The club's opulence was overwhelming-red velvet walls, golden chandeliers that dripped luxury, and the intoxicating scent of cigars and whiskey swirling in the air. Men in sharp suits lounged in the dim lighting, their conversations filled with sharp laughter and veiled threats. These weren't ordinary men. They were criminals, made men, kings of an empire built on blood.
And at the heart of it sat Dante Moretti.
He was exactly as the rumors described-tall, powerful, devastatingly dangerous. Dressed in a tailored black suit that molded to his frame like a second skin, he exuded control. The world bent to his will with a mere glance, and Elena felt that invisible pull the moment his dark eyes settled on her.
He didn't move, didn't speak right away. He merely leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled in front of him, watching her. Calculating. Waiting.
"Elena Romano," he finally murmured, his voice smooth like expensive whiskey but carrying an undercurrent of steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Pleasure. The word tasted bitter in her mouth.
"I need your help." The words felt heavy on her tongue. She hated asking for anything-especially from a man like him.
Dante's lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Help always comes with a price, tesoro."
Her pulse spiked at the term-darling. She knew better than to let it affect her. It was a game to him. Everything was.
"I wouldn't be here if I had a choice."
Dante gestured to the seat across from him. "Then sit," he said, voice still lazy but with an undeniable command.
Elena hesitated for only a moment before lowering herself into the plush chair. The leather was cool against her skin, but it did nothing to soothe the fire coursing through her veins.
Dante tapped a finger against his glass, watching her in silence before speaking again. "You're the daughter of Alessandro Romano. Your father and I... have history."
Elena stiffened. Everyone knew of the war between the Morettis and the Romanos-a war that had left bodies in its wake, a war that should have made this meeting impossible.
But she wasn't here for the past. She was here to survive the future.
"My father is dead," she said, keeping her voice steady. "And I have enemies."
Dante swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. "Everyone has enemies."
Elena's nails dug into her palms. "Not like this."
Dante studied her for a long moment. The silence between them was suffocating. Finally, he exhaled, setting his drink down with a soft clink.
"If I protect you," he murmured, "what do I get in return?"
Elena's throat tightened. She knew this was coming. Dante Moretti never did anything out of kindness-he was a businessman, a king in a kingdom built on debt and favors.
And now, she was about to be in his debt.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Whatever it takes."
Dante's lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.
Whatever it takes? She had no idea what she had just agreed to.