The penthouse lounge was bathed in the soft amber light of a single lamp, the Chicago skyline a dark canvas beyond the windows. Sayrn Sauns sat on the leather couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a glass of bourbon in hand—Daniel’s choice, smooth and warming. It was the night after the dinner at La Notte with Mia, where her friend’s pointed questions had peeled back a layer of Daniel’s guarded exterior. Now, alone with him, the air felt thicker, more intimate, the memory of their shower encounter still a quiet hum between them.
Daniel Isiah, thirty-five and the unchallenged king of Chicago’s underworld, leaned against the bar, his blue eyes fixed on Sayrn with that familiar intensity. Four years ago, he’d been a nobody—a street enforcer scraping by in the city’s shadows. Now, his empire sp
