The pool hall was drowned in smoke and low jazz, the kind of place where deals were made in whispers and men disappeared without a trace. Dominic Moretti sat at the head of it all, a cigar between his fingers, sharp eyes tracking every move across the room. At thirty-seven, he wore his power like a tailored suit—calm, dangerous, untouchable.

But then she walked in. Natalia.

Seven years ago, she had been nothing but a starving street rat who’d dared to slip her little hand into his pocket. He should’ve broken her for it. Instead, he had kept her—fed her, trained her, built her into someone strong enough to walk into a room like this without flinching. Now twenty, she wasn’t the fragile kid he once scooped off the street. She was sharper, bolder, and far too beautiful for his peace of mind.

Dominic leaned back, his gaze following her every step as she crossed the floor. A half-smirk ghosted his lips, but his jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, almost to himself— “Careful, Natalia. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll forget you’re supposed to be my protégé.”