The city stretched beneath Dante Moretti like a chessboard, every tower and street a piece waiting to be moved by his hand. From the top floor of his private office, he leaned against the window, his sharp eyes fixed on the courthouse across the street. The crowd was still dispersing after the trial, but his thoughts weren't on them. They were on her.
Serena Vale.
The name lingered in his mind like the aftertaste of strong wine—unexpected, intriguing, and impossible to forget. He hadn't needed to ask who she was. The files he had studied the night before had already told him everything: defense lawyer, brilliant but stubborn, with a penchant for chasing justice even when it led her into dangerous waters. And now, she had done the unthinkable—sent Santorutto, a seasoned crime boss, behind bars.
Dante's lips curved into the faintest smile. She was brave. Or reckless. Sometimes, they were the same thing.
The memory of their collision in the lobby replayed in his mind with unsettling clarity. Her startled eyes, wide and unguarded for a brief second, the way her hands had trembled slightly as she gathered her scattered papers. She hadn't recognized him, not for what he truly was, and that amused him. To her, he had simply been a stranger—tall, composed, and irritatingly helpful.
But the watch she had picked up, that had been no accident. He had made sure it slipped from his wrist as he bent to assist her. A calling card, of sorts. A piece of him left behind, not to be forgotten. He wanted to see how long it would take before curiosity pushed her to search for the man behind the name engraved on its back.
A knock on the door broke his thoughts. He didn't turn. "Come in."
The door opened, and Andrés walked in with his usual confidence. Unlike Dante, Andrés wore his arrogance openly, his suit slightly undone as though rules were optional. He was both lieutenant and childhood friend—one of the few who dared speak freely to Dante.
"You watched the show?" Andrés asked, tossing a file onto the polished mahogany desk.
Dante's gaze flickered to the file but returned to the window. "I don't watch shows. I orchestrate them."
Andrés smirked, pouring himself a drink from the crystal decanter. "So it was you who pulled the strings on Santorutto's fall. I wondered why he suddenly slipped up so badly. The man's no saint, but he's not careless either."
"Everyone makes mistakes when cornered," Dante said coolly. "I just made sure the right evidence landed in the right hands."
"The lawyer girl?" Andrés asked, raising a brow. "Serena Vale. She's got fire. I saw the trial highlights on the news feed. She made Santorutto look like a fool." He chuckled before adding, "And he didn't take it well. Threatened her life, didn't he?"
Dante's jaw tightened slightly at the memory of Santorutto's rage-filled words. The bastard had screamed about killing Serena, about her family. That wasn't part of the plan—but it played into his hands perfectly.
"She won," Dante said simply, his voice calm but edged with something darker. "And in winning, she marked herself."
Andrés leaned against the desk, studying him. "You planned this. You planned her."
Dante finally turned, his stare sharp enough to slice through steel. "I don't leave anything to chance."
There was a long silence between them, filled only by the faint hum of the city below. Andrés sipped his drink, but his eyes never left Dante's. "So what's the play here? Do you intend to use her? Protect her? Or something else entirely?"
Dante didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked to his desk, picked up the fallen file, and flipped it open. Serena's face stared back at him from a clipped newspaper photo, her smile captured mid-triumph after winning a smaller case earlier that year. It wasn't her beauty alone that caught his attention—though she was striking—it was the steel in her eyes. She believed in justice, in law, in fighting for the voiceless. A noble cause, but a dangerous one in his world.
"She doesn't belong in this game," Dante said finally, closing the file. "But she stepped into it the moment she put Santorutto in prison."
"And you?" Andrés pressed. "Where do you fit in her story?"
Dante's smirk returned, sharper this time. "I decide what stories are told. She just doesn't know she's part of mine yet."
Andrés shook his head with a low laugh. "You sound like a man setting a trap."
Dante moved back to the window, watching as the last of the crowd vanished from the courthouse steps. His reflection stared back at him, cold and calculating, but beneath it, a flicker of something uncharacteristic lingered. Intrigue. Curiosity. Perhaps even the faintest spark of… possibility.
"She picked up my watch," Dante murmured, almost to himself.
Andrés frowned. "And?"
"And now," Dante said, his voice like silk over steel, "she carries a piece of me with her. That's how it begins."
Andrés studied him for a long moment, then let out a slow whistle. "God help her."
Dante's gaze hardened, his smile fading into something colder, more dangerous. "God won't help her. I will. And only if she learns to play by my rules."
The room fell silent again, but this time it was heavy, charged. Outside, the city lights flickered to life as dusk crept in. To the world below, Dante Moretti was a ghost in the glass tower. To Serena Vale, he was still a stranger.
But in Dante's mind, the board was already set. The lawyer and the king, bound by fate, secrets, and a watch that ticked like destiny.
And for the first time in years, Dante Moretti felt the thrill of a game worth playing.