leaned close enough for Carlo to understand every word.

“Your wife and son will receive money. Enough to leave the city. Enough to start again. They are innocent. They will not suffer for your sins.”

Carlo looked up, hope and terror mixing in his eyes.

“But you,” I said quietly, “will never stand in my shadow again.”

I turned away.

“Make sure he disappears,” I told Damien. “Quietly.”

Carlo screamed behind me.

I did not look back.

By the time I returned to Knight Tower, the sun had begun to set. Orange light spilled across the office windows, turning the city into fire.

Daniel was waiting with another tablet and a cautious expression.

I removed my cufflinks and placed them on the desk. “What now?”

“The guest list for Brittany Adams’ birthday party has arrived.”

I paused.

“Adams.”

“Yes, sir. James Adams sent the formal invitation again. He has also requested a private meeting during the event.”

Of course he had.

James Adams had been trying to reach me for months. He wanted investment from Knight Hotels. Claimed Adams Company had strong expansion potential. Claimed we could benefit from each other.

Men like James always used words like benefit when they meant access.

I picked up the tablet.

A digital invitation opened on the screen.

Gold letters.

Too much decoration.

Too much desperation.

Brittany Adams’ Twenty-Fifth Birthday Celebration.

I almost handed it back.

Then Daniel said, “Damien looked into him briefly. There are irregularities in Adams Company accounts.”

That caught my attention.

I looked at Damien, who stood near the window.

“What kind?”

“Small movements for now,” Damien said. “Hidden transfers. Shell accounts. Nothing we can fully prove yet, but enough to smell rotten.”

“Connections?”

“Possibly to Moretti’s lower network.”

My eyes narrowed.

Moretti again.

The Moretti family had been testing borders for months. Small betrayals. Quiet meetings. Men disappearing from places they should not have been. If James Adams had dipped his hands into their world, then his invitation was no longer a waste of my time.

It was useful.

“Who else lives in the Adams house?” I asked.

Daniel scrolled. “James Adams. His wife, Christina. Their daughter, Brittany. Their son, Rony.” He paused. “And a niece. Rose Adams.”

“Rose?”

“Daughter of the late Edward and Elena Adams. Edward founded Adams Company before his death.”

“Death?”

“Car accident ten years ago. His wife died with him. Rose was ten.”

I took the tablet from Daniel.

There was no picture attached to her name. Only basic information. Age twenty. No college. No public appearances. No social media. No employment record.

Strange.

Rich families displayed their daughters like trophies. Birthdays, charity events, society photographs, polished smiles in expensive dresses.

But Rose Adams was almost invisible.

“Why is there nothing on her?” I asked.

Daniel shifted. “I can ask for a deeper report.”

“Do it.”

Damien looked at me.

He knew that tone.

I was no longer mildly interested.

“Is there a problem, boss?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

I stared at Rose Adams’ name on the screen.

A girl hidden in a wealthy house.

A dead father.

A company now controlled by an uncle.

Financial irregularities.

Moretti’s shadow.

Yes.

There was a problem.

I just did not know its shape yet.

Daniel glanced at the invitation. “Should I decline the party?”

“No.”

Both men looked at me.

I handed the tablet back.

“We attend.”

Daniel nodded. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

Damien’s mouth curved faintly. “James Adams is going to think you came for business.”

“He can think whatever helps him sleep.”

I walked to the window and looked down at the city again.

New York glittered beneath me, beautiful from a distance and filthy up close.

Men like James Adams loved glitter. They hid behind it. Built lies beneath it. Covered rot with flowers, champagne, and expensive music.

I knew men like him.

I had buried men like him.

“Have the car ready next Friday,” I said.

Daniel made a note. “Yes, sir.”

“And Damien?”

“Yes?”

“I want everything on James Adams before that party. His business, his debts, his enemies, his family.”

“Including the niece?”

I looked at him.

“Yes,” I said. “Especially the niece.”

Because something about an invisible girl in a mansion full of greedy people did not sit right with me.

At the time, I did not know her.

I did not know her eyes.

I did not know the bruises hidden beneath old clothes.

I did not know she slept in a storeroom inside a house that belonged to her.

I did not know that in one week, she would run from that house half-broken and terrified.

And I certainly did not know she would end up in the back seat of my car, begging me not to send her back.

I only knew one thing.

James Adams had secrets.

And I was very good at dragging secrets into the light.