POV: Isla Moretti
Stealing was easy. Getting away with it—that was the hard part.
The cold night air bit at my skin as I crouched behind a rusting dumpster in the alley behind the DeLuca estate. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, but my hands were steady as I wiped the sweat off my palms against my jeans. In and out, that was the plan.
It had taken me weeks to prepare for this job. Studying the estate's security, mapping the guard rotations, bribing the right people—every detail had been accounted for. The ledger I was after wasn't just valuable; it was lethal. It held the kind of secrets that could bring down entire crime families, which was exactly why my employer wanted it.
A paycheck like this? Enough to disappear forever. No more hiding. No more jobs. No more looking over my shoulder.
I tapped the earpiece connected to my handler, Jax, a tech genius with a talent for hacking into places he shouldn't.
"I'm in position," I murmured, my breath fogging up in the frigid night air.
His voice crackled through the line. "Security cameras are looped, but you've got a ten-minute window before the system resets. Don't screw around, Isla."
"Relax," I said, adjusting the leather gloves on my hands. "I've got this."
Famous last words.
I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head and moved fast, slipping past the side entrance and into the staff corridor. The mansion was silent, the kind of stillness that only came with obscene wealth. My boots made no sound on the polished floors as I navigated the dimly lit hallways, sticking to the shadows.
Jax's voice came through my earpiece. "The study is up ahead. Third door on the left. Safe's behind the bookshelf."
I crept forward, pressing against the wall as I peered around the corner. The corridor was empty. Too easy.
Ignoring the unease crawling up my spine, I slipped into the study, inhaling the scent of aged leather and expensive whiskey. The room was lined with towering bookshelves, a massive oak desk sitting in the center. Everything in this place screamed power, control, old money with blood on its hands.
I found the bookshelf Jax mentioned and ran my gloved fingers along the spines until I found it—a small, barely visible latch. A sharp click sounded as I pulled it, and the heavy shelf slid back, revealing a gleaming black safe.
"Six minutes," Jax reminded me.
"I know," I hissed.
I dropped to my knees, pulling a small device from my backpack. The scanner blinked red as I pressed it against the lock. It was state-of-the-art, not unbreakable, but close. The numbers on my screen blurred as the system ran through possible combinations.
The tension in my gut tightened. Something wasn't right.
A cold prickle ran down my spine, that sixth sense that had kept me alive all these years. I turned, scanning the room—nothing. But the feeling didn't fade.
I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to focus. Almost there. The scanner beeped green. The lock clicked open.
I grabbed the leather-bound ledger, shoving it into my bag. "I got it. Heading out."
I turned toward the door.
And stopped.
A shadow loomed in the doorway, tall, broad, and deadly still. The dim light caught on dark eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.
Luca DeLuca.
My blood turned to ice.
He was supposed to be out of town. Every source, every bit of intel I had gathered, said he wasn't here tonight.
Yet there he was, standing between me and my only way out.
"Going somewhere, thief?"
His voice was quiet. Dangerous. It carried the kind of lethal calm that set off every alarm in my head.
I was trapped.
I knew who he was. Everyone in the underworld knew who Luca DeLuca was. The heir to the most powerful crime family in the city. A man whose name was spoken in whispers, whose enemies vanished without a trace.
I calculated my odds. They weren't good.
Luca's gaze flickered to my bag. "Give it to me."
I exhaled sharply, gripping the strap tighter. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Something dark flashed in his eyes—amusement, maybe? He took a slow step forward, the scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder clinging to him.
"Don't insult me, cara." The endearment rolled off his tongue like a threat. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
My pulse hammered in my throat. I had to get out of here.
I moved before I could think, throwing myself sideways. A split-second decision, but I was fast. Fast enough to make it to the window—
I didn't get the chance.
Luca moved like a shadow, his grip iron-tight as he caught my wrist and yanked me back. I lashed out, twisting my body, aiming a sharp elbow toward his ribs—
He blocked it effortlessly, his strength overwhelming mine in an instant. The next thing I knew, my back hit the desk, his hand gripping my throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to warn me.
His face was inches from mine, dark eyes burning into me. Assessing. Calculating. Deciding.
"You're good," he murmured. "But not good enough."
I swallowed hard, my breath coming fast. "You going to kill me?"
Something shifted in his gaze. Interest. Curiosity.
"If I was," he said, "you'd already be dead."
A shiver raced down my spine, but I forced myself to keep my expression blank. Luca's grip loosened slightly, his fingers brushing against my pulse. He could feel how fast it was beating. He knew I was scared.
I hated that.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
I forced out a smirk, despite the fact that my heart was still slamming against my ribs. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Luca tilted his head, watching me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Then, without warning, he stepped back.
My body tensed, but I didn't dare move.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "I could call my men," he said casually. "Have them drag you downstairs. Make you talk."
My fingers twitched, itching to reach for the knife strapped to my thigh. I knew how these things worked. If he took me downstairs, I wasn't coming back up.
Instead, Luca tucked his phone away and fixed me with an unreadable look. "Or you could make this easier on yourself."
My brows furrowed. "What?"
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips.
"You're not leaving, cara. Not until you tell me who you're working for." His gaze flicked to my bag again. "And until I have what's mine."
I clenched my teeth. "And if I don't?"
His smile didn't fade. "Then I'll make you regret ever setting foot in my house."