Chapter 1

On the day we were supposed to get engaged, my fiancé, Marco, married the Don's daughter.

My father was framed and thrown in jail. I needed five million dollars to get him out.

Then Marco found me. "Be my mistress," he offered, "and I'll save your father."

I smiled and turned to the man lurking in the shadows, a man known for his power, brutality, and his stone-cold heart.

They said the king of the underworld never let a woman spend the night.

But with me, he buried his head in my hair, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist.

The floor-to-ceiling windows, the mahogany desk, and the ornate carved bed all became our battlegrounds.

And there was one thing I forgot to tell Marco.

The man I was with was Dante Landini, the cold-blooded Don of the Landini family, who was Marco's soon-to-be father-in-law.

Chapter 1

Juliana's POV

Today was supposed to be my engagement day.

Instead, I was forced to watch my ex-fiancé kiss another woman.

Marrying her was his ticket into New York's elite power structure. She was Isabella Landini, the only daughter of the feared Mafia Don, Dante Landini.

Months ago, Marco had abruptly broken the marriage agreement between our two families.

Now, every ambitious capo in the city was vying for an alliance with the Landinis, my ex-fiancé included.

Everyone knew the Landini family controlled the entire New York underworld. And Dante? He alone decided who lived and who died in this city.

So, Marco had made his choice.

Her, not me.

"A Scotch, neat. And a Dirty Martini for the lady."

A low, smooth voice slid past my ear.

"What has you looking so glum? The bride, or the groom?" the man asked.

"I'm just not used to these kinds of parties," I lied.

"What a coincidence," he said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "I'm here purely out of familial obligation."

The bartender pushed my drink forward. I tilted my head back and downed it in one go. The sharp burn seared my throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

Every time Marco kissed Isabella, I felt like I died all over again.

Were my dignity, my love, and our seven years together truly worth nothing?

"Thank you for the drink," I said to the stranger. I needed to get out of here. Now.

I slid off the barstool, turning so quickly that I didn't notice the waiter rushing past behind me.

A sharp crash echoed through the air.

The waiter's tray tipped, and three full glasses of deep red Cabernet Sauvignon spilled all over my chest and skirt.

The cold liquid instantly soaked through the fabric, clinging to my skin.

Scarlet wine snaked down my cream-colored gown, making it look like the aftermath of a grisly murder.

The room fell silent. Every eye in the room zeroed in on me.

I froze, mortified and utterly exposed.

Just as I was wishing the ground would swallow me whole, a warm, black suit jacket was draped over my shoulders, covering the curves that were all too visible through the wet fabric.

The next second, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me away from the suffocating center of attention.

I looked up into a pair of bottomless black eyes. They were cold and mocking, yet they pulled me in like an abyss.

My breath caught in my throat.

This man was dangerously handsome. Beneath the expensive, custom-tailored suit, his muscles were coiled and tight.

He shielded me in front of everyone, his grip possessive, as if protecting what was his.

A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, revealing a devastating dimple in his right cheek.

God, I wanted to lick that dimple.

"The color suits your complexion," his deep voice laced with amusement. "But being drenched isn't exactly appropriate for the occasion."

I stared at him, my mind momentarily blank.

"Are you always this helpful to pretty young women?" I shot back, trying to hide my panic.

He didn't answer, merely glancing down at the wine stain on my chest with a slight frown.

"The top floor," he said.

"My private suite."

"What?" The word was a strangled whisper.

"Your dress is ruined. There are clothes in my suite," he said, his eyes scanning the leering crowd. "Unless you'd prefer to give them a show."

Realizing I had no other choice, I nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

He turned to the bartender, tapping his fingers twice on the bar.

"Put it on my tab."

I let the man steer me out of the ballroom.

I found myself resting my head against his broad chest, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faintest hint of gunpowder.

The elevator went straight to the penthouse.

"Take off your dress," he commanded the moment we were inside the suite.

He loosened his tie and walked straight toward a massive walk-in closet as the cold, wet fabric made me shiver.

"What did you say?" I sputtered, crossing my arms over my chest.

"So you can change into a new one," he explained.

"Oh." I let out a breath, my cheeks burning.

I turned my back to him and peeled off the sticky dress, leaving me in nothing but black lace underwear.

He found a dress and turned, his gaze traveling from my collarbone, over my breasts, and down to my flat stomach.

The longer I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed.

I suddenly gasped, covering my mouth.

"It's you..."

"You know me?"

