Chapter 3 – The First No

Valerio Moretti hated waiting.

He loathed being told no.

And he sure as hell didn't appreciate the fact that ever since the evening he had the nerve to set foot in her dressing room, Sera Devlin had been taking up space inside his head like a forbidden prayer he couldn't suppress.

She was hardly the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. But she was the most *untouched*. Even when she danced half-naked in front of drunk, salivating men, there was something about her that stayed locked away, behind those big, suspicious eyes.

And he wanted to be the one to break that lock.

To *own* whatever it was she kept hidden.

He had not been able to get the image out of his head of how her breath caught as she had kicked him out.

The manner in which she looked at him—not with fear, but with fire.

Tonight, he needed more.

He walked along the blood-red hallway of the nightclub with two of his guards. As ever, the door swinging open behind him shifted the mood. Bartenders straightened aprons and spat toothpicks out. Bouncers bowed their heads in a combination of respect and reverence.

Everybody knew him now.

Everybody but her.

Sera posed at the edge of the stage, shiny black tonight, her curves wrapped close in mesh and rhinestones. Her long legs were cinched with garter straps, her heels ridiculously high. She was sin in silk.

But still she walked like she didn't fit.

Still danced like she was counting down to the second that it was all over.

Valerio was in the darkness, his jaw clenched.

There were more attractive girls. Simpler girls.

But he didn't desire *simpler*.

He desired the girl who appeared to not want to be anywhere near here.

He desired the girl who *hadn't yet bowed*.

"Bring her to me," he told the manager unsmiling.

"She doesn't do—"

"She will tonight."

The manager swallowed hard and nodded.

Valerio strolled over to the private room—the black leather armchairs, mirror-lined walls, low light that made everything seem like it was soaked in seduction. He filled a glass with scotch and sat back, legs out, top two buttons of his shirt undone.

And then she walked in.

Sandwiched between the manager, his lips compressed in a tight line.

Sera looked like she was walking into the lion's den.

Her eyes locked on Valerio, and her back stiffened.

He smiled.

She didn't.

"Thanks, Marco. Get out."

"No." Her voice sliced like a whip, razor-edged.

The manager was trapped halfway.

Valerio arched an eyebrow, sipping his scotch.

"Excuse me?"

"I explained to you once, Marco—I don't do private dances. With anyone."

Valerio put the glass down slowly, his eyes stormy behind it like a tempest waiting to unleash itself.

Deathly silence filled the room.

Marco looked like he was going to faint.

Valerio did not scream. Did not flinch. He just leaned back, his eyes burning over her like fire on skin.

"You enter my personal room, in *my* club," he said, low and smooth, "and you tell me no?"

Sera stood firm, angry and shaking simultaneously. "I don't care whose name is on the deed. I'm not for sale."

That silence stretched out again, tight and dangerous.

Then—Valerio laughed.

Low. Rough. The laughter of a predator at play with its prey.

Marco visibly let out a breath and slid out of the room.

Sera began to turn, but Valerio's voice stopped her.

"Why are you here, *little dancer*?"

She didn't answer.

He rose, slow and deliberate, his big body filling the space between them.

"You hate this work. You flinch at men touching you. You hardly move as if you want to be on that stage."

She tensed.

He edged closer.

"So tell me. Why do you do it?"

Her jaw clenched.

"Is it drugs? Debt? A man?"

She turned her face away, hiding something in the flash of her expression.

Valerio moved closer—not to touch—but to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles rubbed against her cheek.

"You play at being fire," he whispered, "but I see the ice beneath your skin. And I want to know what happens when it melts."

Her breath caught.

Heat spread between her thighs against her will.

She backed away, heart racing in her chest.

"I don't care what you want."

Valerio's smile returned—but this time, it was evil.

"You will."

She turned on her heel and marched out, the ringing of her heels echoing defiance against the floor.

---

Sera didn't pause walking until she reached the locker room, her hands shaking, her chest heaving like she'd just completed a marathon.

She slammed the door and leaned against it.

What in the world just occurred?

Valerio Moretti—the city's most dangerous man—had just asked for a private dance. She'd said no. *In front of everyone*.

And he hadn't murdered her.

Hadn't threatened to murder her.

He'd laughed.

And then touched her like he'd had every right to.

And her body.

Her body had responded like he *.*

Sera swore, yanking on her hoodie and slapping it down over her head.

She could not remain here.

If he wanted her, he'd return. Over and over. She'd handled men like him in the past. Men who would not listen to no. Men who treated it like a game.

But Valerio was not just a man. He was a storm. A shadow. An appetite with hands.

And the way he'd looked at her?

As if she was already his to devour.

---

Valerio stood alone in the special room, his heart pounding.

She'd refused.

*No one ever said no to him.*

But all he felt was *need*. Hunger that started low in his gut and raged like flame seeping into his blood.

She was the only woman who hadn't fallen at his feet.

And that left him ravished.

He didn't want her in a room for an hour.

He wanted her in his life.

His bed.

His will.

And he wasn't going to request again.