A Deal with the Devil?

Ava had been in dangerous situations before—sneaking into crime scenes, tracking corrupt politicians, even getting too close to men who thought a charming smile could buy their way out of anything. But walking into Damian Moretti’s world felt different.

It wasn’t just danger. It was the kind of danger that made the air feel heavier, the kind that wrapped around you like a noose while whispering promises you weren’t sure were threats or temptations.

The black card burned in her palm as she stepped out of the cab, heels clicking against the pavement. The address Damian had given her led to an exclusive private club—no name, no sign, just a sleek black door guarded by two men in tailored suits.

Ava smoothed her dress, keeping her expression calm as she approached. She was about to test how far her bluff could take her.

One of the guards glanced at her, then at the card in her hand. Without a word, he stepped aside and opened the door.

Ava exhaled slowly before stepping inside.

The club was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was elegant and indulgent, with dim golden lighting and sleek leather seating. Crystal glasses caught the light, and the air was thick with expensive cologne, hushed conversations, and the unmistakable scent of power.

This wasn’t a place for casual guests.

Men in dark suits spoke in low voices, their gazes sharp, their movements precise. Women draped in silk and diamonds lounged in booths, sipping from delicate glasses. It was luxury, but it was also something more—something controlled.

Ava walked deeper into the club, her skin prickling with awareness. She knew Damian was watching before she even saw him.

And then, there he was.

Sitting in a private section at the back, Damian Moretti looked completely at ease, one arm draped over the leather seat, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His dark eyes found hers instantly, and for a second, the noise around her faded.

He didn’t smile, didn’t motion her forward. He simply watched.

Ava squared her shoulders and walked toward him, weaving through the room like she belonged.

As she reached his table, a man beside him—Vincent, the same enforcer from the night before—glanced at her, then at Damian. A silent conversation passed between them before Vincent stood and walked away.

“Right on time,” Damian murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Ava slid into the seat across from him. “I figured you’d like a woman who keeps her word.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I like a woman who understands the risks of playing games she doesn’t fully grasp.”

Ava leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Then explain the rules to me.”

Damian studied her for a long moment. Then he set his glass down and leaned forward just enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne—rich, dark, intoxicating.

“You want to know what I do?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “I make things happen. I control what needs controlling. And I make sure the people who cross me don’t get the chance to do it twice.”

Ava kept her expression neutral. “That sounds a lot like a confession.”

Damian’s smirk was slow and knowing. “You and I both know confessions don’t come that easy.”

He was right. He was giving her just enough to keep her intrigued, but not enough to incriminate himself.

“What I do know,” she said, “is that a man like you doesn’t invite a woman like me to a place like this without a reason.”

Damian took a sip of his drink before setting it aside. Then he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward her.

Ava hesitated before picking it up. As she unfolded it, her stomach tightened.

It was a dossier—on her.

Her real name, her background, her articles, her investigations. He knew everything.

She forced herself to stay calm. “Impressive.”

“I like to know who’s sitting across from me.”

Ava set the paper down. “Then you know I don’t scare easily.”

Damian’s gaze darkened. “That remains to be seen.”

The tension between them tightened, but Ava refused to be the first to look away.

Finally, Damian exhaled slowly and leaned back. “Let’s talk business.”

Ava arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware we were doing business.”

“We are now.”

He picked up his glass, taking another slow sip before continuing. “You want a story, don’t you? You want to know what really happens beneath the surface of this city. Who controls what, who pulls the strings.”

Ava said nothing, waiting.

“I’m offering you a deal,” Damian said. “Access. Information. The kind of details no journalist could get their hands on.”

Ava’s pulse spiked, but she kept her face neutral. “And what do you want in return?”

Damian smirked. “Loyalty.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “Loyalty? That’s a strange request for a journalist.”

“I don’t need you to stop writing,” Damian said smoothly. “I just need you to write the right things.”

Ava’s stomach twisted. “You want me to be your puppet.”

“I want you to be smart,” Damian corrected. “You think you can expose this world without consequence? That you can dig into the underbelly of Sin City and come out clean?”

He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t work like that, Ava.”

Ava tightened her grip on the edge of the table. “And if I say no?”

Damian’s expression didn’t change. “Then we pretend this conversation never happened.”

His tone was light, but there was an unspoken message beneath it—and you won’t like what happens next.

Ava took a slow breath, weighing her options. She had wanted to get close to Damian Moretti.

Now, she was inside his world.

And she had just been given a choice—walk away before it was too late or step deeper into the darkness.

She had never been one to back down.

Ava met his gaze, her pulse racing. “Looks like we have a deal.”

Damian’s smirk returned, but there was something dangerous behind it.

