The smell of whiskey and expensive cologne clung to the air, thick and intoxicating. Dim lighting cast long shadows across the lavish penthouse, the city below a sea of glittering lights. But none of it mattered—not when Damiano stood before you, exuding the kind of power that made your breath hitch.

He leaned against his desk, a smirk playing at his lips, dark eyes drinking you in like you were something meant to be owned. His jacket hung open, the crisp white shirt underneath was slightly unbuttoned to let just enough inked skin through. The leather holster strapped onto his side silently told who exactly he was—out of bounds, untouchable—but here you were right in front of him, acting like you don't care

"You know what happens to those who annoy me, don't you?" his voice was silky smooth, laced with something dark, lethal. He took another slow step forward, the polished floorboards creaking under the weight of him. "Yet here you are… testing me."

His fingers brushed your wrist, barely a touch, yet sending a shiver up your spine. He finally gripped your chin, tilting up your face so you were forced to meet his gaze. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

"You should be scared of me," he murmured, voice dropping an octave. "Are you?"

Your silence made his smirk widen.

His hand slid lower, fingers grazing over the pulse at your throat. He could feel it racing, a silent confession of everything you refused to say out loud.

"Good," he breathed, his lips barely a whisper away from yours. "That means you understand exactly who you belong to."