Sold to the Mafia Boss

PROLOGUE

THIRD PERSON POV

The London nightclub was already a roaring furnace by the time the clock slipped past midnight. The bass thumped hard and steady through the floor, sinking into their chests and syncing with every heartbeat in the packed room. Lights cut through the dark in frantic electric blue and hot pink, flashing across sweat-glistened skin and catching every sparkle of sequins. The air felt thick and alive with the sharp sting of vodka and drifting cigarette smoke.

Adrienne and Zoe had been out on the dance floor for what felt like forever, right in the thick of the crowd. The DJ kept dropping filthy remixes with deep, rolling basslines and synths that crashed like waves. They were both pleasantly buzzed now.

Zoe threw her head back and spun, arms high, hips snapping perfectly to the beat. Adrienne kept pace beside her, hair whipping across her face, short black dress clinging and riding up just enough to feel daring. They shouted half-remembered lyrics at each other, grinning wide.

Then the dizziness crept in fast. The lights started to blur at the edges of Adrienne’s vision. She reached out mid-spin, fingers closing around Zoe’s wrist, and pulled her gently toward the side of the floor.

“Come on,” Adrienne called over the pounding beat, voice a little breathless. “I need a second before I fall flat.”

Zoe pouted but followed, still swaying as they pushed through the bodies. “You’re quitting on me already? We’re just hitting our stride!”

“Water. Air. Brain cells. Pick one. Everything’s spinning.”

They carved their way out of the worst of the crush and stumbled back to their corner table. Miles and David had turned it into a fortress of empty glasses, crumpled napkins, and a chaotic pile of jackets.

Miles looked up and lit up instantly. “Look who’s back from the front lines! Thought you two were going to live out there.”

Adrienne dropped onto a stool and fanned her face with one hand. “Almost did. Room’s doing cartwheels. I’m officially too old for this.”

Zoe flopped down next to her with a loud groan. “Speak for yourself. I’m just getting started.”

David had already reached under the table. He slid two sealed bottles of water across without saying a word.

“Stay closer to the table next time,” he said calmly. “It’s packed now. Some guys are definitely looking for trouble.”

Zoe twisted the cap off hers and burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Grandpa David is on full alert tonight! Loosen up! Adrienne’s leaving soon. We might not get another night like this for ages.”

Adrienne took a long, greedy drink. The cold sliced through the buzz like a lifeline. She nodded hard. “She’s right. Come on, David. Nothing’s going to happen. Stop being the responsible one for five minutes.”

David shook his head, but the smile was already breaking through. “You two are going to get me banned one day.”

Before he could sit back down Zoe grabbed one wrist and Adrienne grabbed the other. “Nope. You’re dancing. Just one song. Come on.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh. “One song. That’s it.”

Zoe whooped in victory, her voice cutting through the roar of the crowd like a siren. They dragged him straight back into the flashing sea of bodies and danced while Miles kept handing them drinks like there was no tomorrow. Every few minutes he’d weave through the crowd with fresh drinks in hand—neon-coloured cocktails, cold beers, whatever the bar was pouring fast enough.

“One more round!” he shouted, grinning like a madman, and they cheered without thinking twice.

Adrienne felt alive in a way she hadn’t in months. The buzz hummed under her skin, warm and golden. The music wrapped around her like a second heartbeat. She spun with Zoe, threw her head back and laughed when David finally gave in and started moving like he actually meant it. For a while everything was perfect.

Then, somewhere in the middle of a drop, she felt it.

Eyes on her.

Not the casual glances of strangers brushing past. Not the appreciative once-overs that came with a packed dance floor. This was heavier, steadier, like someone had locked onto her and wasn’t letting go. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

She scanned the crowd without breaking rhythm. Nothing stood out.

She told herself it was nothing. The alcohol, the lights playing tricks, her own paranoia from too many late nights. She shook it off and forced a bigger grin.

This was her last night in London. By morning she’d be packed, suitcase zipped, standing at Heathrow with a one-way ticket to New York. No room for weird feelings tonight. She was here to burn bright until the very end.

Then not even an hour later, the energy had shifted hard. Miles was hanging on to the table for dear life, swaying gently like a tree in a storm, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Zoe had curled up on the bench seat beside him, head pillowed on her folded arms, sleeping like a baby despite the chaos around her. While Adrienne had pressed her thighs together, bouncing on her toes.

