The Don's wife: A journey into becoming his.

The courtroom's high ceilings and polished wooden benches seemed to amplify the tension as Celeste stood before the judge, her tailored suit and confident demeanor commanding attention. She adjusted her notes on the podium, her eyes scanning the pages before meeting the judge's gaze.

"Your Honor, the prosecution's case relies heavily on circumstantial evidence," Celeste began, her voice clear and persuasive.

"However, as established in Smith v. Valerie, circumstantial evidence alone is insufficient to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt."

Judge Malcolm leaned forward, her expression thoughtful.

"Ms. Hart, then how do you reconcile the defendant's suspicious behavior with their claim of innocence?"

Celeste nodded, anticipating the question. "While the defendant's actions may raise suspicions, they do not necessarily imply guilt. As stated in our court's law, while the defendant's actions may raise suspicion, they do not necessarily imply guilt — which means mere presence at the scene of a crime is not enough to establish culpability."

The prosecutor, Mr. Thompson, scribbled notes on his pad, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was known for his aggressive courtroom style, but Celeste remained unfazed.

The judge's eyes narrowed, her tone skeptical. "But what about the testimony of the eyewitness?"

Celeste smiled calmly.

"The eyewitness's testimony is unreliable, Your Honor. The witness's description of the perpetrator does not match the defendant, and their account has been inconsistent."

The courtroom audience listened intently, some nodding in agreement. The case had garnered significant attention due to its implications for the community's trust in law enforcement.

As Celeste concluded her argument, she stood tall, her confidence and conviction evident in her body language.

The judge nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable.

She scribbled some notes on her pad.

"Very well. Then after hearing what you have to say, I hereby find the defendant not guilty."

The courtroom erupted into cheers and applause. Celeste smiled, shaking hands with her relieved client.

As she packed up her things, a mix of emotions swirled within her. Relief and unease wrestled for dominance. She had won the case, but the victory was bittersweet. Her father's unsolved murder still lingered, fueling her determination to seek justice.

With renewed resolve, Celeste left the courtroom, ready to face the challenges ahead.

---

10:02 p.m. – Difilin Harbor

The harbor was too quiet. Steel crates lined the dimly lit dockyard like tombstones, and five men huddled under the flickering floodlight, their voices hushed and urgent.

Every passing car made them flinch, their eyes darting toward the darkness beyond the dock's perimeter. Soaked in sweat despite the cold, fear sat heavy in their chests — not because the shipment was gone, but because of who would come asking for it.

"What the hell do we do?" one of them whispered, pacing with the phone in hand.

"Do you think we can fix this before he finds out?" another whispered.

"There's nothing to fix!" a third barked.

"Two guards are dead, and fifteen million dollars' worth of coke is just—gone!"

"We could lie," someone offered. "Say the Feds intercepted it."

A snort. "And when he finds out they didn't?"

"Jesus Christ…" The youngest among them sank into a crouch, head in his hands.

"He's going to kill us all."

The group fell silent.

No one had to ask who he was.

A car engine purred in the distance — low, smooth, deadly. A black Maserati coasted through the dock's chain-link gate without headlights, gliding like a shadow until it stopped under the light.

No screech. No warning.

A black-clad figure stepped out, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the dock's grime, and opened the back door.

He stepped aside, revealing Luca Moretti, whose piercing gaze swept the area like a searchlight. Luca's presence was imposing, his tailored suit and calm demeanor exuding an aura of calculated power.

Tall,Impeccably dressed and Calm as a saint in a church made of corpses.

Luca strode toward the men, his footsteps echoing off the steel crates. His eyes locked onto theirs.

When he stopped in front of them, his gaze lingered on each face. Then the surrounding crates. Then the bloodstain still wet on the asphalt.

No one dared meet his eyes.

"Where is my product's?" he asked finally, voice like velvet over ice.

Silence.

Then one man stepped forward.

"It—it's gone. We think the Vipers hijacked it—"

Bang.

He collapsed mid-sentence, blood pooling under his temple. The others flinched.

Luca handed the pistol back to his driver without glancing at the body.

"You," he said to the next man.

"You were in charge of security."

The man stammered. "Boss, please, I swear I—"

Bang.

Another dropped.

"Burn the crates," Luca said flatly.

"Sweep every gang in East Hollow and check the ports. When you find the product, you alert the rest — and we leave nothing standing."

Minutes later, his phone buzzed. A single message lit the screen:

> Shipment confirmed. Vipers. West Yard hideout.

Luca slid his phone away and smirked.

"Let's pay them a visit."

---

West Yard – 2:11 a.m.

The Vipers never heard the trucks until it was too late.

Men in black poured through the rusted gates with military precision. The first guard barely turned before he was gunned down. Gunfire roared through the warehouse, bullets sparking off steel and glass. Some screamed. Most never got the chance.

Luca moved through the chaos like a ghost. Calm Cold Calculated.

