Page 2 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)

Chapter Two

Luca

I slipped deeper into the shadows between the buildings, adjusting my tailored black coat to better conceal the weight of the Glock nestled against my ribs.

The distant shrieks and laughter of costumed children meant nothing to me—background noise, irrelevant to the task at hand.

Halloween provided convenient cover; sugar-fueled excitement distracted people from noticing a man conducting business in the dark corners of Havenview.

The side street was perfect—close enough to the festivities to blend in if needed, yet removed from prying eyes. I positioned myself beneath a burned-out streetlight, my back to the brick wall of an abandoned storefront. From here, I could see anyone approaching from either direction.

A plastic bag skittered across the pavement, pushed by the cool evening breeze.

I watched it with disinterest, my mind cataloging the surrounding details.

Two houses down, a group of teenagers loitered, passing something between them that was definitely not Halloween candy.

At the far end of the street, a cat darted under a parked car. Nothing that concerned me.

I checked my watch—an understated but expensive Rolex that had belonged to my father. Ten minutes early, as always. Punctuality was nonnegotiable in my world. Being late meant being unprepared, and being unprepared meant being dead.

The black sedan idled at the corner, exactly where I'd instructed. The driver kept the engine running but dimmed the headlights. Good. He knew the protocol. I gave him a barely perceptible nod, acknowledging his presence while maintaining distance. He was new to my uncle’s crew, but they’d already drilled him on exactly how I operated.

I drew each breath slow and steady, the way they’d hammered into me when I was a kid.

The cool metal of my gun pressed against my side as I shifted my weight.

Its presence was reassuring—a constant companion since I was sixteen, when my uncle first placed it in my hands and said, "This is how you survive in our world. "

Mateo had been right about that, at least. The only certainty in the Moretti family business was that mercy was weakness, and weakness got you killed—just like it had gotten my parents killed.

A figure emerged from around the corner, moving with the stiff gait of a man fighting the urge to run.

I recognized him immediately—James Donovan, a mid-level bank manager with access to accounts we needed for laundering operations.

He was sweating despite the cool October air, his business suit slightly rumpled as if he'd been wearing it too long.

I didn't move as he approached, letting him come to me. Power dynamics established from the start.

"Mr. Moretti." His eyes darted nervously toward the main street, where Halloween festivities continued, oblivious to our transaction.

I didn't respond immediately, letting the silence build until he shifted uncomfortably. Fear was a useful tool.

"Do you have what I asked for?" My voice was low, controlled, revealing nothing of my thoughts.

He nodded quickly, reaching inside his jacket. I tensed slightly, hand moving closer to my concealed weapon, but he produced only a manila envelope.

"Everything's arranged as requested." He extended the envelope with a trembling hand. "The accounts are set up through the Cayman shell corporation. Untraceable, just like you wanted."

I took the envelope without looking at it yet. "We'll see."

His eyes widened slightly at the implied doubt, and he rushed to reassure me. "I followed your instructions exactly. Every detail. The routing is perfect—I did it myself."

"For your sake, I hope so." I tucked the envelope inside my coat, opposite the gun.

Donovan swallowed hard. "Is there... will there be anything else you need from me?"

"Not tonight." I held his gaze steadily until he looked away. "You'll be contacted when necessary."

"Of course." He nodded rapidly, relief washing over his features. "Anytime. I'm always available to help the family."

We both knew "the family" meant the Moretti Crime Family, not that either of us would say it aloud.

Donovan wasn't part of our organization—just another pawn we'd compromised and could manipulate when needed. His gambling debts made him vulnerable, and I’d learned to exploit vulnerability without hesitation.

"Go home, James." My tone made it clear the conversation was over. "Enjoy Halloween with your wife and daughter. Isn't she dressed as a princess this year?"

The color drained from his face at the mention of his family. The reminder that we knew about his personal life was intentional, a subtle threat to ensure his continued cooperation.

"Yes... yes, she is," he stammered. "Thank you for your... consideration."

I gave him a dismissive nod, and he backed away before turning to hurry toward the brighter, safer streets.

I watched him go, already mentally categorizing him as a potential liability.

