CHAPTER ONE

ZOEY

The sterile fluorescent lights of Gotham Press and the incessant hum of printers were the soundtrack to my life. I couldn't say I loved my job, but it paid the bills, and in this city, that was no small feat.

My name is Zoey Anderson, and I was a journalist, or more accurately, an investigative journalist—or, as my boss often put it, a "pain in his well-dressed rear end."

I navigated my way through the cluttered newsroom, past rows of desks piled high with newspapers, coffee cups, and stacks of paper that screamed "deadline panic." As I made my way toward my desk, a hand shot out and snatched my attention.

"Zoey, get in here," barked Mr. Theodore Harrington, our illustrious editor-in-chief. He was the man who wielded power like a sledgehammer and had a perpetual scowl etched onto his face.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes before obediently following him into his glass-walled office.

The nameplate on his desk read 'Theodore Harrington, Esq.' He wasn't a lawyer; he just had a penchant for pretending he was in some highfalutin courtroom drama.

"What can I do for you, Theodore?" I asked, taking a seat in one of the stiff leather chairs across from his imposing mahogany desk.

He stared at me for a moment, as if weighing the importance of his next words. " Zoey, you've been stirring up quite a commotion lately with your relentless pursuit of... let's call them, 'controversial stories.' "

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were investigative journalists, Theodore. Aren't we supposed to dig deep and expose the truth?"

He sighed heavily, as if my commitment to journalistic integrity were a burden. "Yes, yes, all of that. But Zoey, sometimes I wonder if you're trying to single-handedly bring down the entire city. You can't go poking your nose into every shadowy corner of this place."

I leaned forward, trying to keep my patience in check. "Theodore, if we don't do it, who will?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "That's beside the point. Look, I've got a job for you—a real, headline-grabbing story that won't get you killed, I hope."

I leaned back, intrigued despite myself. "Go on."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There have been rumours, Zoey. Rumours of a rising power in the criminal underworld—a man who's consolidating power in a way we haven't seen in years."

My curiosity piqued. "Go on," I repeated, this time with a genuine spark of interest.

"His name is Alexei Pushkin," Theodore said, uttering the name with the kind of dramatic flair only he could muster. "And I want you to get the scoop on him. Find out who he is, what he's up to, and if there's any truth to these rumours."

I couldn't believe my ears. "You want me to investigate a mob boss? Theodore, are you trying to get me killed?"

He shrugged, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Isn't that what you live for, Anderson? Besides, I hear you have a knack for getting people to spill their secrets."

I sighed, knowing I was in no position to argue. "Fine, I'll look into it. But I want a raise and a new office chair."

He nodded, as if granting me those small favours were the least, he could do. "You've got it. Now get to work, Anderson. And try not to make too many enemies this time."

As I left Theodore's office, I couldn't help but mutter under my breath, "No promises."

I caught Emma's mischievous grin from the corner of my eye. She had a talent for being in the right place at the right time—or perhaps the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on your perspective.

"Trouble with a capital 'T' again, Zoe?" Emma teased, her bright green eyes dancing with amusement.

I shot her an exasperated look. "You make it sound like I go looking for it."

Emma leaned against the cubicle wall, her curly red hair tumbling over her shoulders. "You do have a habit of finding it, though."

I couldn't argue with that. It seemed like I had a magnetic pull toward chaos and danger. "Well, Theodore wants me to investigate Alexei Pushkin, the supposed rising mob boss."

Emma's eyes widened with a mix of awe and concern. "Alexei Pushkin? Seriously? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. "It's just another story, Emma. Besides, you know how Theodore is. He loves drama."

Emma grinned, her freckled face lighting up. "True. Drama follows you like a loyal puppy."

I couldn't help but laugh. Emma had a way of injecting humor into even the direst situations. It was one of the reasons I loved her to death, even though she drove me crazy sometimes.

"Speaking of drama," Emma continued, her tone turning more serious, "are you sure you want to dig into this? The Pushkin family isn't exactly known for playing nice."

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. "Em, if there's something rotten happening in this city, it's our duty to expose it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Emma gave me a look that said she thought I was crazy but didn't want to argue. "Well, just promise me you'll be careful. And if you see any guys in sharp suits with violin cases, run the other way."

I chuckled, imagining a gangster carrying a Tommy gun disguised as a violin case. "I promise, Em. Now, back to work. We've got a mob boss to investigate."

As we returned to our cluttered desks, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. Emma was right; this was no ordinary story. But it was also an opportunity to uncover the truth, and that was something I couldn't resist.

Little did I know that my investigation into Alexei Pushkin would lead me down a dangerous path filled with secrets, deception, and a certain mob boss who would prove to be far more complex than I could have ever imagined.

But hey, if life as a journalist had taught me anything, it was that sometimes you had to dance with danger to get the story of a lifetime. And that's exactly what I intended to do.

I settled back into my creaky office chair, the faux leather protesting loudly. "Well, it's not every day you get the chance to go head-to-head with a mob boss, right?"

Emma chuckled, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she returned to her own stack of assignments. "True, Zoe, true. Just make sure you don't end up as the headline: 'Fearless Journalist Meets Unfortunate End in Mobster's Office.'"

I smirked, typing away at my computer. "I promise to avoid any situations that might lead to my untimely demise, Em. Besides, I've got my secret weapon."

She arched an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "Oh, do tell. What's your secret weapon, fearless reporter?"

I leaned in closer, conspiratorially. "Sarcasm. It's my superpower."

Emma burst into laughter, causing a few nearby colleagues to look our way. "Well, you better hope it works on mobsters, Zoe."

I shot a playful wink her way. "If not, I'll just distract them with my impeccable dance moves."

She giggled, her laughter infectious. "Yes, because mobsters are known for their love of the cha-cha."

Our banter continued throughout the day, providing a much-needed dose of levity in the often intense world of investigative journalism. Emma was the yin to my yang, the humor to my seriousness. Even when her antics got on my nerves, I couldn't imagine navigating the chaos of our newsroom without her.

As the afternoon sun dipped below the skyline of New York City, casting long shadows across our office, I found myself immersed in research about Alexei Pushkin. The man was a mystery, with only vague references and whispered rumours to his name.

But I was determined to uncover the truth, to peel back the layers of deception and get to the heart of the story.

At one point, Emma leaned over, her eyes scanning the screen. "Anything interesting so far?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Not much, to be honest. It's like he's a ghost. No criminal record, no public appearances. The guy's a shadow."

Emma leaned back in her chair, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen. "Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe he's a master at staying hidden."

I nodded in agreement. "That's what I'm starting to think. But you know what they say about shadows, right?"

Emma quirked an eyebrow, playing along. "What do they say, oh wise journalist?"

I grinned, ready to impart my newfound wisdom. "Shadows can only exist where there's light. And where there's light, there's a way to expose the truth."

Emma burst into laughter once again, earning us more curious glances from our colleagues. "You always find a way to make everything sound like an adventure, Zoe."

I shrugged, unable to contain my enthusiasm. "That's because life is an adventure, Em. And this one, with mobsters and mysteries, is just getting started."

As I delved deeper into the enigma that was Alexei Pushkin, I couldn't help but wonder where this investigation would lead me.

Little did I know that it would take me to the very heart of darkness, challenging my wit, my courage, and, if I was lucky, leading to a story that would make waves far beyond the pages of our newspaper.