“Welcome to the game, journalist.”

Ava felt the weight of her own decision settle over her like a second skin as she left the private club that night. She had shaken hands with the devil, knowing full well that men like Damian Moretti never gave anything without expecting something in return.

The air outside was cooler, but it did little to ease the heat crawling up her spine. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she instinctively scanned her surroundings. A dark SUV idled across the street. Its tinted windows reflected the city lights, but she could feel eyes on her. Watching. Assessing.

She had taken her first step into Moretti’s world. Now, there was no telling how deep she’d have to go before she found her way out.

Ava didn’t go home. She couldn’t.

Instead, she walked three blocks in the opposite direction before slipping into a crowded late-night café. The hum of conversation around her was a welcomed distraction. She ordered a coffee, took a seat by the window, and pulled out the dossier Damian had given her.

She flipped through the pages.

Her name, birthdate, college records. Even details about her first investigative piece—a small-time corruption case in Chicago. Damian knew everything.

She clenched her jaw.

This wasn’t just power. This was dominance. A silent warning wrapped in velvet.

Her phone buzzed. A text.

Unknown Number: You made a choice tonight. Make sure it was the right one.

Ava’s stomach tightened.

She looked around the café, her pulse quickening. Who else was watching her?

Her fingers hovered over her phone. She wanted to ask Who is this? but she already knew the answer.

Instead, she locked the screen and forced herself to focus.

She had come to Vegas looking for the truth about the city’s criminal underbelly. Now, she wasn’t just reporting on it—she was inside it.

And the only way out was through.

The next evening, Ava found herself standing outside a sleek, high-rise building in the heart of the city.

Damian’s invitation had been clear: 9 PM. Come alone.

She smoothed her dress, exhaled, and stepped through the glass doors.

The lobby was as pristine as a five-star hotel—polished floors, gold accents, not a single thing out of place. A woman in a sharp black suit greeted her without surprise.

“Ms. Sinclair,” she said. “This way.”

Ava followed, her heels clicking softly against the marble. They entered a private elevator, and the woman pressed the button for the penthouse.

As the elevator ascended, Ava’s pulse thrummed in her ears.

She knew this was a test.

Damian had promised her access, but access came with a price. And tonight, she was about to find out what that price was.

The doors slid open, revealing a space so vast it barely felt real.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline. The furnishings were modern but understated—sleek black leather, dark wood, a massive fireplace crackling softly.

And in the center of it all, Damian Moretti.

He was pouring a drink at the bar, dressed in a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He didn’t look up immediately, as if making her wait was part of the game.

When he finally did turn, his gaze swept over her with quiet amusement.

“You came.”

Ava forced a smirk. “Would’ve been rude not to.”

Damian motioned toward the bar. “Drink?”

She hesitated before nodding. He poured her a glass of whiskey—no ice, just smooth amber liquid. She took a sip, letting the burn settle.

Then he leaned against the counter, studying her.

“You’re wondering why you’re here.”

Ava shrugged. “I figured you’d get to that eventually.”

His lips twitched. “Smart.”

Then, without warning, he slid a manila envelope across the counter.

Ava stared at it.

“This,” Damian said, tapping the envelope, “is your first assignment.”

Her pulse spiked.

Slowly, she reached for it, flipping it open.

Inside were surveillance photos of a man—a wealthy businessman, judging by the tailored suits and high-profile meetings he attended. The name beneath the image made her stomach drop.

Raymond Holloway.

Ava knew that name. He was a high-profile casino mogul, one of Vegas’ elite, a man known for his spotless reputation.

“This can’t be right,” she muttered, scanning the images. “Holloway doesn’t have ties to—”

“To me?” Damian finished, smirking. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Ava swallowed. “What do you want from me?”

Damian leaned in slightly, his presence consuming.

“Find out who he’s dealing with. Who he’s paying off. Who he’s afraid of.” He picked up his drink, swirling the liquid. “Then, tell me everything.”

Ava’s fingers tightened around the envelope.

She wasn’t just reporting anymore. She was gathering intelligence—for him.

“This is blackmail,” she murmured.

Damian chuckled. “No, Ava. This is survival.”

Silence stretched between them.

Ava could feel the walls closing in, the weight of the choice pressing down on her. If she walked away now, she knew Damian wouldn’t stop her.

But he wouldn’t forget, either.

And if she stayed?

She was in deeper than she had ever intended to go.

Damian took another sip of his drink, watching her with the patience of a predator.

“You wanted the truth,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “This is it.”

Ava exhaled slowly.

Then, without another word, she picked up the envelope and turned toward the door.

Damian didn’t stop her.

But as she stepped into the elevator, she could feel his smirk following her all the way down.