He stopped only when he reached the rival gang leader — crawling across the floor, bleeding, weaponless.

"Why did you steal from me?" Luca asked.

"I didn't know it was yours—" the man gasped.

"Well now you do."

Snap.

The body dropped. Luca wiped his gloves clean and nodded to his men.

"Light it."

His men doused the place with gasoline and walked away without a word. A minute later, fire swallowed the building, painting the night red and orange.

---

Hart & Associates – The Next Morning

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but Celeste's focus was elsewhere. The stench of blood still lingered in her mind, haunting her as she gazed at the file on her desk.

The latest massacre's details were laid out before her: autopsies, ballistics, scene analysis. Everything pointed to gang-on-gang violence, but Celeste's instincts screamed otherwise.

Fear crept in, her mind racing with the potential dangers of poking a hornet's nest. Yet something about the case drew her in, refusing to let her look away.

Against her better judgment, she decided to take on the case, driven by a mix of curiosity and determination.

There were inconsistencies — brands of cigarettes not linked to the Vipers, gunpowder residue that didn't match their known firearms, and unfamiliar boot prints near the exits.

She scribbled notes into the margins. Circled a name that kept reappearing: East Hollow. A redevelopment site. The Vipers were trying to muscle in, according to informants. But they weren't the only ones.

Celeste took a sip of cold coffee and picked up the phone.

"Marcus. I need you to pull property permits filed in East Hollow. Last six months. Anything connected to shell corporations or foreign investments."

"That'll take time," he replied.

"Then I'll wait."

She hung up and leaned back. The scene at the warehouse wasn't meant to scare the public.

It was meant to send a message.

But to whom?

---

Courthouse Café – Later That Day

She walked into the downtown courthouse, her bag slung over one shoulder, tension radiating off her like static. Her hearing wasn't for another hour, so she made her way to the building's café.

She ordered chamomile tea. A temporary balm for a permanent headache.

That's when she noticed him.

A man in a navy-blue suit sat alone at a corner table. Everything about him was refined — the cufflinks, the posture, the eyes that watched the room like he owned it. Celeste glanced away, but it was too late.

Their eyes met.

He stood and walked over ,Confidently.

"Celeste Hart?"

She straightened. "Yes?"

"Hi, I am Luca Moretti," he said, extending a hand. "I'm on the city redevelopment board. Your name came up in a few legal memos."

His grip was warm. Firm. Too calm for a man likely tied to bodies.

"Oh? So what brings you to the courthouse?"

"Business permits," he said. "One of our projects ran into a delay."

East Hollow, she thought.

"You're with Moretti Construction?"

"Yes. I run it."

Her pulse ticked upward. The man in front of her wasn't just powerful . He was careful. Controlled. Dangerous.

"You look tense," he observed. "Rough case?"

"Uhm yes. A massacre."

He smiled faintly. "Gang-related?"

"Maybe," she replied. But she knew it felt more... strategic.

Luca's eyes sparkled with something unreadable.

"You know — some puzzles aren't meant to be solved. They hold the pieces of things best left broken."

And just like that, he walked away, leaving behind only the scent of sandalwood — and something colder.

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

She pulled out every file connected to East Hollow. Found connections between subcontractors and shady LLCs — but nothing concrete. Still, all roads pointed to Moretti.

Her phone buzzed.

Message from Marcus:

> You were right. Two of the companies tied to East Hollow were used in a laundering scheme five years ago. No convictions. Names erased. Guess who bought them out last year?

Luca Moretti wasn't just a businessman.

He was a chess master.

And she had just unknowingly walked onto the board.

---

Next Morning – Hart & Associates

She walked into Hart & Associates, ready to dig deeper. But before she could reach her office, Jenna intercepted her.

"You have a new intake."

"Put it on the desk."

"It's urgent. He's here. And you might want to sit down."

Frustrated, she took the form — and froze at the name.

Luca Moretti.

He walked in moments later, perfectly groomed, exuding power.

"Miss Hart. Thank you for seeing me."

"You didn't give me any choice, did you?"

He just smiled.

"My company is under investigation. Environmental falsification. I need representation. I want someone fearless."

She studied him. "I'm sure you already have a legal team."

"I do. But they don't ask the right questions."

She opened the file.

Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

"So you picked me because I ask the tough questions?"

"Exactly."

Celeste's jaw clenched. Taking this case would give her access to him.

Access meant leverage.

Leverage meant truth.

She stood her mind made up, hand extended. "Fine. I'll take the case."

Luca shook it, his eyes gleaming.

She didn't smile back.

I want you close, she thought. So I can take you down from the inside.

But as she looked into his eyes, a shiver ran down her spine.

---

Then she thought:

What secrets lay hidden behind that calm facade?

And what would happen when she uncovered them?

The uncertainty was intoxicating — yet terrifying.

She knew she'd taken a risk, gambling with her life.

But justice was worth the gamble.