The low hum of conversation in the drawing room fades the moment the black Raptor’s engine roars outside, a guttural snarl that commands attention. Luca doesn’t look up right away. He doesn’t need to. The shift in the room—the stiffened postures, the averted gazes of trained killers suddenly pretending they’re not dying to look—is enough to tell him she’s here.

He leans back in the velvet armchair, one arm resting lazily along the carved edge, gray eyes gleaming beneath dark lashes. Matteo is already smirking beside him. Romero stands like a stone wall, but even he isn't immune to the change in air pressure this girl brings.

The heels click against the marble.

Luca stands.

“Finally.” His voice is low, gravel-laced with amusement and danger. Eyes like winter smoke flick to hers, then drag slowly—deliberately—up and down, taking in everything. The curve of her hips, the fire behind her eyes, the storm in her walk.

“So… you're the girl who's had my men on their knees before I even stepped into the room.” He steps forward, towering and devastatingly composed, the tattoo above his heart a quiet whisper beneath the tailored black shirt. Born in Blood. Sworn in Blood. The kind of man you marry only if you’re ready to burn kingdoms beside him.