Beneath The Crimson Lies

The city never sleeps. New York is alive, its streets throbbing in a rhythm all their own-dark, deadly, and relentless. The chilly breeze stings my skin as I stroll along the small lanes of the Lower East Side, yet I hardly feel it. My head is elsewhere, caught in a memory I cannot free.

Every night I find Marco's face hovering about. His laughter, the way his eyes would flash as he spoke about our future, how we would leave this godforsaken city and begin anew some distance away. But that future we were robbed of. Drawn from him. His life passed like a candle in the breeze, leaving just darkness in its wake.

His dead body lies in that dirty alley, blood collecting around it still. Though I knew otherwise, the cops claimed it was a mugging gone bad. Marco was cautious, too cautious to be surprised like that. No, this was purposeful, like execution. And I know just exactly who started it.

The Moretto family. The name by itself causes a tsunami of resentment in me. They believe they are untouchable, that they may grab anything they like and leave the rest of us to gather the fragments. But they are incorrect. I have spent the past year learning everything I need to bring them down, then teaching myself everything else. I've perfected hacking, spying, and penetration. The only thing keeping me going and the only way I can pay Marco's memory honor is.

Pulling my hoodie tighter around my face to hide from the prying eyes of the street, I head toward the diner where I work. Above the door, the neon sign flickers and throws a sickly glow over the broken pavement. Though it is a dump, it is the ideal cover. Just as I like it, nobody pays attention to a waiter at a venue like this.

Inside, the stench of greasy food and stale coffee strikes me like a gut-reversing blow. Just a few regular customers slumped over their drinks, lost in their worlds, this is a quiet night. My hands move instinctively as I ready a pot of coffee, I head toward the counter and slide behind it. My head is elsewhere, already organizing my next action though.

Tonight is the night I interact. For weeks, I followed Luca Moretti, observing his every action and memorizing his routines. Key to all of this is him. Getting near to him will help me to find the truth regarding Marco's murder one step forward. Getting close to Luca Moretti is more difficult stated than done, albeit Men who would kill without thinking, bodyguards surround him. One mistake will cause me to be like Marco-dead in some forgotten alley, another victim of the Morettis' violence.

I am not able to afford to consider that though. I had to concentrate. I will not let this chance pass me by; I have waited much too long for it.

Pulling me out of my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Before I draw it out, I look around to see nobody observing. This is a note from my contact-the one from the shadows who has been supporting me. Just their handle, ShadowFox; I do not know their actual name. Though we have never really met, they have given me tools, knowledge, and guidance. They are equally a ghost as I am.

ShadowFox is on travel right now. Thirty minutes is what you have.

My heart pauses. That is this. Luca is out in the open, and I have a limited window of time to move. I start typing a reply right away.

Me: Somewhere?

The response came practically right away.

Club Nightshade is ShadowFox. He's alone.

Of course, that would be Nightshade. Among those expensive clubs where the elite of the city visits to play is this one The kind of location where dealings are conducted in the darkness and a single word ruins lives; it begs for wealth and power. I never imagined I would have to go back; I had been inside once before and had scoped it. Though dangerous, that is my greatest chance.

I toss my phone back into my pocket and check the wall clock. My shift ends two more hours later, but it will cause issues later. Ignoring the perplexed glance from my colleague, I collect my luggage and walk toward the door. Though I embrace it, the chilly air strikes me like a slap as soon as I leave. It sharpens my attention and cleans my head.

Every second of the train trip to the club seems to be a painful slowness as if it takes an eternity. My mind races, a million possibilities playing out there. Should Luca identify me, what then? What if I can't get near enough? Suppose this is all a trap instead.

I throw those questions away, though. I have come too far to reverse right now. I simply have to be cool, keep concentrated, and follow the schedule.

When I at last get to Nightshade, the bouncer at the door gives me a once-over with narrowed suspicious eyes. I push myself to grin and hand him a hundred-dollar note. His face relaxes, and he moves aside to allow me to pass through. Even in this area, money speaks.

Inside, the club is a sensory assault-thumping bass, flashing lights, the scent of sweat, and costly perfume. Keeping my head down, I move among the throng, looking for any indication of Luca. Not too long it is to find him seated in a secluded booth at the rear, a glass of whiskey in hand. As ShadowFox reported, he is alone.

Here is my opportunity.

Heart thumping in my chest, I move aside. Luca looks up as I get here, his eyes fixed on mine. I stop, caught in the intensity of his stare for a moment. Up close, he is even more frightening-tall, broad-shouldered with a strong chin and piercing blue eyes that seem to stare right through me.

Still, I make myself keep walking, halting only a few steps from him. I cannot afford to expose any flaw.

Would you mind if I joined you? I ask, my voice firm even as my gut twists with anxiety.

Luca ar eyebrows, obviously shocked by my audacity. But in a moment he motions to the seat across from him. Allow me to be your guest.

My pulse accelerating, I moved inside the booth. This is the first phase of a risky game. Playing my cards right will provide the information I require. I cannot afford to consider that if I do not...well.

"Your name is what?." Luca probes, his voice flowing naturally and with a trace of interest.

"Valentina," I say, keeping my responses brief and understated. I can only tell him what is required. Nothing more.

"Valentina". He gently repeats my name, as though trying it on his tongue. "Why are you visiting Nightshade?"

I shrug to seem laid back. "Just needed a change of landscape. Thought I would find out what all the hoopla is about.

Leaning back in his chair, Luca smiles. And what, so far, do you think?

My eyes meet his and I say, "It's...interesting." "But the company interests me more."

His smile gets wider, and for a second I wonder whether I have gone too far. Then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that shakes my spine. Valentina, you are a brave one. That's nice.

I make myself smile even though every instinct is screaming at me to flee. But I'm unable to. Not right yet. I had to approach him closer to win his confidence.

What then do you do, Luca? I ask, gently pushing the discussion toward my objective.

Again raising an eyebrow, he seems delighted by my inquiry. " I could ask you the same thing.

I shrug and say, "I'm just a waitress," acting as the naive, understated young woman. Nothing is as fascinating as what you do.

Luca looks at me briefly, as if trying to determine whether to trust me. Then he slants forward, his gaze narrowing somewhat. Are you not from about here?

My heart pauses. More than I expected, he is insightful. I have to exercise great caution.

"No," I say, keeping my voice light. "Just relocated to the city a few years ago.

His eyes never straying from mine, he says, "Why New York?"

I pause, looking for the appropriate language. "Right here is where things happen. I wanted to be a part of something more significant.

Luca nods gently as if her response satisfies something. He seems, however, not convinced. He seems dubious, and that might be risky.

His voice lowering to a more somber tone, he queries, "Are you here alone?"

Though my stomach turns, I maintain a neutral facial. True, just me. My preference is for my independence.

Luca doesn't reply immediately. Rather, he sips his whiskey slowly while his eyes never leave me. Between us, the stillness is dense with tension. At last, he lowers his glass and reclines, a little smile flashing on his lips.

"Independence is a hazardous thing in this city,' he says gently. Still, I find it admirable. Walking into a place like this alone calls for guts.