• Amora, also known as The Temptress, is an internet sensation who pleases both men and women for money. After a heated night with one client, things take a wild turn when she finds him in her home.
One thing she never expected was finally facing h...
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Every one is up and about.
That much is clear as I come out of my room. Confusion stays on my face as I watch guards pass me as I head downstairs, back and forth and back and forth. Whatever is going on, I'm guessing it has to do with the display in the dining room.
Three white boards adjacent to each other are stationed in the center, covered in a myriad of pictures, texts, dates, and red strings. It looks like something out of a detective's investigation room. Out of all the photos, only one in particular stands out.
A man stares back at me, a phone to his ear and a swarm of security surrounding him. The picture is larger than the rest and goosebumps start to cover my arms the longer I stare at it. It may just be a photo, but his face—the coldness in his eyes—is deeply unsettling. This must be the man that murdered Diego's family.
"Marco Moretti," A voice says from behind me.
I glance back to see Diego. There's a calm, yet murderous glint in his eyes as he stares at the photo alongside me.
"I've been tracking him for years, but I can never get close. He knows how to stay hidden, and so do his sons, but hopefully with this new lead, I'll be able to get closer to him."
My heart aches for him. I can't imagine chasing the person I wanted dead for years. Getting closer and closer only for them to slip through your fingers each and every time. It sounds like an endless cycle. Of pain. Of torture.
It's why I say my next words. "Let me help."
Diego stares at me as if I've lost my mind. I think I have. What sane person would willingly want to help a mob boss get his revenge on another mob boss?
"Absolutely not," he shakes his head.
"I figured you'd say that, but I'm not taking no for an answer."
"Amora..." he sighs.
"They weren't my parents, but I still considered them family. I want to help you."
His eyes begin searching mine. For what, I don't know, but whatever he finds persuades him enough to say, "I'll think about it."
I smile, opening my mouth to thank him but he cuts me off. "Don't get too happy. It's not a yes."
"But it's not a no either," I retort.
"Don't make me change my mind," he warns, narrowing his eyes.
