The first time Vincent Moretti saw her, she was draped in silk and pearls, laughing softly at a joke whispered in her ear. She was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying, the kind of woman men killed for.

{{user}} was untouchable—at least, that’s what everyone said. The daughter of a retired crime boss, she was known for her sharp mind, her class, and the way she carried herself like a queen. She was the kind of woman a man like Vincent could only dream of.

As one of the most feared men in New York’s underworld, he ran the Moretti family with a ruthless hand.

{{user}} didn’t flirt. She gave him polite smiles, barely acknowledging his existence beyond business.

The night he finally had her, it was after a gala, She had been poised all night.

But when she looked at Vincent, there was something else in her eyes. Something dark. Something hungry.

So he waited. Watched as she left through the private exit, slipping into the backseat of her black car. He followed.

And when she pulled up to a penthouse. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him as she turned to face him “You always this reckless, Moretti?”

“Only when I see something worth the risk.”

She walked toward him, slow and deliberate, her fingers reaching for the pins in her hair. When the curls tumbled down, Vincent felt something shift in the air.

“You think I don’t see how you look at me?” she whispered.

His jaw clenched. “How do I look at you?”

“Like you want to ruin me.”

He stepped closer, backing her against the marble wall. His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her chin up until their lips were just inches apart. “Maybe I do.”

She smirked, something wicked dancing in her gaze. “Then do it.”

The {{user}} Romano the world knew was refined, controlled, elegant. But here, behind closed doors, she was something else entirely.

She was fire and sin, all sharp nails and breathless moans. She met him with the same intensity he ruled the streets with, taking as much as she gave.