Men like Donovan—desperate, weak-willed—could be useful, but they were also unpredictable.

If his nerve broke, we'd need to deal with him permanently.

The sedan's engine revved slightly, drawing my attention. The driver flicked his signal, telling me to move. I raised my hand slightly, instructing him to wait. First, I needed to verify the contents of the envelope.

I opened it just enough to see the account numbers and routing information.

I gave the papers a quick scan and saw nothing out of place, but I still planned to let our financial experts dig into the details.

If Donovan had made a mistake—or worse, tried to deceive us—his princess would be fatherless by morning.

Satisfied for now, I tucked the envelope back inside my coat and nodded to the driver. The sedan pulled away smoothly, disappearing around the corner. I didn’t need a ride; I’d parked my car several blocks away, deliberately apart from this meeting.

I remained in the shadows a moment longer, listening to the distant sounds of Halloween. Children's laughter, music, the occasional shout or scream of mock terror. The normal world continued its festivities, blissfully unaware of the darker business conducted in its margins.

My thoughts turned to my uncle Mateo. Tonight's transaction was small—routine business—but it was part of a larger operation he'd been planning for months.

At sixty, Mateo still ruled the Moretti Family with ruthless efficiency, but I'd noticed changes lately.

Slight errors in judgment. Hesitations where there had once been decisive action.

I straightened my coat and stepped out of the shadows, moving toward the livelier part of town.

My uncle had raised me after killing my parents, taught me everything about our business, shaped me into what he needed—the family's executioner.

The Devil, they called me. Not to my face, but I heard the whispers.

What Mateo failed to realize was that he'd taught me too well. I'd learned to recognize weakness in all its forms—including his.

The Halloween crowds grew thicker as I approached the main street. I blended in effortlessly, just another adult in dark clothing amid the costumes and decorations. No one looked twice at me. No one ever did until it was too late.

Emory

I continued down Lincoln Street with Mina's hand firmly in mine, her purple pumpkin bucket now heavy with candy.

This was the showiest part of Havenview, where people spent thousands on Halloween displays.

Mechanical zombies lurched from behind gravestones; fog machines created an eerie mist that swirled around our ankles, and holographic ghosts appeared in windows.

Mina's eyes grew wide with each new sight, her earlier fear of the teenage monsters forgotten in the spectacle.

"Mama, look at that one!" She pointed to a yard transformed into a miniature haunted graveyard, complete with animatronic skeletons that popped up from behind tombstones when trick-or-treaters approached the door.

"That's pretty impressive." I mentally calculated how many months of rent that display would cost me. The inequalities of Havenview never escaped my notice—my modest apartment on the east side versus these sprawling homes with their perfectly manicured lawns and elaborate decorations.

A skeleton suddenly rose from a coffin with a mechanical shriek, causing Mina to jump and squeeze my hand tighter.

"It's okay, sweet pea. Remember, it's all pretend." I kept a watchful eye on the display. Some of these contraptions seemed a bit much for the younger children.

A family approached from the opposite direction—mother, father, and two children dressed as superheroes. The perfect nuclear family. The woman caught my eye and smiled.

"Adorable unicorn," she said, nodding toward Mina. "Did you make the costume?"

"No, store-bought." I tried not to feel inadequate. The woman's children wore what were clearly handmade costumes, probably crafted during leisurely weekend afternoons while her husband took care of yard work.

"Well, it's lovely," she said. "Happy Halloween!"

"Happy Halloween." I watched them continue on their way, the father's arm draped casually around his wife's shoulders.

I checked my watch—7:45 PM. We'd been out for almost an hour and a half. Mina's bedtime was eight-thirty, and I still needed to get her home, out of her costume, teeth brushed, and settled down from her sugar high.

"I think we have time for about five more houses." I gauged the weight of her candy bucket. It was already half full, more than enough treats for a five-year-old.

"But Mama," Mina protested, her bottom lip jutting out slightly. "I'm not tired at all."

As if to contradict her statement, she let out a small yawn, quickly covering her mouth as though to hide the evidence.

"I know you're not." I smiled at her determination. "But unicorns need their beauty sleep, and you've got school tomorrow."