The Devil I Hate (Devil's Knights 1)

After Luca graduated from Harvard University, he moved to New York full-time to learn his father's business. Luca owned a gorgeous penthouse apartment in Tribeca, where he spent most of his time outside the office. He only came back to Devil’s Creek when I was in town visiting my grandfather.

Hours of traffic later, I inched through a green light on the Upper East Side. Luca’s office was a few blocks away. Horns blared, and people yelled out their windows. The scents and sounds of the city floated through the air, creating palpable energy. Despite its major influence in the art world, the hustle and bustle of New York City left much for me to desire. I was a Midwestern girl at heart. Even after years of living on the East Coast, I still missed the comforts of Haven.

I pulled into a parking garage beneath a monstrous glass and steel building that said Salvatore Global at the top. The structure loomed over the city like an imposing statue—like the man who ruled my life. The Salvatores owned all fifty floors for their legitimate businesses, and they had tons of them. My grandfather had once told me they hid their crimes behind shell companies and legal entities, but they made their money from trading intel and secrets.

By the time I reached the main lobby, my body had trembled, exhausted from the long drive. My blood sugar had tanked from not eating for over twenty-four hours, and I was getting the shakes.

I dashed across the lobby, pushing my way through the crowd, and got into the first elevator. Packed with at least a dozen people, I clung to the right side, fighting my claustrophobia. I hit the button for the fiftieth floor—the executive floor, and the man beside me shot me a curious glance. You needed a keycard to access Luca’s office.

He’d made the mistake of giving me one last year. Back then, I thought we were getting somewhere in our relationship. I wanted to believe the Devil was ready to let me into his cold heart.

The last person got off on the fortieth floor. And when the doors closed, a female voice prompted me to insert the keycard into a slot on the wall. I jammed the card into the slot, Alexandrea Wellington flashed on the screen, and then the elevator shot upward.

When the doors opened, I stepped into an elaborate but plain lobby with cream walls, oak accents, and a large reception desk. A thin blonde with flawless hair and makeup sat behind it. She appraised my spandex shorts and ripped tank top with a disapproving look as I walked toward her.

“Hi, I’m Alex Wellington. I’m here to see Luca.”

“Mr. Salvatore is not seeing anyone today.” She gave me a fake but polite smile. “He’s in all-day meetings.”

“Can you tell him Alex is here to see him?”

She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Salvatore is unavailable.”

Ignoring her, I headed toward the tinted glass doors at the end of the long hallway. A black and gold nameplate on the wall read Luca Salvatore, Chief Operating Officer. My Devil handled the daily operations of the company. At least that was what he did legally.

“Excuse me,” the woman called after me. “You can’t go in there.” Her heels clicked on the tiled floor behind me. “Stop it, or I’ll call security.”

I flung open the door and glanced over my shoulder at her. “Go right ahead. I’m not leaving until I talk to Luca.”

I stepped into his office, which was an impressive size. An entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan. A large oak desk sat at the center of the windows, a conference table on my right, where I found Luca with nine other men dressed in suits. No matter where the king held court, he always had the best view as he lorded over his subjects.

“Mr. Salvatore,” his secretary said as she followed me into his office. “I’m sorry. She wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t stop her.”

He raised his hand, his expression hard as stone. “It’s fine, Brittany. Leave us.”

With a sheepish look, she closed the door.

“Drea,” Luca intoned with a cruel smirk and the same deep, even tone as his father. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

A group of men gathered around Luca at the conference table. Some were members of the board at Salvatore Global, the others investors I’d recognized from parties at the Salvatore Estate.

Luca shot up from his chair at the head of the table, and I rushed toward him.

“You’re such a bastard.” I shoved my palm into his suit-clad chest. “I know you had someone destroy my paintings.”

When our eyes met, electricity skated along my skin. He glared at me as if I were less significant than dirt under his shoe.

I wanted to punch him.

He gripped my chin and stroked my cheek with his fingers. “I did no such thing.”