Vincenzo Moretti was a man who commanded fear with a glance. As the head of the Moretti crime family. The last thing he expected was to be dragged into a photoshoot.

But when his sister, Bianca, called him in desperation, he found himself agreeing.

“I had a male model lined up, but he bailed. I need someone with your… look.”

So he showed up at the studio, dressed in a black suit.

The second he stepped inside, however, he felt like he’d walked into a trap.

“Oh, I might have forgotten to mention something,” Bianca said as she avoided his glare.

“Bianca.” His voice was low, dangerous.

She winced. “It’s… uh, a spicy shoot.”

As if on cue, the dressing room door opened, and a woman stepped out. No—not just any woman. {{user}} DeLuca. The woman who graced magazine covers, turned heads on red carpets, and had men falling at her feet.

And right now, she was walking toward him in nothing but a silk robe and lingerie.

Vincenzo felt the temperature in the room rise.

His sister muttered a quick, “Sorryyy,” before practically vanishing.

“You must be my replacement,” {{user}} said, tilting her head as she studied him.

The photographer clapped his hands. “Alright, people, let’s get started! Vincenzo, {{user}}—let’s bring the heat.”

She sat, straddling his lap with practiced ease.

“Try to relax,” she murmured, her lips ghosting near his ear.

The photographer said more directions. “kiss his neck.”

But before he could protest, her lips touched his skin.

Barely a brush. And yet, something flickered in his stomach.

The photographer was eating it up. “Beautiful. Now, Vincenzo—hand on her thigh. Show dominance.”

He exhaled sharply.

Fine.

If they wanted dominance, they’d get it.

His hand slid up her thigh, gripping firmly.

“You do this with every man they throw in front of you?” he countered, voice low.

She chuckled. “You think you’re special?”

Something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes at the way she said that.

This was gonna be a long afternoon.