------
Smoke and Mirrors
Brooklyn, NY – 2:17 AM
Emilia Hart hadn't slept.
The glow from her laptop cast shadows on the motel room walls, dancing like ghosts she couldn't outrun. Coffee sat untouched beside her, cold as the trail she was chasing.
Gio Romano—dead. Two bullets. Double tap. Luca's signature.
The reports hadn't hit any official channels yet, but her source inside Organized Crime texted her the second it happened.
"Container yard. Lower Manhattan. Your guy was there. It's bad."
Emilia stared at the photo attachment again—blurry, grainy surveillance, but unmistakable. Luca stepping out of the shadows like death in a designer coat.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, hesitating.
This wasn't just another body.
This was a message.
And she was running out of time to decode it.
---
She leaned back in the stiff motel chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as the file loaded. Gio Romano had been a weak link, and someone—probably the Bureau—had tried to flip him. Maybe they even had, briefly. But Luca moved fast. He always did.
Which meant one thing.
He's starting to clean house.
That made him more dangerous than ever.
And her job infinitely harder.
Emilia closed the file, pulled her hair into a rough ponytail, and stood. Her reflection in the motel mirror stared back, tired and sharp-eyed. Her red lipstick from earlier still clung to the corner of her mouth, like a bruise made of memory.
She wiped it off.
Last night's gallery encounter hadn't been part of the plan. She told herself it was just a coincidence. Told herself Luca hadn't recognized her.
But the way he looked at her—like he was peeling back layers—had her stomach in knots.
Emilia wasn't sure if she was scared he'd see through her...
...or scared of what would happen if he didn't.
---
Federal Building, Downtown Manhattan – 9:06 AM
"You slept with him?" Agent Vargas's voice was a razor wrapped in disbelief.
Emilia didn't flinch. "It wasn't part of the operation."
"No kidding."
The briefing room was cold, sterile, and full of judgement. Vargas paced like a shark in a suit while Emilia sat still, composed, in a chair that felt more like an interrogation than a debrief.
"You compromised your position," he snapped. "And for what? Some pillow talk and a nice view?"
"Luca Moretti doesn't trust anyone," she said calmly. "Now he might trust me. That's leverage."
"You think you're the first woman he's let close? You think you're special?"
"No," Emilia said. "I think I'm prepared."
Vargas stared at her for a long moment, then dropped a thin folder on the table. "Prepared or not, you're in now. Deep. You've got one shot at this. We need eyes inside his organization. The mole didn't work. Gio's dead."
"I know."
"Then act like it. We're assigning you a new role—closer access. You'll be meeting a contact tonight who'll pose as a buyer. We want to force Moretti's hand."
Emilia's eyes narrowed. "You want me to bait him?"
"I want you to win his trust. You'll be playing both sides now, Agent Hart. And when it all burns down…"
Vargas leaned in.
"…make sure you're standing next to the right man."
---
Brooklyn Waterfront – 8:43 PM
The bar was tucked between two warehouses, half-hidden from the street, the kind of place that didn't advertise and didn't ask questions. Inside, it smelled like sweat, whiskey, and regret.
Emilia stepped through the door, blending in easily with the Thursday night crowd. Leather jacket. Dark jeans. Hair loose around her shoulders. No badge. No Bureau.
Just another pretty face with a purpose.
She spotted her contact immediately—mid-thirties, salt-and-pepper beard, sipping Scotch alone in a booth by the back wall. He didn't look up when she slid in across from him.
"You Hart?" he asked, low.
"Yeah. You the buyer?"
He gave a slight nod. "Cole. Vargas briefed me. We've got a meeting with Moretti tonight. Private venue."
Emilia nodded. That was the plan—Vargas had set it up. She was to introduce Cole as a potential buyer for Luca's illicit weapons deal, and see if she could get closer to the heart of his empire.
"You ready for this?" she asked, studying him.
"I've played my part. You've got yours. Let's see if he buys it."
The words hung in the air, the stakes clear. With every step she took deeper into this, the line between agent and infiltrator blurred more.
"You'll meet him tonight," she said. "Keep it casual, but keep your eyes open. He's watching everyone."
Cole smirked. "You don't have to tell me twice."
She slid out of the booth, her nerves steeling as she stepped toward the door. This wasn't just another mission. Tonight, they would get in—close—into the belly of the beast.
