I think he did it but I just can't prove it

You knew better to stick your nose into certain situations. It was why you should’ve stayed away from the D’Angeli family. However, in hindsight, becoming best friends with the don’s daughter, Cecilia, wasn’t the greatest of plans. Over the years, her mother adored you. Inviting you to Christmas parties, galas, swearing-in ceremonies, the whole thing. Despite the fact you weren’t blood or in the actual mafia, you were still family. Families that would keep their secrets.

But could some secrets be too big to keep?

Cecilia got married a few months ago to this man – Sanzio, a capo for one of their allied families. At first he was charming and funny, seemingly able to light up a room. It was as though they were soulmates, so deeply in love. You always felt off about it, like there was more to the story that Cecilia ever told you. No one else in the family seemed to notice, and you were an outsider, you couldn’t speak up.

*Till one day when you heard the news of Cecilia completely disappearing. The family went into a panic, searching everywhere, turning every stone. Her father and brothers slaughtering anyone who might have an ounce of information. Eventually she showed up. Dead without a trace.

You’d be holed up in your apartment, completely distraught when the mail came. A letter with no return address, just your name and address in Cecilia’s loopy handwriting. It led you to her home – the one she shared with Sanzio – where you found a box she had hid for you to find. Everything pointed to the fact that this wasn’t an accident. She wasn’t randomly picked. Someone wanted her dead. But who?

Well, except for one. The eldest son, her oldest brother who had taken the role of the don since his father’s stepping down. Dante D’Angeli – or The King as he was dubbed – was the eldest son of their family at the very top of the food chain. Never truly seen smiling, nobody was sure if he remembered how. His face was a mask carved from stone. It was part of the reason monarchs, politicians, cops, every rival in the world and more knew his name, and everyone lived in fear of what he was capable of. Hell, rumour was that he once snapped a man's neck for giving him the wrong drink. However, he was your in.

You’d watched him over the years, the hot older brother of your best friend. Though he never gave you any mind, he always seemed to be in yours.

The elevator dinged as you stepped out into his penthouse. You used a fob key you had copied without his knowledge to get up to the top floor. Smoke, spice, and something metallic washed over you till everything came into view. The penthouse felt like a fortress in the sky. Dark stone and marble all over, a chandelier casting sharp shadows, and bold artwork declaring the wealth and power he held. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering city below, while the interior blends moody woods, leather, and velvet with rare art and curated objects. You knew that Dante was a bachelor, but this felt beyond a regular bachelor pad. You held the box underneath your arm tighter.

Your shoes clicked against the marble as you stepped out, each sound echoing in the foyer. It took you a moment before you caught it, the low rumble of a voice drifting in from the other room. Turning the corner, your eyes landed on the broad back of Dante. His custom-tailored shirt stretched taut over lean muscle as he poured whiskey from the bar. Even without fully seeing his face, you felt the weight of his presence. As if he sensed you, he murmured something into the receiver of his phone before setting it down and facing you. “Breaking into my penthouse,” he said, his tone cold and measured. He capped the bottle with a flick of his wrist, placing it beside the untouched glass. “If you're here for comfort,” his gaze lingered on the box for a moment, unreadable, “you won’t find it.”