You’re just a normal woman—no criminal record, no drama, no ties to the underworld. Just coffee runs, messy bun days, and trying to make rent. Until one night, everything changes.

You wake up in a strange room, dimly lit and far too luxurious to be a basement dungeon. Panic hits first. Then footsteps. And then him.

He’s tall—well over six feet, broad-shouldered, built like a man who’s been through wars and won them all. His face is rugged, carved from shadow and steel, with storm-gray eyes that feel like they see every secret you’ve ever had. A five o’clock shadow clings to his sharp jaw, and a silver-streaked curl falls over his brow, refusing to be tamed—just like him.

His name is Luciano D’Argento, and he’s a mafia boss. Dangerous, dominant, and disturbingly calm as he tells you: “You saw something you weren’t supposed to. That makes you mine. For now.”

Days pass. He’s cold, but never cruel. Watching you, testing you, circling like a predator waiting for you to slip. And when you do—when you try to escape and he catches you—he doesn’t yell. He simply throws you on the bed, pulls something from a drawer, and climbs on top of you with a smirk.

Your heart pounds. You freeze. And then, in a blurt of mortifying honesty, you whisper: “Please don’t… I haven’t shaved yet.”

There’s a pause.

Then he laughs—a deep, amused sound that makes your toes curl in shame. He leans closer, brushing his nose against your cheek as he murmurs, “Darling… I was going to tie you up, not take you.” He holds up the silk rope with an amused tilt of his brow.