Chapter 3 Reunion

ALESSIA VALENTI

By sunset, Manhattan had caught fire. Golden light spilled between the skyscrapers before surrendering to neon and glass. The city throbbed beneath me—horns, sirens, music, thousands of lives moving in every direction. For everyone else, it was another Monday night. For me, it was the first page of a nineteen-year-old vow.

Noah had left an hour earlier, extracting two solemn promises that I’d call him at the slightest hint of trouble. Emma, meanwhile, had claimed the master bedroom within minutes of unpacking, declaring that “better lighting belongs to the prettier roommate.” I hadn’t bothered fighting her. When Emma got excited, she was unstoppable.

“Less!” she called from the bedroom. “If you don’t start getting ready, your mysterious billionaire target is going to disappear before you even walk in.”

I pulled myself away from the skyline and stepped into the room.

“He’s not my mysterious billionaire.”

Emma smirked at me in the mirror, mascara wand paused mid-stroke. “Not yet.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s a target.”

“A ridiculously handsome one.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I’ve seen the pictures. Close enough.”

She spun on the vanity stool and crossed her arms. “So remind me again—why exactly are we going to this club?”

I picked up the hairbrush and ran it through my waves. “Because Damian De Luca shows up there almost every Monday night.”

“And?”

“And people get sloppy when they think no one’s watching.”

Months of research had built a clear portrait: Damian De Luca, thirty-three, only son of Vittorio De Luca. Heir to a criminal empire. Owner of Nocturne, New York's  most exclusive nightclub. Rich. Powerful. Notoriously untouchable. A man who moved through the world like it owed him everything.

Whether the rumors were true didn’t matter. I only needed one thing from him: access.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “You’ve memorized his entire schedule.”

“I’ve memorized everything.”

She laughed. “That’s either deeply impressive or mildly terrifying.”

“Probably both.”

I opened my suitcase and pulled out the outfit I’d chosen—black fitted trousers, a simple cream crop top, and ankle boots.

Emma stared for a long beat, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to infiltrate one of the most dangerous families in New York, and you look like you’re heading out for coffee and errands.”

I glanced down. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“There is if you want Damian De Luca to notice you.”

Isabella Cole was supposed to be forgettable. Tonight, forgettable wasn’t going to get me through the door.

Emma disappeared into her closet and returned holding a sleek black leather dress. It was short. Dangerously short.

I blinked. “That can’t be a dress.”

“It is. Put it on.”

“It’s missing half the fabric.”

“It isn’t. And you’ll thank me later.”

After a few minutes of protesting, I gave in. I changed in the bathroom, then stepped out and faced the mirror.

The soft leather transformed me. After years of fatigues and hoodies, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.

Isabella Cole.

Emma’s mouth fell open. “There she is.” She circled me slowly, then squeezed my hand. “He’s definitely going to notice you.”

I picked up my clutch. “This isn’t about him noticing me. It’s about getting close enough to destroy everything he loves.”

The words landed between us like stones. Emma’s playful smile faded.

“You’ve waited nineteen years,” she said softly. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will.”

Half an hour later, we pulled up to Nocturne. The building looked more like a palace than a nightclub—sleek black marble, glowing gold accents, a line of exotic cars stretching down the block. Laughter and expensive perfume drifted on the night air. Old money mixed with dangerous money. The kind that bought silence and buried secrets.

Emma slipped her arm through mine. “Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Good,” she said with a knowing smile. “Means you’re still thinking clearly.”

Inside, the music hit like a living thing. Bass vibrated through the marble floors. Crystal chandeliers spun blue and gold light across the crowd while the scent of whiskey, cigars, and luxury perfume wrapped around us. It felt like stepping into another world.

Emma leaned in. “I’ll leave you to your mission. I just spotted someone worth distracting myself with.”

“Traitor,” I muttered as she vanished into the crowd.

I took a slow breath and let my training take over—mapping exits, noting security positions, memorizing the layout of private staircases and VIP balconies. Then my gaze lifted.

On the second floor, behind a wall of silent, suited guards, sat the VIP lounge. And there, at the center of it all, was him.

Damian De Luca.

Even from a distance, those sharp emerald eyes cut through the chaos. Dark hair, a tailored black suit, the kind of presence that made the entire room bend around him. He didn’t raise his voice or lift his gaze to command it—he simply lifted one hand, an unhurried, almost bored gesture, and a server appeared at his elbow before he’d said a single word.

Then, just as quickly, he did something I hadn’t expected. The server—a young woman, visibly rattled, with a drink already sliding off her tray—flinched as though expecting his anger. Damian caught the glass before it hit the floor, set it back on her tray himself, and said something too low for me to hear.

I ordered a whiskey I had no intention of drinking and melted into the crowd, heart steady, nerves coiled tight.

After nineteen years, I was finally inside the lion’s den.

And then, across the crowded room, the lion looked straight at me.

Our eyes met.

For a split second, the noise around me seemed to fade.

He leaned toward the men standing behind him, all dressed in dark suits and shades, and murmured something I couldn’t hear. I slowly swirled the whiskey in my glass, pretending I hadn’t noticed.

A few minutes later, the tall, six-foot-two man stopped in front of me.

“My boss wants to see you.”

I didn’t hesitate. I’d spent nineteen years waiting for this moment.

Finally, the boy from my nightmares was standing only a few feet away. I rose from my seat, smoothed down my dress, and steadied myself.

The reunion I had imagined for nineteen years had finally begun.