"I've heard of you," I clarified. A corner of his mouth tilted up as he walked slowly toward me, like a panther stalking its prey.

"And?"

"Just rumors..."

"What did you hear?"

"That you're a player. A different woman every week, and never the same one twice."

And you're the bride's father. Marco's future father-in-law.

Of course, I didn't say that last part out loud.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

He kept walking toward me, and I kept backing away until my back hit the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Nowhere left to run.

"Are there any other rumors you'd like to verify?" he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.

"All of them."

The alcohol gave me courage. If Marco could betray me, if my life was already in ruins, why couldn't I let go just once?

I tilted my head up, meeting those deep, abyssal eyes.

"Your eyes... they're dangerous. But so captivating."

"And?"

"That dimple..." I recklessly reached out and poked his cheek.

Before I could finish, his mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss was all hunger and possession.

I met his fire with my own, my legs wrapping around his lean waist.

He lifted me up, pressing me hard against the glass.

My body was pinned between the cool window and his scorching chest.

As his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, he sucked a dark mark there, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

All self-control vanished. My mind was filled with nothing but Dante. I tugged at his tie, wanting to rip it off along with his shirt.

He helped me, pulling the shirt over his head. My fingers explored the hard planes of his abs, gliding up to his broad shoulders.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked between kisses.

"Yes," I answered, my voice hoarse. "We're two consenting adults. Why not?"

His mouth claimed mine again, and just as he was about to unhook my bra, my phone began to ring insistently.

It was the specific ringtone I'd set for my mother.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

I shoved him away, gasping for air. "Stop."

He froze, the raw frustration of being interrupted raging in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to answer that."

"I have to," I said, sliding off him and scrambling for my phone. "It's my mom."

I answered to my mother's broken sobs. "Jules! Come home, please, I'm begging you, come home now!"

My mother had never sounded so panicked.

I hung up, my hands and feet turning to ice.

"I have to go."

Dante's brow furrowed, his displeasure obvious. "Are you kidding me?"

"My apologies, Don Landini. I'm sure you have a line of women waiting to climb into your bed."

I grabbed the wine-stained dress from the floor and started to pull it on.

"It's wet. Don't put that rag back on."

He sighed and snatched a large white shirt from a chair, tossing it over my head. It was his.

"Wear this. And get out."

I bolted from the hotel, his shirt saturated with his scent.

But I had no time to think about that.

The moment I walked through my front door, I found our home in chaos.

My mother was sobbing in the kitchen. "Juliana?" she wept. "The Feds took your father tonight."

Chapter 2

Juliana's POV

My heart sank into a pit of despair. "What?!"

This was our home, an elegant townhouse on the Upper East Side. My father ran the trading company that had been in the Rossi family for generations. We had never wanted for anything.

My mother collapsed onto the sofa, her makeup a mess of tear-streaked mascara. "The Feds... there must have been twenty agents. They just stormed in."

Her voice broke. "They said it was fraud and money laundering. The company accounts are frozen, all our assets seized. Jules, we're ruined."

"That's impossible," I said, my throat tightening. "Dad has always run a clean business."

"It was a set-up. Someone framed him." My mother gripped my hand. "You know what happens when you piss off the wrong people. They can do whatever they want."

"The bail is an astronomical sum. If it's a RICO charge, he could rot in jail before he even sees a trial."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I frowned when I saw Marco's name.

Clenching my jaw, I stepped out onto the front porch.

The night air was cold. A black Maserati, one I knew all too well, was parked under a streetlight.

Seven years I'd spent in that passenger seat. We'd even made love in that car.

Marco leaned against the door, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips. The red ember glowed in the dark.

He wore the smug smile of a man who thought he controlled everything.

"You look like hell, Juliana," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Did you come here to gloat?" I asked coldly, hugging my arms.

"I'm here to help you, baby," he said, closing the distance between us. "I heard about your father. Money laundering is a serious charge."

I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "You know he's innocent."

"In our world, the truth doesn't matter. Money and power do," he shrugged. "I can make it go away. I'll pay the bail, no matter how high. I'll even get the best lawyers to make this disappear."

I took a wary step back. "And what do you want in return?"

Marco never made a deal unless it benefited him. I knew that better than anyone.

A triumphant smirk spread across his face. "It's simple. I want you."

"I marry Isabella, you close your little gallery, and you become my girl on the side. Simple."

I stared at him, stunned. "You want me to be your mistress?"

"But Isabella is going to be your wife!"

