Darker Sides

Naomi Reid stepped through the narrow doorway of her apartment, the low hum of the city barely seeping in past the thick curtains that covered the small windows. The apartment was a modest, yet cozy sanctuary—perfectly suited for a young woman on the brink of proving herself, and located conveniently close to her office. The walls were lined with a mismatched assortment of bookshelves, stacked high with work materials and novels she'd never have the time to read. Her desk, tucked into one corner, was cluttered with papers, a laptop, and a half-empty mug of cold coffee. Despite the disarray, there was a charm to it—a lived-in warmth. The smell of the candles she often lit at night lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee from the morning.

Naomi kicked off her heels, the discomfort of the long evening finally catching up with her. She was tired. Physically drained from the fake smiles, the forced pleasantries, and the underlying anxiety of trying to maintain her cover among the New York elite. Moretti had barely spoken to her. Adrian had spoken to her, but nothing of value had come from it. The entire gala had been a bust, and she had nothing to show for it. Frustration knotted her stomach as she undressed, each movement slower than the last, her mind still caught on the memory of Adrian's piercing gray eyes, that smile that hadn't quite reached his lips.

She needed to clear her head.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and she let the hot water flood over her, the steam enveloping her like a warm cocoon. For a moment, Naomi just stood there, eyes closed, letting the heat relax the tightness in her shoulders. The memory of Adrian's presence—his imposing aura, the strange connection between them—still lingered, but she shook it off. Focus. She had a job to do.

After she stepped out of the shower, the chill of her apartment hit her again. Wrapping herself in a soft towel, she padded barefoot to the small kitchenette, her eyes falling on the bottle of wine she'd picked up on the way back. She popped the cork and poured herself a generous glass, the liquid swirling darkly as she took it to her couch. Her laptop was open on the coffee table, waiting for her attention, but she needed a moment to herself.

Sinking into the cushions, she took a long sip of the wine, letting its warmth spread through her chest. The calming effect was brief. Her mind immediately went back to the gala—Adrian's cryptic words, his gaze that seemed to see right through her. She had no solid leads. Nothing concrete. Just a swirling mass of uncertainty.

Before she could take another drink, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Naomi glanced at the screen, feeling the irritation bubbling up in her chest as the name "Chris" flashed across the display. With a groan, she grabbed it.

"Naomi," Chris' voice came through, as smooth as ever, but there was an edge of concern in it that made her skin crawl. "I've been thinking about you out there tonight. This whole thing, it's too dangerous. You don't have to do this."

Her fingers tightened around the phone, a surge of anger rising from her gut. "Are you seriously calling me right now?" she shot back, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice. "What, you think I need you to babysit me?"

"I'm just looking out for you," he continued, oblivious to her growing frustration. "This isn't just a job, Naomi. This is a mafia family you're dealing with. It's reckless. You're putting yourself in danger."

Naomi let out a short laugh, the bitterness in it too raw to hide. "You've got some nerve, Chris. After everything, you get to be the moral police now? What, because I'm not the good little girlfriend you wanted me to be? Because I'm not the one who cheated on you?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a split second, Naomi thought he might apologize. But no. He never apologized. Not once.

"Don't bring that up," he said, his tone hardening. "You're not thinking clearly. I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" Naomi spat. "By telling me what I can and can't do? By trying to convince me I can't handle myself? That's rich, coming from the guy who didn't think twice about ruining everything we had."

Chris sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that grated on her nerves. "Look, I didn't—"

"I don't care what you did," Naomi cut him off, standing up and pacing the room, wine still in hand. "I'm not some fragile little thing who needs saving, Chris. I'm not you. And I'm not about to let you—of all people—tell me what I can or can't do. Got it?"

Another heavy silence followed. Chris was no doubt stunned by her outburst, but Naomi didn't care anymore. He was a part of her past, and the past had no place in her future.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Naomi. Please, be careful."

She could hear the desperation in his voice, but it only made her more resolute. "I'm not asking for your permission. I've got a job to do. I'll finish it, and I don't need you or anyone else telling me how to do it."

Without waiting for a response, she hung up, her heart pounding in her chest, a mixture of anger and defiance coursing through her. She took another sip of wine, trying to calm herself, but the exchange with Chris had shaken her more than she cared to admit.

She wasn't going to let him control her. Not now. Not ever.

Naomi threw herself onto the couch, pulling her laptop closer. She needed to focus. She needed to find something—anything—on the Moretti family. She opened a new tab and began typing into the search bar. Moretti Enterprises... Moretti properties... The search results came flooding in. The family owned several legitimate businesses—high-end real estate, luxury hotels, exclusive nightclubs. But she wasn't interested in the pretty façades. She needed the underbelly, the things no one talked about. The hidden secrets.

Her fingers flew across the keys, clicking through pages of property records, business transactions, anything that might lead her to a crack in the Moretti empire. She stumbled across a list of their nightclubs. One of them, a place called The Black Vault, caught her attention. It was tucked away on the fringes of the city, but Naomi recognized the name. There were rumors surrounding it—whispers about illegal activities and shady dealings behind closed doors.

Naomi felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. She needed to see it for herself. Her instincts told her there was something there, something worth uncovering. But she'd need to get in, and getting in would require more than just a simple press pass. She would have to blend in, use everything she had to get close.

As her hand hovered over the mouse, she hesitated for just a moment, her mind flashing back to Chris' voice, still ringing in her ears. "Be careful."

She exhaled sharply, ignoring the pang of doubt that tugged at her. This was her story. And no one—not even Chris—was going to take it from her.

Naomi clicked on the club's address, setting her plan in motion.