Chapter 2

Livia Solene

After dropping my heavy luggage at the hotel downtown, I wandered the pulsing streets of San Diego, letting the cool coastal air hit my flushed face. My feet led me blindly, stopping right in front of a sleek, high-end building pulsing with a low, predatory bass. 

The Inferno.

There are a lot of bars along the street, but this one really caught my attention. A lot of people are also coming in.

I hadn’t planned this. I just wanted a drink to kill the static in my head. But the glowing red neon sign above the heavy oak doors felt less like a marker and more like a neon invitation, a siren call pulling me in out of the dark.

So I walked inside.

I told myself I’d just have a drink or two, clear my lungs of Manhattan smog and Vincent’s lies, and leave.

“Hola hermosa!” a cute Mexican bartender greeted me with a smooth grin the second I slid onto a velvet stool at the counter.

I offered a tight, polite smile and scanned the room. The club was packed, but it had high-end breathing room and not a sweaty, claustrophobic mess. A central dance floor throbbed under dizzying, bleeding-crimson lights, surrounded by private VIP booths. Upstairs, a second and third tier of shadowy balconies overlooked the chaos.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, leaning his forearms against the polished marble counter.

“I don’t know. What do you suggest—”

“Give the lady a margarita.”

A low, gravelly voice cut across the space. I turned my head, and my breath caught painfully in my throat. Sitting right beside me on the adjacent stool was a man who looked carved out of pure temptation. 

A tight buzz cut framing a clean-shaven, razor-sharp jaw, a straight nose, sun-kissed tan skin, and light, predatory brown eyes that locked onto mine like a crosshair. Even sitting down, I could calculate the sheer, imposing height of him with broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark shirt, thick, corded biceps, and a faint, curling wisp of cigarette smoke lingering around him like a bad habit.

“Enjoying the night?” he asked, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

That’s when I noticed the small, shining silver piercing biting into his lower lip. His entire frame was a canvas of dark, intricate tattoos. He radiated raw, untamed heat.

“It hasn’t started yet,” I shot back, a sudden spike of recklessness overriding my exhaustion.

The bartender slid a glass across the counter toward me and another drink right beside it for the stranger.

“You’re a regular here?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at his drink.

“This place is mine.”

“Oh…” I swallowed hard, blinking.

I took a slow sip of the sharp, salted margarita, letting the alcohol burn a path down my throat. The sheer magnetism radiating off this man was getting under my skin. I wasn't here to play games, and God knew I didn't need another man-shaped problem tearing my sanity apart. I just wanted to numb the ache.

“Marriage problem?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, slicing straight through my thoughts.

My head snapped toward him, my eyebrows knitting together in sharp surprise. He didn't blink. He just stared straight into my green eyes with an unsettling, terrifying intensity, like he was peeling open my skull and reading every messy, humiliating secret I tried to hide.

“How did you know?”

Without warning, his hand shot out and spun my barstool around, angling my body directly toward his. Before I could protest, he hooked his leg out, placing his thick, muscular thighs right on either side of mine, trapping me in his space. I let him manhandle me. Let him take total control of my body in a way Vincent never had in four years of marriage.

His dark gaze dropped to my left hand resting limply on my lap. I followed his line of sight, my stomach dropping when I saw the heavy, glittering diamond engagement ring and the pristine gold wedding band mocking me under the dim club lights.

“A ring on your finger and you're drinking alone like the world is ending,” he answered smoothly, his gaze burning back up to my face. “Obviously a marriage problem.”

Why did it feel like this stranger knew the layout of my soul better than I did? I flicked my eyes down to his hands. Heavy with ink stretching past his cuffs, entirely bare of any metal band.

He wasn't married, yet he spoke with the dangerous, all-knowing weight of a man who owned the room.

“He cheated?” he pressed.

I stayed dead silent. A hot spike of defensiveness flared in my chest. He was getting way too close, crossing lines into territory I kept locked behind iron gates.

With a sharp snap, I twisted my stool away from him, breaking his grip. He let me go too easily, watching with amusement as I faced the bar counter again and took another harsh swallow of my drink.

“So he did in fact cheat on you,” he concluded, his voice a low, teasing hum against my ear. “What the f*ck is wrong with your husband? Cheating on a beautiful woman like you?”

I couldn’t help the dry, bitter laugh that bubbled up my throat. I rested my elbow on the counter, propping my chin in the palm of my hand, and turned back to look at him. He looked dangerously carefree, entirely unbothered by the chaos around us.

“Well, being beautiful will not get you a good husband—”

“He’s an asshole. Wasting the treasure sitting right in front of him.”

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting salt and lime. This man wasn't just flirting with me because he was basically circling me like a predator sizing up a fresh kill. My eyes drifted back down to my wedding ring resting against the glass.

I wanted to burn it all down. I was so sick of being the dutiful, betrayed wife. But if I crossed that line, would it even be worth it? Or would I just become just as toxic, just as broken as Vincent?

“Dante Cortez,” he broke through my spinning thoughts, his deep, rumbling voice anchoring me right back to the present.

His large, calloused hand rested palm-up right in front of me on the counter, waiting. Daring me to touch it.

“Livia Solene,” I whispered.

I slid my hand into his. But instead of giving me a stiff, polite shake, Dante closed his rough, calloused fingers around mine, pulled the back of my hand slowly toward his face, and pressed his hot lips directly against my sensitive skin. A jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm, making my breath hitch.

“How long are you going to stay here?” he asked, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr under hooded, heavy-lidded eyes.

“You know that I’m not from here—“

“I know everyone in my city, mi reina.”

I didn't even know what the Spanish term meant, but the way it rolled off his dark, sinful tongue sent an instant shiver rippling down my spine. It sounded heavy, possessive, and entirely intoxicating.

“I’ll stay for three more days,” I murmured, my defenses crumbling grain by grain.

“Spend it with me,” he uttered quickly, without a second of hesitation, his eyes locking onto mine like iron chains.

I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, trying to anchor myself to reality. “You are well aware that I am a married woman—“

“Yes,” he breathed, his thumb slowly tracing the heavy diamond band mocking me on my finger. “And I am also well aware that your husband cheated on you.”