Soon, they arrived at Midnight Rose. James pulled up in front of the club and stepped out of the car with Olivia at his side. He handed the keys to the valet attendant, who gave a polite nod before driving the car off to the reserved parking area—a common luxury service at New York's most exclusive nightclubs.
The entrance of the Midnight Rose was guarded by five men and five women, each bodyguard searching every guest before allowing them inside. Their sharp eyes missed nothing.
James leaned toward Olivia. "Girl, you still haven't told me the plan."
"Come closer," Olivia whispered.
He bent down, and she whispered the details into his ear. James froze, then gave her a wicked grin. "You'd better pray Daniel doesn't show up—or worse, that your boyfriend William doesn't catch you trying to seduce mafia bosses for intel. You'll be in big trouble. But damn, I love the idea."
Olivia's lips curved faintly. "It's the only way we'll get close to them."
"Alright, then let's pray it works," James muttered. "If they find out we're reporters, we're dead."
They stepped forward in line until it was their turn.
"Are you two dating or not?" one of the stern-looking female guards asked, her gaze sharp as she scanned both of them.
"Yes, we are," Olivia answered smoothly.
"You'd better be. If we find out otherwise, you'll be banned from ever coming back," the guard said, eyeing James especially—his polished look carrying an unmistakably flamboyant flair.
"Yes, we are," James confirmed, flashing a charming smile as he lifted Olivia's hand and kissed it.
The guards swept a handheld metal detector over them and patted them down, finding nothing suspicious. Finally, the woman guard gave a short nod. "Let them in."
"Wow. This club is really strict," James said, clutching his chest dramatically as they walked inside.
"Focus," Olivia murmured. "We know what Matteo Caruso from the Silent Viper Cartel looks like. If he's here, then we'll surely find the boss of the Moretti Mafia Family."
The club pulsed with heavy bass, lights flashing over the crowded dance floor where people swayed and danced in rhythm.
"Sorry, I can't hear you!" James shouted over the music, already spinning into the crowd.
Olivia only shook her head, giving him a look before slipping away.Without her coat, the glittering dress and heels revealed every curve, drawing lingering stares as she moved through the crowd. Her smoky makeup sharpened her features, and more than a few men's eyes followed her with hungry intent. She ignored them all.
Her eyes swept the room, searching. No sign of Matteo Caruso or his men. That left only two options: either he hadn't arrived yet, or he was hidden somewhere upstairs. Knowing Matteo's arrogance, she doubted the latter. He was the type who loved to flaunt himself.
The police knew exactly what he was—but with his businesses scrubbed clean on paper, there was never enough evidence to touch him. Untouchable. Untouchable men were the most dangerous.
But Matteo wasn't her real target.
But the boss of the Moretti Mafia was different. In just three years, he had clawed his way to the top, turning the organization into the second most feared syndicate in New York. Shrouded in mystery, almost no one had ever seen his face. Rumor whispered that he always hid behind a mask—and on the rare occasions he didn't, anyone who saw him never lived to tell the tale.
If Olivia could capture his face on camera, it wouldn't just earn her recognition from her editor; it could secure her a long-awaited promotion. Yet deep down, that wasn't her only reason for being here. She needed to see for herself if the man behind the mask was truly Vincent.
She moved to the bar, ordering tequila. One shot burned down her throat. Then another. Then another. By the fifth, her nerves steadied.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement upstairs in the VIP lounge. The guarded entrance gleamed like a barrier between worlds—only those with special access cards or handpicked escorts were allowed through. Tonight, she intended to be one of them.
Just as she was about to rise, a sudden pressure in her stomach made her curse under her breath. She hurried toward the restroom, clutching her purse.
By the time she returned, the call girls had already been selected and escorted into the VIP lounge. The guards crossed their arms, blocking her way.
Olivia's jaw clenched. "Damn it," she muttered, frustration biting at her. Why now? Why did she have to leave at that exact moment? She had missed her chance.
Her fist tightened around her purse. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath.
