Chapter 1

Juliana's POV

Today was supposed to be my engagement day.

Instead, I was forced to watch my ex-fiancé kiss another woman.

Marrying her was his ticket into New York's elite power structure. She was Isabella Landini, the only daughter of the feared Mafia Don, Dante Landini.

Months ago, Marco had abruptly broken the marriage agreement between our two families.

Now, every ambitious capo in the city was vying for an alliance with the Landinis, my ex-fiancé included.

Everyone knew the Landini family controlled the entire New York underworld. And Dante? He alone decided who lived and who died in this city.

So, Marco had made his choice.

Her, not me.

"A Scotch, neat. And a Dirty Martini for the lady."

A low, smooth voice slid past my ear.

"What has you looking so glum? The bride, or the groom?" the man asked.

"I'm just not used to these kinds of parties," I lied.

"What a coincidence," he said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "I'm here purely out of familial obligation."

The bartender pushed my drink forward. I tilted my head back and downed it in one go. The sharp burn seared my throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

Every time Marco kissed Isabella, I felt like I died all over again.

Were my dignity, my love, and our seven years together truly worth nothing?

"Thank you for the drink," I said to the stranger. I needed to get out of here. Now.

I slid off the barstool, turning so quickly that I didn't notice the waiter rushing past behind me.

A sharp crash echoed through the air.

The waiter's tray tipped, and three full glasses of deep red Cabernet Sauvignon spilled all over my chest and skirt.

The cold liquid instantly soaked through the fabric, clinging to my skin.

Scarlet wine snaked down my cream-colored gown, making it look like the aftermath of a grisly murder.

The room fell silent. Every eye in the room zeroed in on me.

I froze, mortified and utterly exposed.

Just as I was wishing the ground would swallow me whole, a warm, black suit jacket was draped over my shoulders, covering the curves that were all too visible through the wet fabric.

The next second, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me away from the suffocating center of attention.

I looked up into a pair of bottomless black eyes. They were cold and mocking, yet they pulled me in like an abyss.

My breath caught in my throat.

This man was dangerously handsome. Beneath the expensive, custom-tailored suit, his muscles were coiled and tight.

He shielded me in front of everyone, his grip possessive, as if protecting what was his.

A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, revealing a devastating dimple in his right cheek.

God, I wanted to lick that dimple.

"The color suits your complexion," his deep voice laced with amusement. "But being drenched isn't exactly appropriate for the occasion."

I stared at him, my mind momentarily blank.

"Are you always this helpful to pretty young women?" I shot back, trying to hide my panic.

He didn't answer, merely glancing down at the wine stain on my chest with a slight frown.

"The top floor," he said.

"My private suite."

"What?" The word was a strangled whisper.

"Your dress is ruined. There are clothes in my suite," he said, his eyes scanning the leering crowd. "Unless you'd prefer to give them a show."

Realizing I had no other choice, I nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

He turned to the bartender, tapping his fingers twice on the bar.

"Put it on my tab."

I let the man steer me out of the ballroom.

I found myself resting my head against his broad chest, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faintest hint of gunpowder.

The elevator went straight to the penthouse.

"Take off your dress," he commanded the moment we were inside the suite.

He loosened his tie and walked straight toward a massive walk-in closet as the cold, wet fabric made me shiver.

"What did you say?" I sputtered, crossing my arms over my chest.

"So you can change into a new one," he explained.

"Oh." I let out a breath, my cheeks burning.

I turned my back to him and peeled off the sticky dress, leaving me in nothing but black lace underwear.

He found a dress and turned, his gaze traveling from my collarbone, over my breasts, and down to my flat stomach.

The longer I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed.

I suddenly gasped, covering my mouth.

"It's you..."

"You know me?"

"I've heard of you," I clarified. A corner of his mouth tilted up as he walked slowly toward me, like a panther stalking its prey.

"And?"

"Just rumors..."

"What did you hear?"

"That you're a player. A different woman every week, and never the same one twice."

And you're the bride's father. Marco's future father-in-law.

Of course, I didn't say that last part out loud.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

He kept walking toward me, and I kept backing away until my back hit the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Nowhere left to run.

"Are there any other rumors you'd like to verify?" he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.

"All of them."

The alcohol gave me courage. If Marco could betray me, if my life was already in ruins, why couldn't I let go just once?

I tilted my head up, meeting those deep, abyssal eyes.

"Your eyes... they're dangerous. But so captivating."

"And?"

"That dimple..." I recklessly reached out and poked his cheek.

Before I could finish, his mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss was all hunger and possession.

I met his fire with my own, my legs wrapping around his lean waist.

He lifted me up, pressing me hard against the glass.

My body was pinned between the cool window and his scorching chest.

As his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, he sucked a dark mark there, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

All self-control vanished. My mind was filled with nothing but Dante. I tugged at his tie, wanting to rip it off along with his shirt.

He helped me, pulling the shirt over his head. My fingers explored the hard planes of his abs, gliding up to his broad shoulders.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked between kisses.

"Yes," I answered, my voice hoarse. "We're two consenting adults. Why not?"

His mouth claimed mine again, and just as he was about to unhook my bra, my phone began to ring insistently.

It was the specific ringtone I'd set for my mother.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

I shoved him away, gasping for air. "Stop."

He froze, the raw frustration of being interrupted raging in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to answer that."

"I have to," I said, sliding off him and scrambling for my phone. "It's my mom."

I answered to my mother's broken sobs. "Jules! Come home, please, I'm begging you, come home now!"

My mother had never sounded so panicked.

I hung up, my hands and feet turning to ice.

"I have to go."

Dante's brow furrowed, his displeasure obvious. "Are you kidding me?"

"My apologies, Don Landini. I'm sure you have a line of women waiting to climb into your bed."

I grabbed the wine-stained dress from the floor and started to pull it on.

"It's wet. Don't put that rag back on."

He sighed and snatched a large white shirt from a chair, tossing it over my head. It was his.

"Wear this. And get out."

I bolted from the hotel, his shirt saturated with his scent.

But I had no time to think about that.

The moment I walked through my front door, I found our home in chaos.

My mother was sobbing in the kitchen. "Juliana?" she wept. "The Feds took your father tonight."