"That's an alliance. Business," he said, his voice dropping low. "Don't be so high and mighty, Jules. We're good together. You know how good I am in bed."

His eyes roamed over my body without restraint. "Just say the word, and you'll never have to worry about money again. Your father can be home for dinner tomorrow."

Rage burned through my veins.

"Get the hell out of here," I hissed through my teeth. "I'd rather starve on the streets than be your back-alley slut."

Marco's face turned to stone. He lunged forward, his nose nearly touching mine.

"Don't be a fool."

"Who else is going to help the Rossis?" he sneered. "That's five million in cash for bail. You'll come crawling back to me when you realize your father is about to get his ribs broken in Rikers."

Marco got in his car and sped away.

I stood shivering in the cold wind. I didn't let myself slide to the floor until his taillights were gone.

Five million dollars.

Yesterday, that might not have been a problem. But now, the Rossi family was finished.

The next day, at the Rossi Gallery.

This place, once my pride and joy, now felt hollow. Its shine was gone, tarnished by our family's scandal.

"You look terrible," Sofia said, pushing the door open with two coffees in hand.

"Things have been better," I admitted, my hand trembling as I took the coffee. "Last night was a nightmare."

Sofia was not only my best friend, but also the most well-connected person I knew. She worked at a high-end club owned by the Landini family and had seen her share of dirty dealings.

"I heard about your father. I'm already trying to help you pull some money together," she said, perching on the edge of my desk. "But right now, we need to talk about something else. This is a man's shirt. And this fabric... only a handful of men in New York could afford it."

"So spill. You vanished last night. Where did you go?"

I avoided her gaze, staring into the ripples in my coffee cup. "A waiter spilled wine on me. A man took me to his suite to clean up."

"Whose? Don't you dare tell me it was that bastard Marco."

"It wasn't him."

I couldn't hide it from her. Taking a deep breath, I said the name that still made my heart hammer in my chest.

"Dante Landini."

Sofia's coffee cup almost slipped from her grasp.

"Who?" she shrieked.

Chapter 3

Juliana's POV

"Dante Landini?"

Sofia's cup hit the floor, brown liquid splashing across the expensive carpet. "Are you telling me you went to the Landini estate with the Goddamn King of the Underworld?"

I nearly lunged across the desk to cover her mouth. "Keep your voice down, Sof."

"How can I keep my voice down? That's Dante Landini! The man eats people for breakfast!" Sofia worked in a Landini club; she knew the weight of that name better than anyone.

"I didn't have a choice," I said, slumping in my chair, utterly drained. "And that's not even the worst of it."

I told Sofia everything, including Marco's offer to make me his mistress.

"That goddamn animal!" Sofia was shaking with rage. "He wants you on the side? After marrying someone else? I'm going to kill him."

"Killing him won't help. I need money, now." I covered my face with my hands. "There's no way I can come up with five million dollars."

We both fell silent. Then, her face suddenly lit up.

Sofia grabbed my wrist. "Wait. You said Dante gave you his shirt?"

I nodded. "It was to cover myself."

"No, Jules, you don't get how these men think."

"Don't you get it? He's interested in you. A man like that doesn't give a woman his shirt unless he wants the connection to continue. I've worked at his club for years, and you're the first woman I've ever heard of him helping."

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Dante isn't interested in me. He gave me a jacket because I needed one."

"Why would he care?" Sofia asked. "He's Dante Landini. Besides, you said he kissed you passionately. There was clearly chemistry between you."

"He was a gentleman, but that doesn't mean he's going to hand me five million dollars."

"Money is just a number to a man like him. He doesn't need more of it. He wants a thrill. Something that makes him feel like he's losing control."

Sofia suddenly pulled open her handbag and rummaged inside, producing a small crystal vial.

"This is 'Siren's Kiss,'" she said, her voice low. "It's a pheromone oil. The top girls at the club can't even get their hands on it. They say one drop can drive the most disciplined man wild. Stir up his most primitive, possessive instincts."

I stared at the vial. "You want me to drug him?"

"It's not a drug, it's an enhancer. It just amplifies desire."

"Jules, this is your only chance. Marco wants to humiliate you, to turn you into his cheap plaything. But what if you become Dante Landini's woman?"

"He's Marco's father-in-law," I said, my voice trembling.

"Exactly! It's the perfect revenge!" Sofia gripped my shoulders. "Go tonight. Wear your sexiest dress, use this, and tell Dante you're his. If you have to sell yourself, at least sell to the most powerful man in New York."

