Deadly Devotion

The conference room smelled like stale coffee and broken promises. I sat at the long table, my hands folded in front of me, watching Special Agent Davis shuffle through files like he was dealing cards at a casino. Across from me, my supervisor, Agent Chen, looked at me with the particular expression of someone about to ask me to do something dangerous. I'd seen that look before. "Mia," Chen said, her voice careful. "We want to be clear that you can say no to this." I didn't believe her. Not really. But I appreciated the lie. Davis slid a photograph across the table. A man in an expensive suit, dark hair, strong jaw, the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or wanted posters. Maybe both. "Dante DeLuca," Davis said. "Thirty two years old. Heir to the DeLuca crime family. Harvard educated. Runs the family's legitimate business operations, which we know are fronts for money laundering." I picked up the photo. Studied it. The man looked back at me with dark eyes that seemed intelligent even in a still image. "We've been investigating the DeLuca family for three years," Chen continued. "We have circumstantial evidence. Financial irregularities. Witness statements from low level associates. But nothing that sticks to the family itself. Nothing that gets us the big players." "You need someone inside," I said. "We need someone close to Dante." Davis pulled out more photos. The DeLuca family at various events. Charity galas, restaurant openings, art exhibitions. "He's the weak link. Salvatore, the father, he's old school. Untouchable. Never uses phones, never puts anything in writing. But Dante, he's trying to modernize the operation. Make it look legitimate. That means paper trails. Digital footprints. Evidence we can actually use." Chen leaned forward. "We need someone who can get close to him. Someone he'd actually believe belongs in his world. Someone smart enough to navigate the family dynamics and not get killed." "You want me to seduce him." I said it flatly, without judgment. This wasn't the first time the Bureau had used s*x as a tool. It probably wouldn't be the last. "We want you to become someone he trusts," Chen said carefully. "However that happens is up to you. But yes, if a romantic relationship develops, that gives us the best access." I looked at the photo again. Dante DeLuca. Rich, powerful, handsome, dangerous. The kind of man who probably had women falling all over him. "Why would he be interested in me?" "Because you're going to be exactly his type." Davis pulled out another file. "Art dealer. Gallery consultant. You did a minor in art history at NYU before you joined the Bureau. You know enough to be convincing. We've already created your cover identity. Gallery connections in Europe. A client list of wealthy collectors. Everything checks out if anyone looks." "The DeLuca family owns several art galleries," Chen added. "It's one of their cleanest operations. Dante himself collects. There's a major gallery opening next week. Invitation only. Very exclusive. You'll be there." "How?" "We've made sure the right people know about Mia Santos, the brilliant young art consultant who just moved to New York from Paris. You'll get an invitation. And once you're there, you make sure Dante DeLuca notices you." I looked at both of them. "And then?" "Then you get close. You gather evidence. You find out how the money moves through the family. Where it comes from, where it goes. Bank accounts, shell companies, all of it." Davis's expression hardened. "And when we have enough, we bring down the entire DeLuca organization." I should have felt something. Excitement, maybe. Or fear. This was the kind of assignment that made careers or ended them. Sometimes literally. But all I felt was cold. Chen pulled out one more photo. A man in an FBI jacket, smiling at the camera. Young, eager, alive. My chest tightened. "Brian Costa," Chen said quietly. "Your partner. He was investigating the DeLuca family eighteen months ago. Got too close. Asked the wrong questions." She paused. "They found his body in the East River three weeks later." I knew this story. I'd lived it. Brian had been more than my partner. He'd been my friend. My mentor when I was new to the Bureau. The person who'd believed I could be good at this job when I wasn't sure myself. "We never proved the DeLucas killed him," Chen continued. "But we know. Uncle Tony DeLuca, Salvatore's brother, he's the enforcer. The one who handles problems. And Brian was definitely a problem." She slid all the photos into a folder and pushed it across to me. "So yes, Mia. You can say no to this assignment. But I'm asking you directly. Will you do it? Will you go undercover and help us bring down the people who killed your partner?" I looked at the folder. At Dante DeLuca's face on top. At the family that had murdered Brian and walked away clean. "When do I start?" One week later, I stood in front of the mirror in my new apartment and didn't recognize myself. The Bureau had set me up in a luxury building in Manhattan. The kind of place where doormen wore actual uniforms and the lobby had fresh flowers every day. My cover identity needed to look successful, established, worth noticing. The woman looking back at me from the mirror fit that description. Designer dress, deep blue, fitted perfectly because the Bureau had hired an actual stylist. Hair and makeup