𝐕. The devil made me do it

Matteo loosens his fingers but keeps his hand on my throat a moment longer before he pulls back, clenching his fist over the chair’s armrest.

I straighten up, feeling the hard edge of the table press against my hip, my back still to Cesare. But the weight of his stare drags me down deeper than ever before, making me bite my lip nervously.

“Looks like you do have what it takes to get under Matteo’s skin,” Cesare says, voice calm and detached, like always. “But that means nothing. Enzo is known for his self-control—something my little brother lacks.”

I glance over my shoulder, finally meeting Cesare’s serious, shadowed expression. His brow is furrowed, and his lips are drawn into a tight line. But his eyes burn with a fire that’s not usually there… a crack in his usual distance.

“Well, I did what you asked,” I say, trying to keep my tone loose, hiding the nerves and anticipation behind a blank face.

“Did you?” Cesare raises a brow, and the cynicism in his question makes me narrow my eyes.

Finally, I press my high heel into Matteo’s crotch, right on top of the hard, throbbing bulge that strains against his pants, despite himself. His head snaps toward me, lips pulled so tight they almost disappear, glare burning with a mix of indignation and fury.

“Get your fucking foot off me, bitch.”

I look back at Cesare over my shoulder.

“He seems pretty hard to me.”

I remove my foot from Matteo’s hard-on and step away from the table, putting a greater distance between us.

“I can do this, Cesare,” I say firmly, no trace of doubt in me. “I can seduce Enzo Bianchi.”

“It won’t be easy.” The Sotto Capo’s warning is calm, but it somehow only scrapes my nerves raw.

“I’m not expecting it to be.” I grip the edge of the table so tightly that I feel my nails protest. “But do I really have a choice? It’s my only way to find freedom!”

Cesare stares at me, and for the first time, I think I see his eyes soften slightly. But it passes so fast, I’m sure I imagined it.

“Fine,” he says at last, making my grip relax.

He straightens up, as if his posture hadn’t been perfect the whole time, and adds, “Since you’re so eager to prove your usefulness to the family that took you in, I’ll allow it.”

A whirlwind of emotions flashes in my eyes at Cesare’s words. Anger, indignation, relief, and resignation—all at once. I hate the thought of having to beg or prove my worth, especially when working for them or aligning myself with them is the last thing I’d ever want to do under normal circumstances.

But this isn’t a normal situation.

It’s easy to clench my teeth and dig my nails into my palms when the only two options left are trying to run—and getting killed… or becoming one of them, staining my hands with blood, and waking up every morning afraid the police will be at the door.

“Your new identity is Marina Moretti,” Cesare continues, “Daughter of Luigi Moretti—one of my most trusted men. You’ll live with him in Milan for a month. It’s a short time, so you have to use every second, every opportunity to get close to Enzo.”

It’s obvious Cesare had all this planned already—which means his hesitation and, more importantly, his earlier absurd demand, were just another part of his game.

That bitter taste returns to my mouth, but I can’t afford to argue. Not now.

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?” I ask thoughtfully. “I don’t think Enzo Bianchi is the kind of guy you can just walk up to.”

“Luigi is currently undercover,” Cesare says, as if that explains everything. “As his daughter, you’ll have plenty of opportunities. And don’t worry. You won’t need to showcase your unfortunate dance skills. You won’t be working in the clubs he runs. I have something… more special in mind for you.”

“Well, that’s a relief… I thought you wanted me to show them off again,” I say casually, careful not to reveal too much. With Cesare, you never know when a line becomes a trap.

“We both know that’s not an option, Marina," Cesare says with a cold, calculated smile. “Aside from your mother’s beauty, you didn’t inherit any of her grace.”

He taps the chair's top rhythmically, the steady sound contrasting with the seriousness of his tone.

“I want you to seduce him, not disgust him. The last time you tried to perform, it looked like the devil himself had forced you.”

Because the devil did force me.

Cesare Romano looked at me and said, “Dance and entertain my guests.” So I did. But no one said I had to do it well.

“Either way, your new job will be more fitting. Enzo doesn’t let his guard down easily, and he has a history of shutting down around easy women.”

