Chapter One: Adrian's POV The first time Dante Moretti touched me, I promised myself I would kill him. The second time, I promised myself I would never let him touch me again. Unfortunately, three months later, I would be the one begging him not to walk away. But that was before I discovered what kind of monster he really was—and before I learned that monsters could have beautiful eyes. Rain hammered against the windshield of my old Honda as I stared at the enormous mansion before me. Black gates, armed guards, security cameras, and expensive cars lined a driveway that probably cost more than my entire apartment building. I looked down at the photograph in my hand. Dante Moretti. Thirty-two years old. Billionaire businessman, according to the internet; head of the Moretti crime family, according to everyone who valued their life. And the last person who had spoken to my father before he disappeared. My phone vibrated. An unknown number had sent me a message: You have ten minutes to retrieve the file. After that, leave. I stared at the screen before looking back at the mansion. "Brilliant, Adrian," I muttered. "Breaking into a mafia boss's house. Absolutely brilliant." But my father had been missing for eleven days, and the police had stopped returning my calls. I had nothing left to lose—or so I thought. I slipped through a side entrance and entered a dimly lit corridor. The house was breathtaking, with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and paintings that probably belonged in museums. The faint scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne lingered in the air. I hated every inch of it. Rich men like Dante Moretti could buy anything they wanted: houses, cars, loyalty. Apparently, they could even make people disappear. I found the study at the end of the corridor, where a black folder sat on the desk with my father's name written across the front. I grabbed it. "Looking for something, sweetheart?" I froze. The deep, smooth voice came from behind me. Turning slowly, I found Dante Moretti standing in the doorway. He wore a black shirt beneath a charcoal suit, the collar open at his throat. His dark hair was neatly styled, and a silver watch rested against his wrist. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly handsome, but his eyes were cold enough to ruin the effect. His gaze moved from my face to the folder in my hand before he smiled. "Well," he said, "this is interesting." "I'm looking for the bathroom," I replied, tightening my grip on the folder. His gaze swept over me. "Inside my locked private study?" "I have a very complicated digestive system." For a moment, he simply stared at me before laughing quietly. I immediately decided I hated that laugh. "What's your name?" he asked. "None of your business." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You're standing in my house, holding a confidential file, after trespassing through a restricted entrance. I would say your name is very much my business." I lifted my chin. "Then call the police." His smile disappeared. "Interesting suggestion." He reached into his jacket, and I panicked. "Wait! I didn't mean it!" He paused. "Didn't mean what?" "Anything. I meant absolutely nothing. I was never here." He slowly withdrew his hand, revealing a glass of water instead of a gun. I stared at it, then at him. He took a sip. "Finished?" I wanted the floor to swallow me. "Yes." He set the glass down. "Good. Now tell me your name." I hesitated before answering. "Adrian Hayes." Something changed in his expression. The amusement disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a cold intensity. "Hayes?" he repeated. "My father is Thomas Hayes. If that's why you're suddenly looking at me like that, congratulations. You've identified a surname." Dante placed his glass on the desk. "Where is your father?" I laughed bitterly. "That's an interesting question coming from the man whose house I'm breaking into because nobody seems to know where he is." He moved closer, studying my face as though he could see every lie I'd ever told. "Your father stole something from me." I scoffed. "Then sue him." "This isn't a civil disagreement." "Then perhaps you should develop a healthier hobby." His jaw tightened, but I couldn't stop myself from pushing my luck. "Do you always talk this much when you're frightened?" he asked. "I'm not frightened." He glanced at my trembling fingers. "Of course not." I shoved the folder against his chest. "Take your stupid file." He caught it without looking away from me. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then his hand closed around my wrist. My breath caught, and I hated myself for noticing how warm his fingers were. "Listen carefully, Adrian. Your father has enemies. Dangerous ones. And because you share his name, they may already know who you are." I pulled against his hand. "Let go." He released me immediately. The unexpected obedience unsettled me more than his grip had. I rubbed my wrist. " WHAT!!!!!!!!!