Chapter 2 The Italian Don

The man woke up alone in the hotel bed and immediately searched for the girl, only to find that she was gone. But her smell, her touch, and her feel were still lingering on his body. His brows furrowed as he sat up, shoving the covers aside. His sharp gaze landed on the bed beside him, where a stark crimson stain marred the pristine white sheets—evidence of her innocence. Something strange stirred in him. But then, his eyes shifted to a small stack of bills resting on the pillow. Frowning, he picked up the money, his fingers tightening around it. Four hundred dollars. She left this? For him? Disbelief flickered across his face before it was replaced with cold confusion. A sudden knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He got up, grabbed a robe, and shrugged it on before striding across the room and pulling the door open. Luca Bianchi, his assistant, stood on the other side. “Morning, Mr. Lombardi,” he greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The man Leah had mistaken for a male model was, in reality, the infamous Italian Don—Stefano Lombardi, known as "Mr. Devil" in the underworld. Mr. Devil was a figure whose real face no one had ever seen. He always wore a devil mask, perfectly matching his ruthless and heartless reputation. By day, he was an Italian mogul, feared and respected in both legal and illegal circles. He was in the city to finalize a high-stakes business deal. Stefano didn't return his greeting but exhaled sharply. His frustration was evident. “Did you find out who dared to drug me last night?” His voice was deep, laced with irritation. His gaze grew colder, his expression turning even more dangerous and intimidating. He had been at a private business gathering when he first felt the effects of the drug. Before anyone could take advantage of him, he had managed to call his assistant and instruct him to take him back to the hotel, which he owned. “Yes, Stefano,” Luca replied. He wasn’t just an assistant—he was Stefano’s childhood friend, the one person he trusted more than anyone else. The only one who knew the full, dark truth of his life. “It was Harry Beaumont,” Luca continued. “He wanted to set you up with his daughter.” “Bloody motherfucker!” Stefano’s expression turned ice-cold, his jaw tightening with dark resolve. “Make sure he pays for this. I want his bloody company bankrupt by the end of the day—and then, make that bastard disappear without a trace,” he ordered mercilessly. Luca nodded, knowing that whether it was Stefano Lombardi or the infamous Mr. Devil, the man behind both titles was merciless and ruthless, with the coldest heart and no emotions. Anyone with sense should have thought a thousand times before daring to upset him. Now no one could save Harry Beaumont, not even God himself. “Consider it done,” Luca said without hesitation. Stefano walked back to the center of the room, his fingers still gripping the stack of bills. “By the way, who was the girl you sent to my room last night?” Luca frowned. “The girl I arranged said the door was never opened, so she returned the money.” Stefano’s jaw tightened as he processed the information. “Is that so?” he muttered, more to himself than to Luca. Then who the hell was she? His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Luca’s gaze fixed on the bed. The red stain stood out starkly against the white sheets. Stefano cleared his throat intimidatingly, his expression darkening as his sharp cold gaze bore into his assistant. Luca looked away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward smile. “Looks like you had a… uh, great night.” Stefano ignored the comment. “Find out who that girl was.” Luca raised a brow in confusion. “Why do you need her information?” Luca knew Stefano never cared for his one night stands. He never thought a woman was worth his time. Stefano’s jaw tightened as his gaze dropped to the four hundred dollars still clenched in his fist. “Because, for the first time in my life, I got paid for sex,” he said in an icy tone. Luca blinked, looking even more confused. Then he noticed the small stack of bills in Stefano’s hand and swallowed hard at the terrifying expression darkening the Italian Don’s face. Luca knew, without a doubt, that the girl was going to pay for her absurd mistake—likely with her life. “By the way,” Luca said, shaking his head slightly. “Do you want me to arrange for your return if you don’t have any more business here?” “No,” Stefano replied, his voice low and decisive. “There’s still one business left unfinished.” Just then, his phone rang. It was a call on his special number—a number not just anyone could know about, only his mafia members had access to it. Stefano answered the call without hesitation. “Speak.” “Boss, we have the details on the target. The payment’s been made. Do we move forward, or do you want to go over the details first?” his right-hand man, Romeo, asked. Stefano didn’t need to think twice. This was routine business—small matters like these were always handled by his trusted men. “Go ahead with it.” But just as he was about to end the call, something made him pause. “What’s the name?” he asked, his tone indifferent. “Leah Sinclair,” came the reply.