Dante stepped inside. “The security team has been briefed. And—” He hesitated, and Luca knew that he wasn’t going to like what he said next. “There’s something else.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “Just spit it out,” he grumbled, his mood growing worse by the second.
“The Romano girl, she insisted on one condition before she agreed to marry you,” Dante said. Luca groaned out loud. The last thing he needed was for his bride-to-be to demand things that he wasn’t willing to give her.
“She doesn’t get conditions,” Luca growled.
“She says she’ll agree to the marriage,” Dante continued carefully, “but only if she keeps her own last name—Romano.” Silence stretched between them. Then Luca laughed—low, dangerous, and devoid of humor.
“She’s bold,” he said.
“Or stupid,” Dante countered. Luca turned toward the window overlooking the city. New York glittered below him, akingdom he ruled with blood and fear. Every inch of it had been earned.
“She’ll learn,” he said quietly. “When she becomes my wife, there will be no Romano. There will only be Camorra.” Because once she crossed his threshold, Isabella Romano would belong to him—whether she liked it or not. And God help anyone who tried to take what was his.
The war would end as soon as Isabella put on a white dress and said her vows. And Luca Camorra would decide whether his bride lived as a queen or died as a traitor. But first, he was going to pay a little visit to her father, to make sure that he upheld his end of the deal. This time, he’d leave no room for doubt about who was in charge.
New York City never slept, but Luca preferred it that way—because neither did he. Darkness stripped people down to what they really were—liars, sinners, and even survivors. And tonight, the streets of New York pulsed with all three.
Luca stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, and the other wrapped loosely around a glass of amber liquid he hadn’t touched. Below him, the skyline glittered like diamonds dipped in blood—beautiful, dangerous, and entirely his. Or at least, it soon would be.
“Shipment came in clean,” Marco said from behind him. Luca didn’t turn around or even acknowledge him. Marco had been with him long enough to know that silence didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. It meant he was thinking—and that was always more dangerous.
“Port authority didn’t ask questions. They were paid off before they even saw the manifests,” Marco continued. Luca gave a small nod to let him know that he was good with everything.
“And the Russians?” Marco asked. The mention of the Russians made Luca’s jaw tighten just slightly. “They’ve been quiet—too quiet.” Luca turned, slowly. The movement alone was enough to shift the air in the room, tension tightening like a wire pulled too thin. Luca’s gaze locked onto Marco, dark and sharp, cutting straight through him.
“Quiet men are planning something,” Luca said evenly. “Or they’re waiting for the right opportunity to strike.”
Marco shrugged, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it. “You think they’ll move against us?” he asked.
Luca took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn settle low in his chest. “They’ll try to. We just need to make sure that they fail.” It wasn’t paranoia that Luca felt—it was experience. In their world, alliances weren’t real. Loyalty was temporary. And peace? Well, peace was just the silence before the next war.
Luca set the glass down with a soft clink and moved toward his desk, every step deliberate and controlled. Some people called him deadly, and they were right. He was always in control, and that made him not only dangerous to go up against but deadly if anyone tried to take him down.
“Double the guards on the west side warehouses,” he ordered. “And I want eyes on every port entry that we have. If they breathe wrong, I want to know about it,” Luca ordered.
Marco nodded immediately. “Done, boss.” There was a pause, and that was never good. “There’s something else.” Of course, there was. Luca’s fingers stilled against the edge of his desk. He didn’t like Marco’s tone or the look on his face.
“Just say it,” Luca growled. Marco hesitated just long enough to confirm Luca’s suspicion—this wasn’t about business. This was personal.
“There was a girl at the club tonight,” Marco said carefully. Luca’s expression didn’t change. But something in his chest tightened.
“A girl,” Luca repeated.
“Yeah, and she asked about you,” Marco said. That was enough to earn Marco Luca’s full attention.
“People ask about me all the time,” Luca said flatly. “Most of them regret it.”
“This one didn’t seem afraid,” Marco insisted.
Now that was interesting. Luca leaned back slightly against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what does a fearless girl want with me?”
Marco hesitated again. “She didn’t say. Just watched other people at the club, asked a bunch of questions, but not the usual kind.”
Luca’s mind was already racing, dissecting the information piece by piece. She wasn’t afraid to throw his name around, was watching other people at the club, and asking questions. Either she was stupid, or she was dangerous.
“What did she look like?” Luca asked.