It was the craziest decision I had ever made in my life.

That evening, I stood before the heavy, fortress-like doors of the Landini estate.

A black trench coat was wrapped tightly around my body. Underneath, I wore nothing but an expensive set of black lace lingerie, which I had originally bought for my wedding night.

Following Sofia's instructions, I had dabbed the oil behind my ears, on my wrists, and at the hollow of my throat.

The scent was faint, yet it carried a sweet, intoxicating note that, mixed with my body heat, made even my own head feel a little dizzy.

Inside the high-ceilinged foyer, a housekeeper in a crisp black uniform looked me up and down. Her gaze lingered on my worn heels and the way I clutched my coat.

"I'm here to see Don Landini."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but..."

"Then I must ask you to leave. Countless women come here demanding to see the Don. He is a busy man and has no time for girls trying to climb into his bed." She dismissed me without a second glance.

My cheeks burned with shame. As I stood there, unsure of what to do, the heavy double doors of a side hall swung open.

But then a man's low voice cut through the air. "Who gave you the authority to turn away my guest?"

Chapter 4

Juliana's POV

"Don Landini," the housekeeper said, her head bowing instantly.

"I asked you a question, Maria," he said, his voice holding an authority that allowed no argument. "You are to inform me when I have a visitor, not dismiss them on your own." His gaze fell on me. "Come with me."

I followed him down a lavish corridor. Carved stone pillars, imported Italian marble floors, and priceless classical oil paintings on the walls.

"My time is valuable, Miss Rossi," he said, gesturing to an elevator. "I'm granting you a moment of it. Now, come."

He led me into a massive private study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a beautifully carved solid wood desk sat in the center.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the setting sun painted the New York skyline in shades of gold and red.

He wore a crisp white Italian shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the hard, lean muscles of his forearms. My eyes lingered a second too long.

"Ahem."

A soft cough snapped me back. He was watching me, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Speak," he said simply. "You went to great lengths to get in here. What is it you want?"

"I need money," I said, getting straight to the point. "My father was framed and jailed. The bail is five million dollars. I know that's nothing to you."

He said nothing, just watched me quietly, as if assessing the value of an item for sale.

"And why should I help a stranger?"

This was it. The moment of truth.

I took a deep breath and slowly untied the belt of my trench coat.

My hands trembled as I untied the belt. The coat slid open, the scent of the oil wafting into the air, revealing the black lace lingerie beneath.

The cool air on so much bare skin made me shiver.

"I know what a man like you wants," I whispered, rising on my toes to get closer to his ear. "I'm clean. A virgin. Just save my father."

I could feel his body tense, hear his breath hitch.

"You can have me. All of me."

My heart was hammering against my ribs.

Dante grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

I thought he was going to kiss me.

Instead, he bent down, picked up the coat from the floor, and draped it back over my shoulders.

"I don't like artificial scents," he said, his voice cold. "And I don't trade in bodies."

Heat flooded my face. I was drowning in shame.

"I thought..."

"I don't need a woman who can be bought," he cut me off, his eyes laced with disappointment. "Especially not one who arrives gift-wrapped like a cheap delivery."

"You..."

"Listen to me, Juliana," he said, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I have a daughter. I taught her to have pride. Dignity. I thought you were a woman of substance."

His words were a slap across my face.

He was right. I had turned myself into the very type of woman I despised.

He released me and pressed a button on his desk intercom. "Security, see our guest out."

Footsteps approached from behind. "Please escort Miss Rossi out," Dante said without turning around.

I bit my lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

I turned and fled.

To earn the money, I took a job Sofia found for me at a VIP underground club. One owned by the Landini family.

"This job will definitely make you a lot of money. The tips from the clients here are insane," Sofia said, patting my shoulder.

I looked down at the uniform. A black miniskirt so tight it was suffocating and a top with a neckline so low it was an open invitation for men to undress me with their eyes.

But I had no choice. I needed the money.

"Get in there. Some high rollers just took the back booth," the manager said, shoving me forward.

I took a deep breath, held my tray steady, and pushed open the door to the smoke-filled booth.

When my eyes adjusted and I saw the face of the man sitting in the center, my blood ran cold.

Sitting on the sofa were Marco and several of his men.

Chapter 5

Juliana's POV

"Well, well, if it isn't the high-and-mighty Miss Rossi," a sleazy voice drawled. "Reduced to waiting tables in a shithole like this."

