Chapter One
Vivian
The suite smelled of rain, aged amber cognac, and the suffocating, terrifying heat radiating from the man pinning me against the floor to ceiling glass.
Outside, the Miami skyline bled neon pink and electric blue against the dark Atlantic storm. Inside, the only illumination came from intermittent lightning flashes reflecting off the sharp angles of his jawline, the dark stubble shadowing his face, and the lethal amber of his eyes.
My breath hitched violently as his large, heavily calloused hand slid up my outer thigh, hitching the heavy emerald silk of my evening gown over my hips with a single, ruthless tug. The fabric tore slightly at the seam, the sound lost beneath a rumble of thunder. His grip was firm, almost bruising, leaving a trail of pure fire everywhere his long fingers grazed my sensitive skin.
"You're playing a dangerous game, little flame," he growled. His voice wasn't just low; it was a rough, gravelly rumble that vibrated directly against the sensitive crook of my neck. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear before he nipped lightly at my pulse point, sending a violent, liquid shiver straight down my spine to my core. "Walking into my private lounge wearing a Venetian lace mask, looking at me like you want to burn the whole damn city to the ground."
"Maybe I do," I breathed, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound composed.
My hands, acting on a desperate instinct I hadn't known I possessed, rose to wind through his thick, dark hair. I pulled him down toward me. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, heavy with an aching, suffocating need I had suppressed my entire sheltered existence.
For twenty-two years, I had been Vivian Rossi, the hidden, untouched daughter of Don Donato Rossi. I was the heiress kept locked away in a gilded European boarding school, isolated from the blood, the guns, and the syndicate politics that defined my family name. My life was planned, measured, and restricted. But tonight was my final stand. Tomorrow, I was scheduled to board a private jet back to New York to officially step into the shadow of the Rossi empire. Tonight, behind a Venetian lace mask in a high end Miami club, I wasn't an heiress. I wasn't a bargaining chip for a future political marriage.
I was anonymous. I was wild. I was completely, gloriously free.
"Are you going to talk all night," I whispered against his lower lip, tasting the faint trace of expensive scotch on his breath, "or are you going to give me what I asked for?"
A dark, dangerous smirk touched his mouth. The amber in his eyes darkened into something feral. "Careful what you demand, sweetheart. You might just get it."
In one swift, terrifyingly effortless motion, his hands locked beneath my thighs and lifted me straight off my feet. I gasped, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist to keep from falling. My back left the cold glass and pressed into the warmth of his massive chest. His mouth claimed mine in a bruising, possessive kiss that wiped every coherent thought from my brain. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a conquest. His tongue pushed past my lips, tasting me, commanding me, demanding complete surrender.
He carried me across the dimly lit suite toward the massive king sized bed. He didn't lay me down softly; he threw me onto the dark silk sheets, hovering over me like an apex predator asserting total dominance over its prey.
