The word pounds through my blood with every heartbeat.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She doesn't know who I am. Doesn't know that I've watched her from across crowded rooms, memorized the way she moves, learned her schedule through careful observation that borders on obsession.
She will.
But not tonight. Tonight, she's just a woman who wanted a stranger's hands on her body.
Too bad for her.
I'm the only man she's ever going to want again.
I walk her backward until her shoulders hit the window. The glass is cold against my knuckles where I brace myself on either side of her head. She gasps at the temperature contrast, arching into me.
Vittoria
His mouth moves against mine like he owns it. Like he's memorized every nerve ending and knows exactly how to set them on fire.
And God, he'sgoodat this.
My back presses against the cool glass of the window, his body a wall of heat pinning me there. His hand cups my jaw,tilting my head exactly where he wants it, and some distant part of my brain notes how his other hand stays planted on the glass beside my head. Not grabbing. Not groping. Just... containing.
Controlled.
Toocontrolled.
This isn't some random hookup at a club. This man held a gun to someone's head fifteen minutes ago without breaking a sweat. He knew my family name before I said it. He's got a private room in this club, which means he either owns it or runs something important enough to warrant one.
And I don't know his name.
Vittoria, you absolute disaster.
I flatten my palms against his chest and push.
He steps back immediately. No hesitation, no resistance, no wounded male ego demanding an explanation. Just... space. Like he expected it.
My lips feel swollen. The champagne-warmth in my blood wars with the cold clarity flooding my skull.
"You're hot as hell," I say, because apparently my mouth operates independently of my brain tonight. "And I... thank you. For the VIP treatment and the whole gun-to-the-head thing with that creep. But I can't do this."
The words taste like ash and relief mixed together. Like stopping yourself from jumping off a cliff you were absolutely going to enjoy falling from.
He studies me for a long moment. Those eyes track across my face like he's cataloging every micro-expression, filing it away for future reference.
Then he nods.
"Good."
I blink. "Good?"
"Good," he repeats. His voice is calm. Almost... approving? "You should go home now."
My spine stiffens. The haze clears completely, replaced by the sharp edge of suspicion that's kept me alive in a family where everyone has secrets.
"You know my family."
It's not a question.
