DEVIL'S EMPIRE

Chapter Four

The image wouldn't leave her mind no matter how hard she tried. The flashing ambulance lights. The police tape. The crowd gathered outside the café. And the name.

The name she'd heard from one of the officers. The same source who had been scheduled to meet her. The same source who had sounded terrified on the phone less than an hour earlier. Elena sat in her car long after the crowd had dispersed.

Rain tapped softly against the windshield. Her hands remained wrapped around the steering wheel. Cold.

For the first time since beginning the investigation, she wasn't thinking like a journalist. She was thinking like a frightened woman. Because this wasn't a warning anymore. This wasn't anonymous messages or unsettling phone calls.

Someone had gotten hurt. And the timing was impossible to ignore. Her source had agreed to meet. Then suddenly he was lying in a hospital. Coincidence didn't exist on that level. Not in her experience. Not when fear had already been hanging over the investigation for days.

A horn sounded behind her. Elena blinked. She hadn't realized traffic was moving. Quickly, she started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

The drive home passed in a blur.

Every thought led back to the same question. Who was trying so hard to bury this story? And why?

By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion had settled deep into her bones but sleep refused to come. Instead, she sat at her dining table with her laptop open, surrounded by notes and documents. Names. Companies. Bank transfers. Political donations. Everything seemed connected.

Yet nothing made sense. Somewhere in the middle of it all sat Luca Moretti. Like a ghost. Always present. Never reachable. She stared at his photograph on the screen.

Dark hair.Sharp features.Expensive suit. The kind of face magazines loved. Billionaire.entrepreneur. Philanthropist. Investor. The public descriptions practically worshipped him. Yet the more Elena researched him, the more uncomfortable she became. Not because she found proof of wrongdoing.

Because she couldn't. There should have been something. Nobody accumulated that much power without leaving fingerprints somewhere. Yet every trail disappeared before reaching him. Every road stopped just short of his door. It was as if someone had spent years making sure nothing could ever touch him.

Around two in the morning, Elena finally gave up. She closed the laptop and headed to bed. The rain outside continued through the night.

---

The next few days passed slowly. Painfully slowly. Her source remained in the hospital. Police refused to release details. Nobody returned her calls. The investigation felt frozen.

Meanwhile, the pressure at work continued growing. Her editor wanted answers. She had none.The only thing she seemed to collect lately was more questions. By Friday evening, frustration had replaced fear.she needed a breakthrough. Something. Anything.

Which was why she found herself standing outside an upscale charity gala she had absolutely no business attending. The invitation hadn't been intended for her. A contact owed her a favor. And Elena had no problem using favors when necessary.

The event occupied the ballroom of one of the city's most luxurious hotels. The kind of place where politicians, celebrities, and billionaires gathered to congratulate themselves for donating money. Not exactly her favorite crowd. Still, several names connected to her investigation appeared on the guest list. Including one she knew very well.

Luca Moretti.

Her stomach tightened. This was ridiculous. She wasn't expecting answers. She certainly wasn't expecting to meet him. But if she could observe him, maybe she'd notice something. A clue. Anything.

Inside, crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light across the ballroom. Music drifted through the air, champagne glasses clinked,laughter echoed from every corner. Elena suddenly felt underdressed despite spending an hour choosing an outfit. Everyone looked expensive.Everyone looked important.And everyone looked like they belonged.

Except her.

She grabbed a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray and began moving through the crowd.Watching.Listening. Journalists were good at becoming invisible. It was practically part of the job. For nearly an hour, she wandered the ballroom gathering snippets of conversation. Nothing useful.Just wealthy people discussing investments and vacations.

Then the atmosphere shifted.Almost imperceptibly. Yet Elena felt it immediately. Conversations slowed. Heads turned. People straightened. A path seemed to open naturally through the crowd.

She followed their gaze. And saw him.

Luca Moretti.

For a second, everything else disappeared.The room.The music.The conversations.

All of it faded because suddenly the man she'd spent weeks investigating wasn't a photograph anymore.He was real.And somehow more intimidating in person.Tall.Confident.Effortlessly composed.People greeted him with smiles.With respect. Some with obvious nervousness.Yet Luca seemed completely unaffected by the attention. As though he were accustomed to every room belonging to him.

Elena hated herself for staring.But she couldn't stop.This was him.The man at the center of everything.The man she'd built theories around.The man whose name kept appearing no matter where she looked.As if sensing her attention, Luca turned.

Their eyes met. And for one strange second, the entire room seemed to disappear. Elena's breath caught.The distance between them was significant. Yet his gaze found hers immediately. Like he knew exactly who she was.

A ridiculous thought. Of course he didn't know her. Why would he? She looked away first. Annoyed with herself. Annoyed that her pulse had quickened. Annoyed that she suddenly felt exposed.

By the time she looked back, he was speaking with someone else. She exhaled.

Good. The moment was over. Or so she thought.

A voice appeared beside her.

Low.

"Miss Rossi."

Her entire body stiffened. She turned. A man in a black suit stood there.

Security, judging by his appearance.

"Yes?"

The man offered a polite smile.

"Mr. Moretti would like a word."

The room suddenly felt very warm. Elena stared at him.

Certain she'd misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

"Mr. Moretti is requesting a private conversation."

Every instinct in her body screamed that this was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, every journalist instinct she possessed screamed even louder. And for the first time since this investigation began, those instincts finally agreed on one thing.

She was about to get answers.