CHAPTER ONE
The Night the Devil Knocked
Milan never slept. It just learned how to keep its sins quiet.
Seraphina Moretti stood at her apartment window, fingers curled around the thin curtain, watching headlights bleed across wet asphalt six floors below. It was almost midnight. The city smelled like rain and smoke and secrets. The kind of night where bad things happened to people who already knew too much.
Her chest felt tight. Not panic. Not fear.
Instinct.
She stepped away from the window and checked the locks again. Door. Balcony. Bathroom window. All secure. Still, the silence felt wrong. Too clean. Too polite. The kind of quiet that came right before a scream.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Unknown Number.
Her heart skipped once. Just once. She refused to let it do more.
She picked up the phone.
Do not go home tonight.
That was it. No name. No explanation. Just a warning dropped like a blade at her feet.
Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed.
Who is this
The typing bubble appeared instantly. That alone chilled her.
You are already being watched.
The lights went out.
Not just hers. The entire building. The hum of electricity died like a held breath released too fast. Darkness swallowed the room, thick and sudden. Somewhere down the hall, someone cursed. A door slammed. Footsteps echoed.
Seraphina did not move.
She had learned young that panic was louder than gunfire.
She slowly set the phone down, reached beneath the couch, and wrapped her hand around cold metal. A small pistol. Lightweight. Illegal. Loaded.
Her father had taught her how to shoot before he taught her how to drive.
For moments, nothing happened.
Then the smell hit her.
Smoke.
Her door exploded inward.
Wood splintered. The lock screamed. Men poured into the apartment dressed in black, faces covered, movements efficient and cruel. One of them raised a gun. Another kicked the coffee table aside. Fire bloomed behind them, orange and hungry, licking up the curtains.
Seraphina raised her weapon.
A hand grabbed her wrist from behind and twisted hard.
Pain flared. The gun clattered to the floor. She gasped as her back hit a chest solid as stone.
A voice brushed her ear.
Do not fight. You will lose.
It was calm. Italian. Low and controlled like violence dressed in silk.
She stilled.
The man released her wrist but did not let her go. His grip slid to her waist, possessive, assessing. Another hand tilted her chin up.
She looked at him.
And forgot how to breathe.
He was tall. Broad shoulders filling the doorway like he owned it. Dark hair slicked back, eyes so black they swallowed light. No mask. No rush. He wore a tailored suit that cost more than her entire apartment. There was blood on his knuckles, still wet.
He studied her like she was a weapon left unattended.
Seraphina Moretti, he said.
Her name sounded different in his mouth. Heavier. Final.
She did not answer.
A faint smile touched his lips. Not warmth. Not kindness. Amusement. The dangerous kind.
You are quieter than I expected.
The fire alarm screamed. Smoke thickened. Heat crawled up the walls.
You burned my home, she said.
He shrugged. I prefer clean exits.
Who are you
His gaze dropped to her throat. Followed the pulse there. Lingered.
Alessandro De Luca.
The name hit her harder than the smoke.
Every story her father had ever whispered in the dark. Every warning. Every secret ledger locked behind false walls.
The devil of Milan.
She swallowed.
You killed my father.
Something flickered in his eyes. Not guilt. Calculation.
I did not say that.
You did not deny it.
He leaned closer. She could smell him. Smoke. Leather. Something sharp and expensive.
Smart girl.
One of the men stepped forward. Boss, we need to move.
Alessandro nodded without looking away from her.
Take her.
Hands grabbed her arms. She fought then. Hard. Knee to groin. Elbow to ribs. A curse. A grunt. She twisted free for half a second before Alessandro caught her himself.
Enough.
One word. Soft. Absolute.
She froze.
He cupped her face with one hand. His thumb brushed soot from her cheek like an intimate insult.
You belong to me tonight, Seraphina Moretti. If you scream, they will tape your mouth shut. If you run, they will break your legs. If you cooperate, you live.
Her eyes burned. Hate. Fear. Rage.
You think you own me
His smile sharpened.
No. I know I do.
He pulled her into the hallway as flames devoured the apartment behind them. Neighbors shouted. Someone cried. Sirens wailed in the distance, too far away to matter.
Outside, rain poured like a benediction the city did not deserve.
A black car waited at the curb, engine running. The door opened.
She was shoved inside.
Alessandro slid in after her, filling the space. The door slammed shut, sealing them in leather and darkness.
The car moved.
Seraphina stared straight ahead, jaw locked, hands trembling in her lap. She refused to give him the satisfaction of tears.
He watched her anyway.
Most people beg by now, he said.
Most people are stupid.
A sound escaped him. Almost a laugh.
You are not afraid of me.
She turned to him slowly. Looked him dead in the eye.
I am afraid of what you think I know.
Silence stretched.
Interesting.
He leaned back, crossing his arms. Tell me, Seraphina. What do you think you know
She hesitated. Just long enough to bait him.
I think you are hunting a ledger my father hid. I think it contains names that would end your reign before it begins. And I think you burned my home because you are running out of patience.
The car slowed.
Alessandro's expression changed. The amusement died. Something darker took its place.
Where is it
She smiled. Small. Cold.
If I tell you, you will kill me.
If you do not, he replied, I will kill everyone you have ever loved.
She met his stare without blinking.
Then I suppose we are at a stalemate.
The car stopped.
Alessandro leaned in until their faces were inches apart.
No, he said quietly. We are just getting started.
He opened the door.
The estate loomed beyond the gates like a sleeping beast. Stone. Iron. Lights burning in every window.
Welcome home, Seraphina.
Her stomach dropped.
This was not a prison.
This was a throne.
And she had just been dragged into the devil's kingdom.
Somewhere deep inside her, beneath fear and fury and grief, something else stirred.
Anticipation.
Because she had not survived this long by being innocent.
And Alessandro De Luca had no idea what he had just brought into his house.