The moment Lana stepped out of the SUV, the scent of salt and gasoline burned in her nostrils. The dockyard was alive with movement—men unloading crates, trucks rumbling over uneven pavement, and the low murmur of business conducted in the shadows.
Dean kept his grip on her hand a second longer than necessary before releasing her.
She refused to shiver. Refused to let him see the way his presence rattled her.
“Stay close,” he murmured, leading her forward.
Lana wasn’t naive. This wasn’t just a lesson in power—it was a warning.
A reminder of what he controlled.
Who he controlled.
Dean Menapoulis didn’t just own wealth. He owned loyalty. Fear. People.
And if she wasn’t careful, he would try to own her too.
But she wouldn’t let that happen.
Not ever.
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