Chapter 1 1

Vianne's POV

I shouldn't have gone to that party.

I shouldn't have stayed.

And I definitely shouldn't still feel him under my skin two days later.

But here I was-behind the counter at Greystone Bistro, barely holding it together.

My head hurt like a drum was beating inside it, my vision was blurry, and my stomach felt tight and twisted. I didn't even know if I was standing straight or about to fall over.

But I couldn't stop. My apron was stuck to my skin, coffee was still rushing through my veins, and a long line of tired customers stared at me like I owed them more than just a latte.

Sleep hadn't helped. Two nights of tossing and turning, stuck on repeat.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. His hands, his mouth, that slow, dangerous smirk-like he knew exactly how much control he had over me.

It all started two nights ago.

I'd dragged myself through a brutal shift at Greystone Bistro when Lauren found me in the break room, practically buzzing with energy.

She pulled me out of my usual routine, insisted I needed a night out.

I didn't want to go, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Stephanie was supposed to come too, but bailed last second.

Still, we used her name at the door-no one questioned it. Mistaking me for Stephanie was probably the only reason I got inside.

Honestly? For the best. If anyone had asked for my real name... well.

The place was insane. A mansion dripping in gold and glass, fountains inside like it was normal, luxury cars lined up outside like toys for the rich. The kind of place where rules didn't apply.

I should've left right then, but Lauren was already halfway to the entrance, so I followed.

Inside, the air was thick with perfume, sweat, champagne. Everyone looked like they were on display. And the one name that kept floating through the crowd?

Dante De Santis.

The city's most untouchable mafia don.

Lauren disappeared into the crowd almost right away, while I found the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror, and told myself I'd leave by midnight.

But when it was finally midnight, Lauren was still out there somewhere, laughing with a drink in her hand.

And honestly... I didn't want to ruin her night by dragging her out too soon.

So I stayed a little longer.

I was just stepping out of the bathroom, heading back toward the ballroom, when I saw the last person I ever wanted to see.

My stepfather.

He was right there, in the flesh. Wearing a sharp black suit that fit him perfectly, with cold, sharp eyes like a demon, and a devilish grin that sent a wave of dread through me. The same grin he used to wear right before he hit me.

Memories surged in an instant.

The sting of his hand across my face.

The times he locked me away for days.

The heavy door slamming shut, leaving me alone in the dark.

The bruises on my body. The fear that kept me trapped for so long.

Panic slammed through me so fast it stole my breath. My chest tightened. My legs moved on their own.

I spun around and ran, my heart hammering as I pushed through the crowd. I didn't care where I was going-anywhere was better than being near him.

I headed toward one of the guesthouses, my breath sharp in my throat. For a second, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. Sharp and steady on the marble floor.

I didn't dare look back. I couldn't risk it. I just kept running, faster and faster, until I reached the side of the estate.

I slipped into the nearest building, pulling the door shut as quietly as I could. The space inside was dark and heavy with dust and old shadows.

I stood there, trying to catch my breath, heart pounding in my ears, chest rising and falling with quick, ragged gasps.

I had to leave. With or without Lauren.

I couldn't let him see me.

Then, the door creaked open behind me.

Then the door creaked open, and my body locked up with fear, my mind screaming that he'd followed me after all, so I scrambled behind the curtains in the far corner, a stupid move because the fabric was thin, the party lights from outside casting my shadow in plain sight, but I had nowhere else to go, and as footsteps came into the room, slow and deliberate, getting closer with every second.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath as my heart pounded harder and harder.

The curtain shifted. The hem lifted, inch by inch-

And then I saw him.

It wasn't my stepfather.

It was Dante.

He looked at me, his dark gaze steady and unblinking, like he already owned me. The air in the room grew thick, the space smaller, as though I was trapped under the weight of his stare.

We spoke, but it wasn't conversation, not really, every word that came out of his mouth sliding over me like velvet wrapped in steel, dangerous, deliberate, and with each passing second the space between us seemed to shrink until there was no space left at all.

And then he kissed me-not gentle, not soft, but hot and rough like a storm breaking loose, his mouth claiming mine like it was his right, his hands gripping my waist, dragging me against him until I could feel the hard lines of his body pressed tight to mine.

I knew I should pull away. I should stop it. But I couldn't.

Something about him-his scent, his heat, the way his mouth moved like he knew every part of me-undid me completely.

My blood turned molten, my skin burned under his touch, I could feel every inch of him through my clothes and I wanted more, wanted it all, and thought spun away until there was nothing left but pure want, no fear, no hesitation, just need, raw and overwhelming.

We crashed into each other fast-too fast-frantic hands pushing aside clothes, mouths searching, breaths catching, gasps and low groans filling the room as his touch grew rougher, claiming, and mine just as greedy in return because we couldn't get close enough, couldn't stop, couldn't think, only feel, only take.

And when it was over, we lay tangled together, breathless, my heart still racing so fast I thought it might burst.

But then one clear thought cut through the haze-

I wasn't supposed to be here. Not with him. Not now.

Somewhere out there, my stepfather was still in the crowd.

Still hunting me.

And that was why, after Dante had been called up by the announcer, I caught my breath and slipped out before anyone could see me.

Now, two days later, I was back at Greystone Bistro, wiping down tables with sore hands and a pounding head, stuck in a loop of everything that had happened.

And I hated that I could still feel him. That every brush of fabric against my skin reminded me of his touch.

"Vianne!"

My boss's shout snapped me out of it. I jumped, dropping the rag.

"Stop standing there like an idiot and get to work!"

Muttering under my breath, I grabbed the counter to steady myself. My cheeks burned. My legs felt weak.

The bell jingled over the front door.

Automatically, I turned, pushing my hair from my face and forcing the thousandth fake smile. "Welcome to Greystone Bistro. How can I-"

My voice caught. It was him.

Dante.

Standing there like nothing had changed. Like this was perfectly normal.

My stomach dropped. Breath stuck in my throat. Heat and cold washed over me at once.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same confident stride like he owned the place.

Our gazes locked. The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly-as if he remembered everything. Felt everything.

I wanted to run. To disappear under the counter.

But I didn't move.

Maybe my boss was yelling again-I couldn't hear a thing over my thundering pulse.

One-night stands weren't supposed to show up at your job like unfinished business.

But there he was, voice low, smooth as a blade:

"Morning, darling. Miss me yet?"