And maybe, just maybe, she'd walk away with something more than she bargained for.
---
Luca's Penthouse – Manhattan | 7:06 PM
The view from Luca's floor-to-ceiling windows was the kind of thing people killed for—skyline on fire with sunset, the city pulsing like a living thing beneath it. But he wasn't watching it.
He was loading a pistol.
"She's FBI."
Rafa's voice cut through the silence like a blade, but Luca didn't flinch.
"She was at the gallery," he said, slipping the gun into a hidden compartment in his jacket. "She looked like art. Moved like a con."
"You want me to cancel the meet?"
"No," Luca said, tightening his cufflinks. "I want you to keep your eyes open."
"You think she's setting us up?"
"I think," Luca said slowly, "she's too smart to play this reckless. Which means someone's pulling her strings."
He turned to face his reflection in the mirror—sharp suit, sharp jaw, cold eyes.
"She wants to get close?" he said. "Let's see how close she's willing to get."
Rafa grunted. "And the buyer?"
"Let's entertain him. For now."
Luca picked up a cufflink box, popped it open, and pulled out a sleek silver pen. Inside, it held enough poison to drop a man in six seconds flat.
He smiled faintly. "Let's give them a show."
---
Private Club – Manhattan | 10:02 PM
It was the kind of place without a name on the door. Velvet drapes. Caviar on ice. Jazz that sounded like secrets being whispered. Money didn't just talk here—it negotiated power.
Emilia entered first, her dress black and simple, slinking like a promise. Her heels tapped softly against the marble floor as she led Cole into the lion's den.
Luca was already there.
By the bar.
Talking to no one. Watching everything.
His gaze found hers instantly, and the air between them thickened like smoke.
Emilia kept her face neutral, her steps sure, but inside, something twisted—a pull that wasn't fear. Something deeper. Darker.
She hated that she liked it.
"This is Cole Brennan," she said, cool and professional. "He's interested in your more… unique inventory."
Luca extended a hand to Cole, shaking once. "Always a pleasure meeting collectors. Especially those with taste."
Cole gave a rehearsed smile. "I hear you've got access to some pieces that never make it to auction."
Luca's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Depends who's asking."
The three of them moved toward a private booth in the back, velvet curtains already drawn. It was intimate. Intentional.
Emilia sat between them.
A weapon between two men who didn't trust each other—and shouldn't.
Drinks came. Small talk flowed. But beneath it all, tension simmered like a live wire.
Luca never looked directly at Emilia, but he felt her there. Like gravity.
And she?
She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat.
The low hum of conversation around them blended with the smooth jazz playing in the background, but Emilia could feel the tension crackling between the three of them like static electricity. She kept her gaze steady on Luca, not daring to look away, but the way his eyes lingered on her made her skin feel like it was covered in heat. A quiet war, barely visible, was brewing in the space between them.
Luca didn't say a word as he picked up his drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. His eyes never left her, though—sharp, calculating, as if he could see into her very soul. It made her feel exposed, like every lie she'd told, every move she'd made, was laid bare before him.
Cole was talking, but Emilia wasn't listening. She could see Luca's lips moving, and she caught a few words: "rare," "exclusive," "a man of taste," but all of it was white noise against the pull of his gaze.
"You know," Cole said, his voice drawing Emilia back to the moment, "I've heard whispers that your organization has some pretty rare goods. Things that could make a collector's dreams come true." His smile was practiced, and Emilia caught the hint of a challenge in his tone.
Luca's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "Whispers are dangerous things, Mr. Brennan. They tend to lead people to places they're better off not going."
Emilia didn't flinch. "Some people like to take risks," she said coolly, her eyes flicking to Luca's.
He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. But risks have a way of catching up with people."
Her pulse quickened, but she maintained her composure. This was the game now. She was playing it as much as he was, and every word between them was a calculated move.
She leaned forward, her elbows resting lightly on the table. "Then tell me, Luca. What do you consider worth risking?"
Luca's eyes darkened for a moment, the air around them seeming to tighten. He put his glass down slowly. "The right connections. The right allies. The right enemies. You see, Miss Hart, in my world, everything has a price."
Emilia didn't let herself show any surprise at his response. It was exactly what she expected. The man was all about control. Power. Manipulation.