“Are you sure he’s even interested?” I ask, unable to hide my curiosity. If Enzo is gay, nothing I do—no skill, no effort—will reach him. That would make this whole mission pointless. Maybe even suicidal. It would make sense if that’s what this was. Cesare said Enzo killed a sex worker with his bare hands. Is that the plan? Get rid of me cleanly by handing the loaded gun to someone else?

My eyes narrow slightly, and my heart clenches even harder.

Cesare wouldn’t be that low… would he?

He’s a mafioso, Marina. Would you really be surprised by a crooked code of ethics?

“He’s definitely into women,” Matteo grumbles, as if the alternative would have pleased him more. “Little is known about Enzo Bianchi, but he made it clear his former lover was off-limits.”

“And where is she now?” I ask, looking straight at Matteo.

“Dead.” He grins, dark and twisted. “He killed her with his own hands.”

It feels like the air vanishes again.

“Sounds like Enzo Bianchi has a thing for killing women who get too close,” I say, trying to sound light, but my breathlessness betrays me.

Am I really supposed to seduce that monster?

“He’s not impotent either. There are plenty of rumors to back that up,” Cesare says simply, pulling my gaze back to him. “If you fail, it’ll be entirely your fault. Keep that in mind if you intend to see this through.”

I take a deep breath, holding Cesare’s eyes a moment longer than I should.

“I already said I’ll do it,” I retort, impatience biting my tongue. “But I’d like to do it my way—”

“That’s not an option.” Cesare cuts me off sharply. “You know nothing about Enzo, or about the world out there. You may have had lessons, Marina, but you’ve never actually been out there. These walls have protected you for years, even if you hate them. You might be good in a fight, have perfect aim, and know how to swing those hips to turn heads, but none of that will save you when your life is on the line.”

I’m caught off guard by his honesty, by the raw truth in his words. If I didn’t know better, I might almost think he cares. But this isn’t about me. He doesn’t care about me—he just doesn’t want me to screw things up or cause problems.

Cesare doesn’t trust me.

He knows the moment he lets go, I’ll slip through his fingers.

And still… he’s giving me this chance.

Why?

“Everything has been carefully arranged. You don’t need to worry about the details,” he continues, voice lowering. “What I expect is that you get close to Enzo, seduce him, and make him fall hard enough to whisper his secrets. On my terms. And if that sounds too difficult—if you think you can’t do it—turn around and wait for our mark to sink into your skin and soul. Or die fighting against it.

I take a deep breath, refusing to look away, even though the rational part of my brain is screaming at me to walk out of this room.

“I won’t fail,” I say, with the last of my resolve. “And I won’t die. Not by your hands, and not by a Bianchi’s.”

Silence stretches, and for a moment, I think Cesare might smile. But he only stares, analyzing every flicker of my expression as if he sees right through me—like my soul is exposed beneath his predator’s gaze.

“You’ll leave tomorrow at six. Don’t bother packing—you won’t need any of it in Milan. Appropriate luggage will be prepared instead.”

“Got it.”

As if there’s anything here I’d want to take with me.

“And from now on, you’ll only wear what I allow.” Cesare steps away from the table and walks, not toward me, but to settle into the Capo’s chair he’s temporarily using.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I blink, forcing myself to stay still, even though his scent once again overwhelms my lungs.

Cesare doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to intend to. He lounges in the chair with a deliberate posture that never shows weakness, resting his arm along the backrest and tapping his fingers again with that bored precision of someone always in control, even when they appear distracted.

“I’ll send someone to bring you to me later,” he says, resting his other hand on his chin, thumb brushing over his stubble. “For now, you’re dismissed.”

My eyes remain fixed on him as I take one step back. Then another. I don’t want to turn my back on Cesare —at least not yet. It’s like turning your back on a beast; you know something could happen if you move too quickly. But I can’t stay here either. Not without losing the last bit of control I have.

I turn and walk toward the door, feeling their eyes scorch my bare, vulnerable back, like blades pressed against skin. But just as my hand reaches the doorknob, Cesare’s voice cuts through, rougher than ever:

“And, Marina? Men tend to want what they can’t have.” He pauses, just for a beat. “Keep that in mind.”

“Thanks for the tip.” My voice comes out steady but dry. I don’t turn around or give him the satisfaction of seeing how much those words hit.

I just walk out of the room.

Who knows, maybe Marina Moretti will be my salvation instead of my downfall.

After all…

I’m already in hell.

How much deeper could I possibly fall?