Chapter 1
Aiden's POV
I used to think revenge was simple. A clean shot, a sharp blade, a whispered name before the lights went out. I thought I could come back to this city and erase them one by one, just like they erased my family. But standing in front of my father's grave, I realized nothing about this was simple.
Vincent Calloway.
His name was carved into cold stone, nothing but a whisper of who he once was. Five years ago, that name commanded power, fear, respect. Now, it was buried beneath damp earth, fading like he had never existed at all.
A gust of wind cut through my coat, carrying the bitter scent of rain-soaked dirt. The cemetery was empty, silent except for the rustling leaves and the distant hum of the city. Blackridge. A city that had turned its back on my family, left them to burn, and never looked back.
I ran my fingers over the rough edges of the headstone, my grip tightening. He wasn't a good man. He made enemies, played the game knowing the cost. But he wouldn't have fallen like this. Not unless someone helped him to his knees first.
And I knew exactly who to blame, The Morettis.
I closed my eyes, and the past crashed over me in waves: Fire, Smoke, the suffocating heat of it.
The sound of my mother's screams, raw and desperate.
Gunshots ringing through the night.
And then—his face.
The man who pulled the trigger. The one who sealed my father's fate. A Moretti, standing in the wreckage of my family's empire, watching as everything we built collapsed into ash.
A low, bitter laugh escaped me. They thought they had won.
I had spent five years becoming someone else. Erasing the name Calloway, forging a new one. Hiding, learning, waiting.
Now, I was back, and I had come for them all.
Blackridge – A City of Ghosts
The city had changed. The skyline stretched higher, the streets buzzed with more faces, more secrets. But the rot beneath it? That was the same.
Blackridge belonged to men like the Morettis—those who built their empires with blood and fear. Five years ago, my family had a seat at the table. Now, the Morettis owned it.
That was about to change.
I kept my head low, slipping through the streets like a ghost. My reflection flickered in shop windows, unrecognizable even to myself. Gone was the reckless heir to the Calloway empire. In his place was someone sharper, colder; someone ready to kill.
I stopped at the corner of a busy street, hands in my pockets, gaze locked on a familiar neon sign, The Dante Club.
A high-end bar and casino, a Moretti stronghold. If I wanted to start tearing them down, this was the place to begin.
It was a fortress—guards at the doors, cameras in every shadow. No one walked in without permission, unless they were me. I stepped forward. The bouncer barely glanced at me as I passed. They didn't know me anymore. That was my advantage.
Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, laughter, the clinking of whiskey glasses. Men in suits whispered over poker tables, women draped in silk leaned close with secrets in their eyes, and then—I saw her: The Moretti Princess, Elena Moretti.
She sat at a private table in the back, wine glass in hand, dark eyes scanning the room like she owned it. Maybe she did.
She was nothing like I remembered. The girl I once knew was soft, untouched by the dirt and blood her family thrived in. This woman? She was something else entirely; elegant, Cold, and dangerous.
She laughed at something one of her men said, but her gaze flickered, just slightly to the side like she knew someone was watching; like she knew I was watching. My fingers curled into a fist.
Elena Moretti wasn't just another target. She was the last Moretti I needed to break, and she wasn't going to make it easy.
A Seat at the Table
I didn't wait for an invitation. I moved through the crowd, my steps slow, deliberate. The men at her table noticed me first, their hands drifting toward their jackets, but that didn't stop my motion. Elena lifted her gaze, her dark eyes locking onto mine as I reached her table, recognition flickered across her face, and then, she smiled.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said, her voice smooth, laced with something sharp.
I pulled out the chair across from her and sat like I belonged there. "Funny: I don't remember asking for permission."
Her smile didn't falter. If anything, it deepened.
"Brave," she murmured, "Or stupid" ?
I leaned forward. "That depends. Do you remember me?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she'd already solved. "Should I?" She asked.
She knew who I was. I saw it— the flicker in her expression, the way her fingers tightened around her glass. "You do," I said. "And I think you know why I'm here."
She exhaled softly, gaze dipping to the table for the briefest second before meeting mine again. "You want revenge," she said. I didn't blink. "I want the truth.", I replied her.
A silence stretched between us. The room faded, the noise, the music, the people.
It was just her and me. Then, she leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "You won't find it here, Aiden." My breath stalled, because she had just said my name even when I had never told her.
The Game Begins
The air between us changed. A ripple of tension, dark and sharp - she had known I was coming, she had been expecting me.
The realization settled in my bones, cold and unrelenting. I had spent years preparing for this moment; I thought I was in control, but Elena Moretti had been playing this game longer than I had. A slow smile curled at her lips, and for the first time, I saw it; the edge beneath her beauty, the intelligence behind her eyes. "You should leave," she said, voice soft, almost amused.
I stayed exactly where I was. "You're afraid," I said, tilting my head. "That's why you want me gone."
Her expression didn't change, but something in her eyes darkened.
"Afraid?" she repeated. "Of you?" She leaned back in her seat, running a single finger along the rim of her glass. "No, Aiden," she murmured. "I just don't bury the dead twice."
My pulse pounded against my ribs: a warning, a challenge. Elena Moretti knew exactly who I was, and she had just declared war. I forced a slow smile, matching hers. "Neither do I," I said.
Her gaze flickered, just for a second, and in that second, I saw the truth—she wasn't untouchable. She was playing a game she wasn't sure she could win. Good! Because I had just decided how this would end.
Elena Moretti was my key to destroying the family that ruined mine, and I wasn't leaving Blackridge without burning them all to the ground.