"Hey, kitten, open a bottle for us," another man whistled, his eyes raking over my chest. "How much for a night with you? That uniform is hot as hell."

I resisted the urge to smash the tray over their heads. "I only serve drinks."

I slammed the expensive bottle of Scotch down on the marble table.

As I leaned over, a hand grabbed my ass, squeezing hard.

"I like that uniform on you. Why don't you take it off and show us what's underneath?"

I stepped back, forcing him to let go. "Don't touch me."

"Drop the princess act, Juliana," one of Marco's men sneered, throwing a wad of cash onto the floor. It landed right in a puddle of spilled liquor.

"You're just here for the money, right? Get on your knees and pick it up. A few hundred should be enough to pay the electricity bill for that pathetic little gallery of yours, right?"

I glanced at Marco. He sat in the shadows, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his expression cold and detached, as if he were watching a show put on just for him.

There was a time he would have gouged out the eyes of any man who looked at me too long. Now, he was savoring my humiliation.

"Pick it up!" another one of his men jeered. "Don't want to? Fine. Down this bottle, and the cash is yours."

I stared at the soaked bills. I wanted to spit in their faces, but my father was still in prison. Every dollar was a lifeline.

Clenching my jaw, I slowly bent down.

Humiliation coiled in my gut. Just as my fingers were about to touch the filthy, soaked bills, a hand grabbed the back of my neck.

Marco dragged me from the booth, through the noisy club, and threw me into the cold air of the back alley.

"Are you this pathetic?" he hissed.

"Debasing yourself for a few hundred dollars from those animals?"

"Take my offer and stop this foolishness," he said, stalking toward me and pinning me against the rough brick wall. "Be my mistress, and I'll give you everything. Do you really like this kind of place? Being stared at by these men like you're a whore?"

"I will never be your mistress, Marco. Forget it," I spat, struggling against him.

"You're still mine, Jules. You always will be," he growled, his fingers digging into my chin. "Since you like being humiliated so much, maybe I should just take you right here..."

SLAP.

I swung with all my might, the sound cracking across the alley.

His head snapped to the side. The silence that followed was absolute.

Marco slowly turned his head back, his eyes turning terrifyingly dark. He lunged, his hand wrapping around my throat. "You dare hit me?"

Then, his movement froze. His eyes were glued to the side of my neck.

A dark red mark stained the skin.

"What is this?" Marco's voice was a rasp.

I realized it was the mark Dante had left on me that night. Even though nothing had happened, he had kissed me hard.

"Is that a fucking hickey?"

I sneered. Though it was hard to breathe, I lifted my chin. "What if it is?"

"Who was it?" The pressure on my throat tightened. "That broke artist you hang out with? Or some lowlife you picked up in this shithole?"

"It's none of your business."

I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and spun me back around. "Answer me, Juliana! Who was it?!"

"You'll never guess," I said, lifting my chin in defiance. "Dante Landini. Your father-in-law."

Marco froze, then burst out laughing.

"Are you dreaming? Dante? The Don who doesn't even give women a second glance?" He let go, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Don't try to get a rise out of me with that pathetic lie. If that mark was from Dante, I'd eat this fucking wall."

His men had followed us out and now erupted in another round of jeering laughs.

"Stop dreaming, Jules. A guy like Dante would just toss a piece of trash like you out on the street," Marco said, grabbing a handful of my hair.

"Now, you'd better listen to me and move into the apartment I bought for you. You can spend your days spreading those pretty legs just for me..."

A pair of blinding headlights cut through the darkness, and Marco let go, shielding his eyes.

The tinted window of a jet-black Rolls-Royce slid down in silence.

Finally free, I bent over, coughing and gasping for breath.

In the shadows of the back seat, a man sat, revealing only the hard line of his jaw.

Dante Landini turned his head and locked his eyes directly on me.

"Get in the car," he commanded coldly.

I stood frozen. Marco looked like he'd been struck by lightning, his mouth hanging open as he stared at that face in disbelief.

"I'm not a patient man, Juliana," Dante's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't make me repeat myself."

I snapped out of my trance and scrambled toward the car.

The driver was already out, holding the door open for me. I slid into the back seat, surrounded by that familiar, mint-laced scent.

The car pulled away. Through the back window, I could see Marco, standing frozen in the alley like a statue.

Before I could even catch my breath, Dante's voice, cold as ice, sounded right next to my ear.

"Using me to provoke your ex-fiancé. Is that your new game, Miss Rossi?"