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, never breaking eye contact. "I've never been afraid of paying the price," she said softly. Her voice was steady, but inside, she was wondering how much of this was an act, how much of it was real.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension hung between them, thick and heady, like smoke. Then, as if some invisible signal passed between them, Luca stood.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice smooth, but with a hard edge to it. "I've been rude. I'll be back in a moment."
Emilia watched him leave, her eyes narrowing. She didn't know what he was playing at, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.
Luca returned with a glass of whiskey in hand, his steps casual, but his eyes alert. Emilia straightened slightly as he approached, but she didn't let herself seem too eager. Cole was still talking, but he was losing his audience. Emilia was no longer interested in him—her focus was entirely on Luca.
He sat back down, his chair scraping softly against the floor, and took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze still fixed on Emilia. The moment he sat, she felt the shift. It wasn't just about business anymore. It was about something else. The game had changed, and neither of them were willing to back down.
"You've done your homework, haven't you, Miss Hart?" Luca's voice was low, amused. "You're not just some agent. Not just another pretty face trying to catch me."
Emilia fought the instinct to stiffen. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," he said with a faint smile. "But you do. You're here because you want something. Maybe it's the deal, maybe it's the man behind it. Either way, you're playing a dangerous game."
Emilia's fingers tightened around her glass. She was good at keeping her secrets, but in the presence of Luca Moretti, it felt like all her walls were paper thin.
"What makes you think I'm playing?" she asked, her voice a little sharper than she intended.
"Because I know the type," Luca said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You're not here for the money. You're not even here for the power. You're here because you want to know who I am. What I'm about."
She didn't answer him. She didn't have to. The truth was, she wasn't entirely sure herself. The longer she was in his orbit, the more it felt like she was caught in something bigger than herself. Something dangerous.
She glanced at Cole, who was still oblivious to the tension building between them. It was a small comfort. At least someone was still playing the part.
Luca's gaze shifted, following her look, and then he turned back to her, that same unreadable expression on his face. "You know, Miss Hart," he said, as if they were merely talking about the weather, "you're lucky. Most people who try to get close to me end up getting burned. You might be the first one who's managed to get this close without taking a step back."
Emilia smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. "I'm not afraid of a little heat."
Luca leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over her like a predator sizing up its prey. "I'm not so sure about that," he said softly.
The conversation drifted from weapons to art to rare vintage cars, all the while their words carefully chosen, calculated. But every glance, every shift in posture, was a message. And as the night stretched on, Emilia felt herself drawn deeper into Luca's orbit, closer to whatever it was he was hiding beneath his immaculate surface.
Eventually, Cole stood, stretching his arms. "I think that's enough for tonight, don't you?" He glanced at Luca, then Emilia, a grin on his face. "I'm sure we can make arrangements in the future."
Luca's eyes followed him as he stood. "Of course. We'll talk soon, Mr. Brennan."
The moment Cole turned to leave, Luca's gaze snapped back to Emilia.
"Don't go," he said, his voice low but commanding.
She froze, just a breath away from standing herself. The tension between them was unbearable now, but she couldn't let him see how much it was affecting her.
She didn't answer him immediately.
Instead, she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. "And why not?"
Luca didn't answer right away. He was studying her, reading her as carefully as she was reading him. Finally, he smiled—just a hint of a smile, but it made something stir deep inside her.
"Because," he said softly, "this is where it gets interesting."
Emilia tilted her head, a challenge flickering in her eyes.
"You always this charming with your admirers, Mr. Moretti?"
Luca took a deliberate step closer. "Only the ones worth remembering."
She felt that answer in her spine—sharp and warm. Dangerous.
But she didn't flinch. She smiled instead, every inch of her confidence hiding the storm beneath.
"Careful," she said, her voice low. "Flattery might work on some people, but I prefer the truth."
Luca's eyes darkened, the glint of amusement fading into something heavier. "The truth?" he echoed, voice like velvet laced with steel. "The truth is… I don't know what to make of you yet, Emilia Hart."
She met his gaze head-on, unflinching. "Then maybe you should take your time figuring it out."
A pause. Then the corner of his mouth curved, subtle and dangerous. "Oh, I intend to."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone in the hush of luxury and shadows.
Emilia exhaled slowly, pulse steadying.
This was getting complicated.
And it had only just begun.