Trapped in the Mafian's Web

Chapter One: Into the Shadows

Aurora's pov

New York City was a city of contrasts. By day, it sparkled with promises of opportunity and ambition. By night, its streets hummed with secrets, whispered deals, and unspoken truths that most would rather ignore. For me, the night was where the stories lived—hidden beneath the veneer of civility, waiting to be exposed.

I adjusted the strap of my camera bag and glanced at the dimly lit bar ahead. "La Fortuna" wasn't just any dive in Little Italy. It was notorious for two things: its perfectly aged bourbon and the criminals who frequented it. The latter was what brought me here.

Taking a steadying breath, I pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into a haze of smoke and low murmurs. The warm scent of tobacco mingled with the sharper smell of whiskey. My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, scanning the crowd for the man who had become an obsession—not just mine, but the entire city's.

Julian DeMarco.

The name alone could make grown men falter. He was more myth than man—a shadowy figure who controlled half the city's underground operations. Drugs, gambling, extortion—you name it, and DeMarco's name was whispered in the same breath. But no one could prove it. That's where I came in.

I worked for The New York Sentinel, a paper known for its investigative deep dives. My editor, Marlene, had half-jokingly called this assignment my "make-or-break moment." Either I'd get the scoop of the decade, or I'd disappear into Julian's world, never to be seen again.

"Let's not make this the latter," I muttered under my breath.

I spotted him almost immediately, sitting in a corner booth, his back to the wall like the predator he was. His tailored black suit blended into the shadows, but there was no mistaking him. He was every bit as magnetic as the whispers suggested—jet-black hair swept back, sharp jawline, piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Even in the dim light, he radiated a commanding presence.

Julian DeMarco was dangerous, and I had no business being here.

But I wasn't leaving.

I slid onto a barstool, pretending to adjust my phone as I covertly snapped a picture of him. My heart pounded as I sent it to my encrypted folder. Proof, I reminded myself. Every piece of evidence mattered.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

The voice startled me, and I looked up to see a man leaning against the bar, a sly grin on his face. He had the greasy charm of someone who thought they were much better-looking than they were.

"Just grabbing a drink," I replied smoothly, lifting my glass of soda as if it were whiskey. "Is that a problem?"

He laughed. "Not at all. But girls like you don't usually last long around here. Friendly advice—don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

I stiffened, my grip tightening on the glass. "Thanks for the tip," I said, keeping my tone light. "I'll keep that in mind."

The man shrugged, gave me a lingering look, and wandered off. I exhaled slowly, my gaze darting back to Julian's booth.

To my surprise, he was watching me.

For a split second, our eyes locked, and I felt a jolt of something I couldn't quite place—fear, maybe. Or fascination. His lips curved into the faintest smile, and he inclined his head as if acknowledging my presence.

My stomach flipped. Had he noticed me taking the picture? Did he know who I was?

I tore my gaze away and reached for my phone, pretending to check a text. But the urge to glance back at him was overwhelming. When I did, he was still watching me.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just made a very, very dangerous mistake.

The cab ride back to my apartment was a blur. My mind replayed every moment, analyzing Julian's expression, the way his gaze had lingered on me. Had I been too obvious? Too careless?

By the time I reached my building, my nerves were frayed. I fumbled with my keys, cursing under my breath as they slipped from my fingers.

"Need help?"

The voice sent a chill down my spine. I spun around, my heart pounding.

Julian DeMarco stood in the shadows, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets.

"Mr. DeMarco," I stammered, trying to mask my shock. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped closer, the dim streetlight illuminating his features. Up close, he was even more imposing. His eyes seemed to pierce right through me as if he could read every thought racing through my mind.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice low and measured. "You've been following me."

My breath caught. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His smile was cold, calculated. "You're not a very good liar, Ms. Thompson."

My stomach dropped. Of course, he knew my name. I shouldn't have been surprised.

"I'm a journalist," I said, summoning as much confidence as I could. "It's my job to ask questions."

Julian tilted his head, studying me. "And what questions are you hoping to answer, Ms. Thompson?"

I hesitated. "The truth," I said finally.

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "The truth," he repeated. "That's a dangerous thing to chase in my world."

"Maybe I'm not afraid of danger."

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Maybe you should be."

We stood in tense silence, the city's noise a distant hum around us. Then he stepped back, his expression unreadable.

"Goodnight, Ms. Thompson," he said. "Stay safe."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing there, my heart racing and my mind spinning.

I didn't know what game Julian DeMarco was playing, but one thing was clear: I was already in too deep.

This gig or story was going to take everything away from me....I hope I don't fall victim to his world…..