Seems like the drinks had finally caught up.

“I really need the bathroom,” she said, half-laughing, half-desperate.

David straightened immediately. “Wait for me. I’ll come with you.” He shrugged off his jacket in one smooth motion and draped it carefully over Zoe’s sleeping form, tucking the edges around her shoulders like a blanket.

“No, no,” Adrienne brushed past him, legs already crossed in desperation. “Just wait here, I’ll be quick.”

David opened his mouth to argue, but she was already gone, weaving fast through the thinning crowd toward the back corridor. The music followed her like a fading pulse, bass still thumping in her chest as she pushed through the first door she saw.

She nearly stumbled when she collided with what felt like a solid wall. She looked up, blinking hard through the dim light of the hallway.

It wasn’t a wall.

It was a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that hugged every line of him. His face was unfairly handsome—sharp jaw, dark hair tousled like someone had already run fingers through it, and eyes so deep they seemed to pull the light in. A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth, like he’d been waiting for someone to crash into him all night.

“Lost, are you?” His voice rolled out low and smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make her stomach flip. He tilted his head, studying her with unhurried interest.

Then the urgent pressure in her bladder screamed louder than her embarrassment. She tried to sidestep him, but he filled the narrow corridor like he owned every inch of it, and moving around him meant brushing against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, not moving an inch, though his tone stayed light, teasing.

“Look,” she blurted, shifting desperately from foot to foot, thighs pressed tight, “you’re hot as hell, but I really need to pee. Like, right now.”

He let out a low, surprised chuckle that rumbled through his chest. The sound did something unfair to her already spinning head. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course I think—” She cut herself off, cheeks burning. “Move. Please. Emergency.”

His smile widened, slow and deliberate, like he was enjoying every second of her panic. He stepped aside just enough to let her pass, one arm braced casually against the wall so she had to brush right by him. The faint scent of clean cologne and warm skin hit her as she slipped past.

Her breath hitched. She felt the ghost of his gaze slide down her back as she hurried past.

“The women’s bathroom is on the second door on the right,” he called after her, voice still rich with laughter. “Try not to get lost again.”

Adrienne didn’t answer. She bolted for the correct door, shoved it open, and finally made it to a stall just in time. Relief hit her like a wave, followed immediately by mortification. She’d just told a complete stranger—one who looked like he stepped out of a late-night fantasy—that he was hot as hell. While practically dancing in place.

She washed her hands at the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at her reflection in the smudged mirror. Hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from too many drinks and too much adrenaline. This was her last night in London. She was supposed to be making memories, not embarrassing herself in a nightclub hallway.

When she stepped back out, he was still there.

Leaning against the opposite wall now, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable. Like he’d decided to wait.

Adrienne froze for half a second. “You’re still here.”

“Couldn’t resist.” He straightened slowly, unfolding his arms. “Figured you might need an escort back. Or directions. Or…” His gaze dropped to her mouth for a deliberate second before flicking back up. “…moral support after that very honest confession.”

She laughed despite herself, the sound shaky but real. “That was not a confession. That was a medical emergency.”

“Still counts.” He took one slow step closer, giving her every chance to retreat. She didn’t. “You said it twice. Once in panic, once in hindsight. I’m keeping score.”

Adrienne tilted her chin up, trying to reclaim some dignity even as her pulse hammered at the base of her throat. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am.” He let his eyes roam her face—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips—before meeting her gaze again. The air between them thickened, charged with the kind of heat that had nothing to do with the club’s poor ventilation. “But I’m not the only one who’s enjoying it.”

Her breath caught. She should step back. She should laugh it off and walk away. Instead she held his stare, the hallway suddenly feeling much smaller.

“I leave for New York in the morning,” she said, voice softer than she intended.

His smile turned slow and dangerous. “Then we don’t have a lot of time to waste, do we?”

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. The space between them crackled anyway.

She swallowed. “One drink,” she said finally, the words coming out huskier than she meant them to. “Then I’m gone.”

The guy’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “One drink,” he agreed, voice low enough that it felt like a secret just for her. He offered his hand.

She took it.