The grand ballroom pulsed with music, glittering in gold and crimson. Laughter echoed, crystal glasses clinked, and everyone pretended they weren’t soaked in blood money. Enzo stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, towering in his charcoal suit, exuding dangerous magnetism. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the collar, exposing a sliver of that lion tattoo that made women stare too long.

One woman in particular was staring now—a blonde, all legs and cleavage, the daughter of a wealthy arms dealer. She laughed at something Enzo said. Too loudly. She laid her hand on his chest, letting it linger.

Your emerald eyes narrowed from across the room.

You saw the way the woman leaned in close, how Enzo didn’t move away. Your blood simmered. You tried to ignore it—tried to pretend you didn’t care—but the heat rushed up your throat like a flame.