done professionally because I needed to look like someone who had people for that. Jewelry that was real because fake wouldn't pass inspection in this world. I looked expensive. I looked confident. I looked like someone Dante DeLuca might actually want. My phone buzzed. A text from Chen. Car is downstairs. Remember, tonight you're just making an appearance. Let him see you. Make an impression. Don't push too hard. I typed back a quick confirmation and grabbed my clutch. Inside was my ID in the name Mia Santos, a credit card that would work, business cards for my fake consulting business, and absolutely nothing that connected me to the FBI. I was Mia Santos now. Art consultant. Worldly, sophisticated, slightly mysterious. Not Mia Santos, FBI agent, about to lie to everyone she met. The gallery was in Chelsea, a converted warehouse space with soaring ceilings and white walls. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes moved through it like they belonged in a museum themselves. I walked in alone, head high, and immediately a server appeared with champagne. I took a glass and moved into the crowd. The art was contemporary. Bold colors, abstract shapes, the kind of thing rich people bought because other rich people said it was important. I'd done my homework though. I could talk about the artist's technique, his use of negative space, the way his work challenged traditional perspectives. I could be convincing. I was looking at a particularly large canvas, genuinely trying to decide if I liked it or just understood it, when I felt someone step up beside me. "It's supposed to represent the duality of human nature," a voice said. Male, deep, with the particular accent of someone who'd grown up in New York but been educated somewhere expensive. "The chaos and the order existing simultaneously." I didn't turn to look. Not yet. "Is that what the artist says or what you think?" "What I think. The artist says it's about his divorce." I smiled despite myself and turned. Dante DeLuca stood beside me, even more striking in person than in his photographs. Tall, broad shouldered, in a suit that probably cost more than my real monthly salary. Dark hair, dark eyes, a face that was handsome in a dangerous way. He was looking at the painting, not at me. Yet. "Which interpretation do you prefer?" I asked. "Mine. His divorce sounds boring." Now he looked at me. "I don't think we've met. I know most of the people here." "Mia Santos. I'm new to New York." "Dante." He didn't offer his last name. Interesting. "What brings you to New York, Mia Santos?" "Work. I consult for private collectors. Help them acquire pieces, authenticate works, build collections." "Sounds interesting. And lucrative." "It can be both." I took a sip of champagne, meeting his eyes over the rim of the glass. "What do you do, Dante?" "Family business. Real estate, restaurants, investments. The usual." The usual if your family was a crime organization. But I smiled like I believed the lie. "Sounds interesting. And lucrative." He smiled back. It transformed his face from handsome to devastating. "It can be both." We stood there looking at each other, the attraction immediate and obvious. This was the moment. Make an impression. Make him want to see me again. But don't push too hard. "I should circulate," I said, stepping back slightly. "It was nice meeting you, Dante." I started to walk away. "Wait." I turned back, eyebrow raised in question. "Would you have dinner with me?" he asked. "Tomorrow night. I'd like to talk more about art. And other things." I pretended to consider it. Let the silence stretch just long enough. "I'd like that," I said finally. "Tomorrow night." "I'll pick you up. Give me your number." I did. He typed it into his phone immediately and called it. My phone buzzed in my clutch. "Now you have mine," he said. "Sneaky." "Efficient." That smile again. "I'll text you tomorrow with details." "I'll be waiting." I walked away before he could say anything else. I could feel him watching me. I made sure my walk was confident, unhurried, like I had all the time in the world. Like I wasn't seconds away from throwing up from nerves. I'd done it. Made contact. Got the dinner invitation. Everything according to plan. So why did I feel like I'd just stepped off a cliff? Outside the gallery, I walked two blocks before pulling out my phone and calling Chen. "Contact made," I said when she answered. "Dinner tomorrow night." "Good work. Remember, you're just getting to know him. Build the foundation slowly." "I know the plan." "Mia." Her voice softened slightly. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." "If at any point this feels wrong..." "It's an assignment. I'll complete it." I hung up before she could say anything else. Back in my apartment, I stood in front of the mirror again. The expensive dress. The perfect hair. The woman I was pretending to be. I thought about Dante DeLuca's smile. The way he'd looked at me. I thought about Brian's body pulled from the river. I took off the dress, wiped off the makeup, let my hair down. Tomorrow I'd put the costume back on. Tomorrow I'd smile and flirt and lie. Tomorrow I'd start the long process of destroying Dante DeLuca. But tonight, alone in this fake apartment living a fake life, I let myself feel what I actually felt. Nothing. I felt nothing at all. And that, I thought, was probably for the best.