AMARA
After a long bus ride to the city, I finally find out where Moretti's new headquarters are. It wasn't easy, especially because I couldn't use any of my old contacts to get the information. Nevertheless, I know where the fucker is.
A nightclub called 'Devil's Dungeon' isn't the most conspicuous place for Moretti to run his operations, but that's never stopped him before. Dante Moretti never had a problem with being in the spotlight.
I'm dressed like the rest of the attendees. Slip dress, four inch heels, with a cute little bag with my pistol inside. My hair's still brown from the time I'd dyed it earlier this year, and hopefully no one on the street recognizes me.
Standing in the line has to be the most irritating ten minutes of my life. I steel my confidence when its my turn and walk up to the bouncer. He's a tall Italian man, one I don't know, but I'm certain he's a part of Moretti's team.
He gives me a once over before waving me through. I thank the high heavens that I decided to dress like everyone else, otherwise he'd never have let me in.
I blend in with the crowd, scanning my surroundings. Behind the bar is a room, and a man stands in front of the door, guarding it. That's where Moretti is.
The music is insanely loud, likely to cover up the sound of anything suspicious going on in that office. There are men scattered across the club. They look like your normal party go-ers, but I know better. Those are his men.
I head for the bar and get a drink, taking a seat on one of the stools. I can't make my move before figuring out how many men I'd have to get past to get to Moretti.
A man sits down next to me as my drink is handed to me.
"Hello there," he says, leaning closer so I can hear him over the music.
"No," I say curtly, taking a sip from my drink.
"Okay," he says slowly, moving away from me.
I'm not here to entertain men, let alone start a fucking conversation. If I was worried about my presence being known, I might have. However, after this drink, I'm heading straight for Moretti. I don't have any time to waste. He has my brother, and he's not getting away with it.
I finish my drink, thank and pay the bartender, and rise to my feet. I've spotted a few more men by the door to the mysterious room behind the bar, but it'll take more than that to stop me.
I walk up, keeping my hand wrapped around the gun in my purse. The man watches me, his eyes roaming over my body.
"This is where you stop, little lady," he says when I stop in front of him.
I shake my head. "I'm here for Moretti,"
His eyes widen and he places a hand on his gun, ready to draw. "Who the hell are you?"
His friends, the ones further off to the side, move closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice them drawing their guns. In this corner of the club, no one would see me get shot. They won't do that, though.
"Amara Valenti," I say, my voice steady.
There's instant recognition in his eyes. "We knew you weren't dead,"
"Good for you," I say, rolling my eyes.
He looks to one of the other men. "Tell the boss the past just walked in,"
#
The club's pulse fades behind me with every step into the room. It looks smaller from the outside than it really is. It smells like cologne, leather, and danger.
The space isn't loud. It doesn't need to be, though. Power hums beneath the quiet dark walls, polished floors, and a decanter of something amber on a side table. And there, behind a desk that looks more like a throne than furniture...there he is.
Dante Moretti.
Unbothered. Unrushed. Eyes like cold metal dragging over me with clinical precision. He doesn't stand. He doesn't speak. He simply watches me walking over. As though he'd been expecting me all along.
And for the first time in three years, I feel the old life wrap its claws around my throat.
"Didn't think I'd ever see your face again, Valenti," he says coldly.
I stop in front of the desk. "Didn't think I'd need to come back,"
"I'm guessing this isn't a social visit," he says, leaning back in his chair.
I pull the photo out of my purse and hold it up. "You know why I'm here,"
His eyes move to the photo for a split second, but he shows no reaction. "Is that so? Enlighten me."
"My brother, Moretti," I spit, my voice shaking slightly. "Your name. The city's filth. You thought I wouldn't trace it back to you?"
His eyes narrow. "Careful," he muses. "You're standing on the edge of something you don't understand,"
I shake my head, putting a hand on the desk, leaning forward. "Oh, I understand plenty. I understand betrayal. Blood. I understand how you stood by while my family burned,"
The words come out of my mouth laced with anger. Anger I didn't even know I held on to from three years ago.
His head tilts. "You have no idea what really happened," he says quietly, his voice cold.
"Then tell me," I say, furious. "Right now. Tell me why the man who killed everything I loved wears suits and commands armies while my brother's gone."
He takes a long pause, his eyes scanning my face. "I didn't take your brother. And I didn't pull the trigger on your family," he tells me. "But you're right about one thing. I'm not innocent."
Of course he's not. Men like Moretti thrive off of power and the fear they instill. Is he telling the truth about not having had a hand in my family's death? I've never known Dante to lie, but I don't know if I believe him.
"Did you have something to do with my brother's kidnapping, Moretti?" I ask, impatient.
He shifts in his chair. "Amara, if I wanted your brother dead, he wouldn't have lived long enough to disappear."
"Yeah? Then how do you explain this?" I ask, tossing the photo at him.
He looks almost bored as he peels it off the table, inspecting it before turning it over. When he reads the writing on the back, a slight smirk pulls at his lips.
"It's no secret that I have enemies. Of course they'd plot to turn you against me," he says, indifferent. Like there's no double meaning behind what he just said.
"I have nothing to do with you, Moretti. Never have,"
He nods. "Of course not. But the last of the Valenti line in a direct war with me? It's pure gold," he says and I swear the man is amused. "You're brave walking in here like this. Most would consider this a death wish,"
"I'm not most,"
"No." He shakes his head. "That bravery could come in useful to me,"
I hesitate, my mind whirling. "What?"
Tossing the photo back on the desk, he sits back. "I'm offering you protection. Information. A way to find your brother,"
What?
"And what's the price? No one in this life offers anything for free? Least of all you,"
"You're not wrong," he says, dark amusement in his tone. "I need someone I can trust on the inside. Someone smart. Unpredictable. And if the last three years have proven anything, it's that that person is you,"
"Trust?" I ask, a bitter laugh escaping me. "From a man who builds his empire on lies?"
He shrugs slightly. "You don't have to trust me. Just work with me,"
"And if I say no?"
He leans forward, placing his forearms on the desk. "Then i can't guarantee you'll survive long enough to ask again,"
He's right. Word spreads fast around the city, especially underground. Once it's revealed that I'm alive, there will be a bounty on my head. Every enemy my family has ever made will be coming after me.
But am I ready to place my life in the hands of the most notorious Don in the mafia? Am I ready to return to the life? If I have any hopes of finding my brother and finding out what happened to our parents, I have no other choice.
"I want the truth," I tell him, my voice tight. "About my brother, and about what happened to my family,"
He nods and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the door bursts open. A man dressed completely in black storms into the room, breathless.
"Boss, we've got a problem," he says, trying to catch his breath. "Someone just dropped off a package. For her,"
Moretti's expression shifts, his controlled calm slipping into something sharper. My entire body freezes, my eyes landing on the small back box in the man's hand. As he steps closer, I notice the top of it.
There's a symbol etched into the top of the box. I have no idea what it means, but I'm sure my parents would have. My brother, too. And I'm damn sure Moretti or his men will know too.
"What is it?" Moretti asks, voice cold.
The man pushes the box my way, gesturing for me to open it. My hands shake as I take it and open it. Inside is Lorenzo's watch. The one my father gave to him when he made his first kill. Its still ticking. And its covered in dried blood.
The air is stolen from my lungs and my knees feel like they're going to give in. I turn to Moretti to find him already looking at me. His eyes are cold, calculating, and dangerous. If I didn't know any better, I'd say there's a hint of protectiveness behind them.
My voice shakes as I whisper, "They know I'm here."