Seeing there was no way for her to enter, Olivia turned back and pushed through the crowd toward the dance floor, eyes scanning for James. She finally spotted him—laughing and dancing with another guy, completely lost in the music. Clearly, he wasn't leaving anytime soon.
With a quiet sigh, she pulled out her phone and texted: I'm heading home. Don't wait up.
Turning on her heels, she made for the exit.
She didn't notice the masked man who strode into the VIP lounge, dressed in a sharp black suit with ten men in matching black suits trailing behind him.
Once outside the club, Olivia hailed a cab and rode back to her apartment. The moment she arrived, she keyed in her passcode, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Kicking off her heels, she felt exhaustion wash over her. Too tired to eat, she headed straight for the shower, after washing up she then collapsed onto her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
The shrill ring of her phone ripped her from slumber. Half-asleep, she fumbled for it on her nightstand. "Hello?" she mumbled groggily.
"Olivia! Where are you?" Madison's voice nearly burst her eardrum. "The new boss is about to arrive—don't tell me you're still in bed!"
Olivia's eyes flew open. She rubbed them furiously, then bolted upright in bed. Her gaze darted toward the nightstand—her alarm clock wasn't there. Spotting it on the floor near the door, she cursed under her breath. So that's where I must have thrown it when it rang this morning.
"Has he arrived yet?" she asked quickly, already pulling clothes from her wardrobe.
"Not yet, but he will be here at exactly nine o'clock. I heard he's always punctual," Madison snapped. "If you don't want to end up in the new boss's bad books—or worse, get fired—you'd better hurry. It's already eight-forty!"
Before Olivia could respond, the line went dead.
Olivia hurried into the bathroom, splashing water over her face before jumping into a quick shower. Her hands shook as she pulled on a yellow blouse and white trousers.
A swipe of lipstick gave her some color, but there was no time for anything else. She tossed the rest of her makeup into her bag, sprinted out of her bedroom—only to run back in for her car keys.
Moments later, she slid into her Audi and sped off, praying traffic would be kind. But fate wasn't on her side. The city streets were clogged, horns blaring, minutes slipping through her fingers like sand. By the time the traffic finally cleared , the dashboard clock glared back at her: 9:30.
Her stomach sank.
When she pulled up in front of Empire Daily News, ten sleek black cars were already lined outside the building. Her heart clenched. He's here.
She whispered a silent prayer that their new boss wasn't as ruthless as the rumors claimed, then rushed inside. The closer she drew to the meeting room, the louder his voice became—low, cold, and commanding. The sound alone made her skin prickle.
Olivia pushed the door open carefully, hoping to slip in unnoticed. His back was to her, broad shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette against the light. She exhaled in relief, attempting a faint smile as she edged toward a seat at the far corner where she wouldn't stand out.
But then—
"You. Stop right there."
The icy voice cut through the air like a blade.
Every head in the room turned toward her. Heat rushed to Olivia's face as her body froze mid-step, humiliation burning under dozens of curious stares.
The man turned, and Olivia froze. His sharp green eyes locked onto her, cold and unyielding. A straight nose, long lashes that even women would envy, and jet-black hair slicked neatly back—he was the kind of man whose presence demanded silence. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked more like a predator than a rich ceo.
Her new boss, Lorenzo Ricci.
"Are you just arriving at the office?" His voice cut through the air, low and frigid.
A shiver shot down Olivia's spine. She straightened at once, heart pounding. "Y-yes, sir. I had a story to cover yesterday, so I… I didn't sleep much last night."
"Then who is to blame?" His tone was laced with contempt. "As a reporter, it's your duty to chase stories—day and night."
For a moment, his eyes flashed with a dangerous, almost vicious glint, before the expression vanished, replaced by cold indifference. Step by step, Lorenzo advanced toward her, every movement deliberate, every inch of distance he closed tightening the knot in her chest.
The meeting room fell into utter silence. No one dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak, afraid of being dragged into the storm.
Lorenzo's gaze sharpened like a blade as it pinned Olivia in place. "You arrived late… dressed carelessly… and even had the audacity to sneak in as if no one would notice. Tell me, is this how an employee should behave?"