The city didn't feel like home — but neither did anywhere else.
Lena stepped into her dim apartment after the night at Velvet Halo. The club, the men, the fight, and especially him — still echoed in her mind.
But now, everything was quiet.
Except the soft hum of the fridge… and the slow, sleepy breathing of the little girl curled up on the living room couch.
Meena.
Still in her school clothes, still waiting.
Lena exhaled silently.
She walked over, pulled a warm blanket from the closet, and gently draped it over Meena's small frame. The girl shifted, hugging a pillow tighter.
> "I'll protect you," Lena whispered under her breath. "Always."
Her voice was flat — cold to most.
But never to Meena.
To the world, Lena was a shadow. A weapon. A ghost with a mission.
But to this girl, she was the only light left.
And even if they weren't blood, even if fate had thrown them together in tragedy…
Lena never once questioned that Meena was her sister.
---
☕ The Next Morning
The city was already buzzing by 6 a.m. when Lena stepped into the café near 9th Avenue.
She was between FBI assignments — her last attempt to gather intel had hit a dead end. She needed caffeine, and maybe a new plan.
With a hot coffee in hand, she turned — and collided with someone tall, sharp-shouldered, and way too confident.
Lorenzo.
Same cold eyes. Same silence.
Two men stood beside him, both giving her that look — like she was something expensive on display.
> "Damn," one whispered. "She's fine—"
He didn't finish his sentence.
Lorenzo turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing.
The man instantly froze. Said no more.
Lena rolled her eyes. "You again," she said, unimpressed. "What, do you haunt every corner of this city?"
Lorenzo's lips curved slightly.
> "Don't you know who I am?" he asked, voice calm but laced with threat.
She took a sip of her coffee and replied flatly,
> "No. Should I?"
There was a pause — then one of his men leaned close and whispered under his breath:
> "That's Lorenzo Moretti."
Lena blinked once.
She'd heard the name.
The Lorenzo Moretti. The untouchable Mafia king of New York. The man who ruled the underground like a ghost in a suit.
She didn't react — not the way normal people would.
Instead, she smirked.
> "Interesting," she said. "Then I'd like to join the Mafia."
All three men went quiet.
Lorenzo tilted his head, studying her.
> "Just like that?"
> "I like dangerous games," Lena replied, voice cool. "Besides, your people seem... entertained."
> "And why would I let someone like you in?" he asked.
She leaned in slightly.
> "Because I don't scare easy. And you're curious."
That made something flicker in his eyes.
He took a slow breath, then nodded.
> "Come to my estate. Three nights from now. You'll be tested."
> "Tested how?"
> "We'll see if you're Mafia material — or just another pretty rebel playing dress-up."
Lena smiled.
> "Looking forward to it, Mr. Moretti."
He turned away, but not before murmuring:
> "Wear black. It suits the kind of soul you hide."
---