SIN
My red heels echoed, a rhythmic, deadly click against the polished floor as I walked in. Every eye in the room turned toward me; it was inevitable, especially with an entrance like mine. I wore a black silk gown that exposed the slope of my shoulders, though the silk draped perfectly to hide the ink on my back. My dark glasses stayed on, shielding my predatory gaze.
This wasn't a spot for the flashy new-rich. I could smell the "Old Money" on every person sitting there, staring me down. I had dug into every Ricci brother, and my research showed that Alessandro frequented this place. On the surface, it was just a quiet coffee shop. But everyone in this room knew it was a front owned by the Valenti family. The espresso machines were just decor; the real business stayed behind the velvet shadows.
I walked toward the bar. Before I even reached the counter, the head barista bowed low, her staff following in a choreographed, silent sync. They lifted their heads only when I came to a halt.
I pushed the edge of my gown aside, sitting perfectly on the stool. I slid my glasses off, scanning the room. I wasn't a woman of many words…my stare alone did the heavy lifting. The fear in their eyes was loud. It was almost funny; they didn't even know who I was, but they recognized the "dead stare" of someone who had seen too much blood.
"How... how may we help you, Ma'am?" one of them stuttered.
I ignored the question, my eyes sweeping over the room again. No one really knew me. They knew Don Caruso had a daughter, but only a few board members knew my face. I ran my business like a cat hunting a mouse…swift and silent. I could bet half these old men had guns tucked into their waistbands, and the thought made me smirk. I wasn't a gun person. I preferred the weight of a dagger.
I flicked my black card onto the counter. "Whatever is behind those doors," I commanded, pointing toward a wall that didn't even look like an entrance.
Their eyes widened. They bowed in unison, whispering frantically into headsets until one of them disappeared through the hidden door.
"She'll be out soon, Ma'am," the other girl whispered. Instead of coffee, she served me a glass of chilled white wine.
I chuckled, looking around. Now I knew why that bastard frequented this place. Behind those doors sat the Valenti's Underground Casino, a den of vice where fortunes were lost in a single hand of poker.
Suddenly, the girls' expressions shifted. They looked ahead, their faces turning pale. I put my wine down slowly, crossed my legs, and spun the stool around.
There he was.
My lips curved into a smirk. I lifted the glass to my lips again, scanning him from head to toe. The First Apple. The eldest son of Don Riccardo Ricci. The first bastard: Alessandro Ricci.
He walked in like he owned the very air we breathed. The whispers from the patrons grew loud, frantic. He had massive guards trailing him, but he didn't need them to look lethal. He had an aura…the same one Matteo had…that flowed off him like a physical weight. I tilted my head, my excitement spiking. I had looked into all the Ricci brothers, and he was exactly the fool I needed to find first.
The girls scrambled from behind the counter, bowing their heads so low they nearly touched the floor as he passed.
I let out a soft, mocking chuckle. Stupid. I sighed, standing up from the stool. I grabbed a stray cup of hot coffee left on the counter. Just as he reached the hidden entrance…the door that didn't look like a door…I made my move.
It was now or never.
I threw the coffee onto his back. The room let out a collective, horrified gasp.
I smirked as he froze in his tracks. Then, in a heartbeat, my expression flipped to one of panicked worry.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I was just trying to go in there too, when…"
Before I could finish, his guards swarmed me. They grabbed me without a second of hesitation, pinning me roughly to the hard floor.
"Oh my God, oh my God! I'm so sorry!" I shouted, my voice trembling in a perfect plea. Normally, I'd have taken every one of these men down in seconds, but I let them have their moment.
Alessandro began to turn. Slowly. Inevitably.
"I'm so sorry, sir! I have a handkerchief in my bag, if you can just…"
The guard pressed me down harder, and I let out a calculated groan of pain. Alessandro was facing me now. He looked down at me, his head tilting to the left as he examined the "helpless" girl on the floor. He lifted two fingers. The guards vanished instantly, releasing their hold.
I scrambled to my feet. "Oh my God, I'm so..." I slapped a hand over my mouth, taking a terrified step back. Fear was evident on my face, but behind his eyes, I saw it: death. He was calm, one hand in his pocket, but the air around him was freezing.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The room was silent, the patrons probably praying for my soul. That was exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to take me. Here. Now.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, as if daring himself not to snap my neck on the spot. He gestured to his guards. One of them moved to help him switch his stained suit jacket with a fresh one.
I scanned the room quickly. A girl was nearby, carrying a tray of wine. I timed it to the millisecond.
"I could help too!" I cried, moving recklessly toward them. I "tripped," slamming into the girl. The tray flipped. Red wine splashed across his brand-new suit, soaking the white fabric in a crimson stain.
The room gasped again. They knew. I knew. I was a dead woman.
In the blink of an eye, a hand clamped around my throat. I was slammed against a table so hard the wood groaned. Lord, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to smile at the sheer adrenaline of it, but I kept the mask of terror locked in place.
Alessandro scanned every inch of my face. He choked me hard, his grip like a vice, not a single word escaping his lips. These brothers really were men of few words.
I clawed at his hand, pretending to struggle against those massive muscles. This grip was nothing compared to the things I'd done to myself, but I made sure my eyes grew strained. I let a single tear trail down my cheek.
We stayed like that…locked together. My eyes full of fake fear, his full of rage.
Then, his brow furrowed. I watched the transformation happen in real-time. The anger in his eyes flickered, softening into something far more dangerous: Lust.
His grip loosened. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my nose, then stayed on my lips for a long, heavy moment. He looked down at my neck, finally realizing the position we were in—him hovering over me, pinning me to the table.
He slowly backed off, but his eyes never left me. He stood before me, examining every detail of my body as if he were memorizing a map. It felt like hours. His eyes were dark, tracking the way my chest heaved with "frightened" breaths.
I stood up slowly, coughing loudly and rubbing my bruised neck. I didn't need a mirror to know he'd left marks.
"I'm so, so sorry," I pleaded, flipping my hair to the side to show off the bruises. "I didn't know…"
"Who are you?"
His voice cut me off. It was calm, sharp, and carried the weight of a king.
"I'm..." I looked around at the crowd, puzzled, pointing to myself. "Me?"
He tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. He wasn't going to repeat himself. The family resemblance to Matteo was striking.
"I'm... I'm Seris," I said in a low, submissive tone.
He walked closer. So close I could feel the heat off his body. It was tempting. I didn't utter another word, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted to hear the name again. To be sure.
"I'm Seris."