Chapter 1: Murder investigation
The hallway was dimly lit, but her presence was enough to brighten every corner she passed. Annalise Katz, dressed in a sleek black suit with matching heels that clicked confidently against the tiled floor, walked with purpose through the heart of the CIA headquarters. Heads turned as she moved. Agents paused in the middle of conversations, stealing glances at her. Some admired her sharp features—hazel eyes that could cut like glass, full lips set in a no-nonsense line, and dark brown hair pulled into a perfect ponytail. Others envied her rise to power at just twenty-seven.
She was untouchable. The kind of woman who made people step aside instinctively, not out of fear, but out of respect.
5'6, but with the commanding aura of someone much taller, she carried herself like a queen among pawns. Years in the field had given her an edge—sharp eyes that missed nothing and instincts honed to perfection.
When she reached the director's office, she barely paused before pushing the door open.
"Agent Katz," said Director Reynolds, leaning back in his chair. He gestured toward the seat in front of him. "Take a seat."
Anna crossed the room and sat down, legs crossed, her posture flawless. "What's the mission?"
Reynolds didn't waste time. His expression was grim, eyes narrowing as he tapped on the screen behind him. "We have a situation. A string of murders, and we believe they might be linked to the Italian Moretti cartel."
He swiped, bringing up images on the large screen. The first was a crime scene—grainy but gruesome. A body sprawled in an alley, arms stretched out in a disturbingly precise pattern.
Anna's eyes flicked to the next image: another victim, same pattern. "Three murders so far. One in Naples. One in Florence. The latest… right here in New York," Reynolds explained.
"The Moretti cartel doesn't leave bodies in plain sight," Anna said, leaning in slightly. "They make people disappear."
"Exactly," Reynolds agreed. "Which is why we believe there's something bigger at play. These aren't just executions. Whoever did this wanted them found. And every crime scene is in a location linked to the Moretti cartel's hidden operations."
Anna's gaze sharpened as the images kept coming. Blood, ritualistic arrangements, cryptic symbols. This wasn't just a case. This was a message.
"Do we have a suspect?" she asked, voice steady.
Reynolds leaned forward. "Not yet. But we do have one lead—Ezra Moretti. You've heard of him."
Anna raised an eyebrow. Of course she had. Ezra Moretti, the golden boy of the Italian-American Moretti crime family, with a face that could grace a magazine cover and a reputation darker than the depths of hell.
"And you want me to get close to him," Anna said, already knowing where this was going.
"You're our best undercover operative," Reynolds said with a half-smile. "If anyone can find out what the Moretti cartel is hiding, it's you. But be careful, Katz. This isn't like your usual assignments. You'll be walking straight into the devil's den."
Anna stood, smoothing out her suit. "The devil should be the one worried."
Anna turned to leave, but Director Reynolds's voice pulled her back.
"Vixen, I'm not done with my briefing yet," he said with a knowing smirk.
Anna paused, smiling slightly before walking back to her seat. She crossed her legs as she sat down, folding her hands in her lap. "Alright, boss, let's do it," she said, leaning back.
Reynolds tapped a pen against the desk. "To take down men like Ezra Moretti, you've always used the seductress persona. It's worked well before." He locked eyes with her, voice dropping lower. "But Ezra isn't much of a womanizer. That approach won't get you far with him."
That caught Anna's attention. Her mind had already been mapping out a plan—get close to him, lure him in, make him talk. It was her usual strategy, and it almost never failed. Until now.
"Really?" Anna raised a brow, trying to hide her disappointment.
"You'll need a different approach," Reynolds continued. "I'm leaving that part to you. Be creative. You've never been one to stick to the rules anyway."
A slow grin spread across her face. "True."
"But," Reynolds added, "you won't be working alone this time."
Anna's smile faded. "A partner?" She narrowed her eyes. "Since when do I work with partners?"
"Since you're about to take on the most powerful cartel in both the U.S. and Italy," Reynolds said, his tone making it clear there was no arguing. "This mission's too big for just one agent."
Anna leaned back, processing the information. "Fine," she said finally. "But if they slow me down, I'm ditching them."
Reynolds chuckled. "You'll meet your partner soon. But first, since the latest murder happened right here in New York last night, you should check it out. Start investigating the scene—see what you can dig up. You might find a lead."
Anna stood, adjusting her suit jacket. "Consider it done."
"Good luck, Vixen." Reynolds watched as she walked out, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.
The drive to the scene was short but suffocating. Anna gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual, her jaw set. The city never slept, but today it felt unusually heavy, like the streets were holding their breath. She parked just outside the yellow tape, the flashing red and blue lights illuminating the dark alleyway.
Two officers stood guard at the perimeter. One stepped forward, raising his hand. "Ma'am, this is a restricted—"
Anna flashed her badge without slowing her stride. "Agent Katz, CIA."
The officer blinked, quickly stepping aside. "Yes, ma'am. The body's just ahead."
Anna slipped under the tape, her sharp eyes sweeping the scene. A small circle of investigators surrounded the body, snapping photos, murmuring in hushed tones. The familiar ritual markings on the victim made her stomach tighten—just like the images Director Reynolds had shown her. This wasn't just another case.
A detective in a rumpled coat spotted her and approached. "Agent Katz," he greeted.
Anna didn't bother with niceties. "Who's the victim?"
The detective glanced at his tablet. "Female. Late twenties. Name's Emma Carter."
Anna's breath hitched. Emma Carter.
Her eyes darted to the body again. The victim's arms were stretched unnaturally, the same haunting symbols carved into her skin. Anna's pulse quickened as her gaze shifted to a café across the street. Something gnawed at her—a flicker of recognition. She shook it off, focusing on the detective again.
"Do you have a picture of the victim?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest.
The detective handed her the tablet without hesitation. "Yeah, right here."
Anna stared at the screen, her heart sinking. The photo confirmed her worst suspicion.
It was her.