Chapter 2

SCARLETT

My throat went dry as I stared at the photo. The rage inside me flared again, and I clenched my fists.

“I didn’t even know he was a Moretti. And I’ve already been close to him, William, but he cheated on me” I muttered. “I can do this job but that doesn’t mean I’m going back. I’m not going back to him.”

“You have to apologize to him, Scarlett, just to get what you wanted.” Williams said.

“You want me to beg him?” I stared at William, disbelief hardening every word. “After what he did?”

William didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to mean it. You just have to be smart.”

I laughed—short, bitter. “Smart? You’re asking me to crawl back to the man who humiliated me, who cheated on me with my best friend, just so I can climb into his father’s world?”

“Adrian Moretti doesn’t trust anyone outside his circle,” he said, his tone clipped. “Lucas is your way in. He’s your key.”

“My ex-boyfriend is my assignment?” I snapped. 

“You start now,” William said. “Tonight.”

I blinked. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. He just reached into his drawer, pulled out a plain white envelope, and slid it across the table like it meant nothing.

I picked it up. Opened it.

Cash. Neatly stacked. Neatly wrapped. A lot of it.

“That’s your advance,” he said. “Fifty thousand. Non-negotiable. The rest comes after the job is done.”

“You’re serious,” I whispered, fingers tightening on the edge of the envelope.

“Dead serious.” He leaned back in his chair. 

I looked down at the money again. Fifty thousand dollars. That would pay my rent for the next six months. Keep me fed. Keep me moving.

And maybe, just maybe, give me the power to bury the people who thought they could destroy me.

“Fine,” I said, standing. “I’ll do it.”

He didn’t smile. William never smiled.

“I’ll be in touch.”

—

I checked into a mid-tier hotel near Midtown. Not flashy, not cheap. Safe. Safe enough.

The receptionist gave me a key card without looking twice. That’s how I wanted it—quiet, forgettable. I went straight up to my room, dropped my bag, and pulled out my laptop.

I didn’t even take off my coat.

I opened a blank document and stared at it for ten seconds. Then I started typing.

VINCENT ROMANO: THE SHADOW KING OF NEW YORK

The words spilled like fire—raw, sharp, unfiltered. I named businesses, shady deals, unsolved murders, and dirty cops—all tied to Vincent Romano.

I didn’t hold back.

I had receipts. Screenshots. Documents I’d been gathering long before William ever handed me this job.

Lucas broke my heart—but he gave me the match to burn his father’s allies empire down.

I hit publish.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the internet detonated. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Comments. Shares. DMs from reporters.

My name was trending.

And hell was coming.

Until I got the message.

No name. No profile picture. Just a number I didn’t recognize and one line:

Take the article down or you’ll be buried alive before sunrise.

My heart jumped. My hands froze on the screen.

I stared at the message. Then I stared at the door. Locked. But that didn’t feel like enough.

I grabbed my phone and dialed William.

“Scarlett,” he answered on the first ring.

“I got a message.”

“I saw,” he said. “It’s already making rounds. You stirred the hornet’s nest.”

“Someone just threatened to kill me, William!”

“I said don’t be afraid.”

“Easy for you to say—you’re not the one they want to bury alive.”

He exhaled, like I was annoying him. “Listen to me. Don’t delete the article. You’ve already won their attention, and that’s what we needed. Now you show up at the gala tomorrow night like none of this ever touched you.”

“What gala?”

“You’ll get an invitation soon. Romano is hosting it. Everyone will be there—his allies, enemies, ghosts from every corner of this city. That’s where you’ll meet your main target.”

My throat tightened. “You mean Vincent the Romano?”

“No,” William said, voice lowering. “Someone far worse.”

—

The next morning came like a slap.

I didn’t sleep. How could I? I kept replaying the message in my head, the way it sounded like a promise, not a threat.

By eight a.m., my article had hit over three million views. I opened my inbox and found it overflowing. Half the world wanted to interview me. The other half wanted me gone.

By ten, a black envelope slid under my hotel room door.

No note. No explanation. Just a single word embossed in gold.

INVITED.

Inside: a formal invitation to the Romano Gala.

My hands shook as I read the location.

The King’s Den.

Romano private estate.

It wasn’t just an invitation. I was invited on purpose.

I spent the rest of the day trying not to lose my mind. The death threat replayed on a loop, but so did William’s voice: Someone far worse.

Worse than Vincent Romano?

That didn’t feel possible.

Who could be worse than him?

At 7:45 p.m., I stepped out of the hotel in a black dress that hugged me like armor. My heels clicked down the marble lobby floor like they had purpose. But inside, I was chaos.

The car that picked me up wasn’t marked, and the driver never spoke.

The mansion appeared like a palace carved from stone and shadow. Lit up, loud, alive—but the air buzzed with something more than money.

Power.

I stepped inside and immediately felt every gaze shift toward me.

A journalist. An outsider.

Prey.

My pulse quickened, but I kept walking. Smile on. Shoulders back.

I was halfway through the room when a server passed by with champagne. I took a glass.

That’s when I saw him.

He raised his glass at me. I froze.

“Scarlett my ex girlfriend,” a voice drawled behind me.

I turned—and there he was.

Lucas.

In a tailored black suit. No tie. Same smirk. But his eyes were darker now. Colder.

“I figured I’d see you again,” he said.

I didn’t blink. “Did you read the article?”

“I did.”

“And?”

He stepped closer, enough for me to smell his cologne—sharp, familiar, unwanted.

“My father wants you dead,” he whispered. “And if you don’t get out of here in five minutes, he won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“I’m not here for your father.”

“Then who are you here for?”

I stepped past Lucas, ignoring the burning in my chest, and walked straight toward the stranger.

He didn’t stop me. Just tilted his head slightly and let me approach.

“You’re not my priority tonight, so you better stay out of my way,” I said.

And then without another word, Lucas grabbed the microphone from a man walking beside him.

“Scarlett Hayes,” he said aloud, voice smooth, almost amused. “The talented journalist who’s been digging into the wrong graves.”

My blood iced over.

Every conversation halted. Every glass paused mid-air. And then, all eyes turned to me.

But I didn’t flinch.

And then Vincent Romano stared at me.

He stood at the top of the marble staircase, dressed in a three-piece suit darker than sin. Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. Black diamond cufflinks. Hands clasped behind his back like a man who didn’t need to lift a finger to order a massacre.

When he descended the stairs, the room seemed to part on instinct.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t smile. And every step he took toward me made my lungs squeeze tighter.

By the time he stopped in front of me, I’d already memorized my exits. Door to the right. Window behind the velvet curtain. Security posted at both.

Lucas still held the mic, looking far too pleased with himself.

Vincent’s gaze dropped to the USB drive I hadn’t realized I was still holding.

“What’s that?” he asked softly, voice silk and venom.

I tucked it into my clutch without blinking. “A gift.”

He smiled then, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re brave. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“No,” he said. “You’re gambling with your life.”

The room held its breath.

Lucas handed the mic back to the stunned staffer and took a step back, like even he didn’t want to be too close to whatever came next.

Vincent leaned in.

“You think writing about me makes you untouchable?” he murmured, voice for me alone now. “It makes you marked.”

My heart pounded, but I met his stare. “Then mark me.”

Silence.

Sharp. Electric.

And then Vincent chuckled, slow and amused. “So you came here to die?”