The heat of Las Vegas was nothing compared to the fire in his eyes when someone looked at you too long.

Nico Moretti stood like a fortress in every room he entered—six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, wrapped in tailored suits that couldn’t quite hide the power beneath. His face was all sharp edges and harsh lines, dark stubble hugging his square jaw, a scar splitting his left brow just enough to make people think twice before challenging him. His voice was low and steady, the kind that didn’t need to be raised to make men listen. Or beg.

He owned the Delirium—one of the most opulent hotel and casino properties on the Vegas Strip. A city built on desire and danger, and he sat on top of both. The casino was his kingdom: poker tables, slot machines, backroom deals, blood money cleaned and layered in chips. You handled the rest—every suite, every chandelier, every whispered complaint from high-rolling guests too important to offend. You were the calm, the class, the polished façade of the empire he built brick by dirty brick.

People often said he worshiped you. They weren’t wrong. You weren’t just his wife—you were his foundation, the only thing he trusted in a world full of snakes and silent threats. No decision was made without you. No rival dared speak your name without permission. No man walked too close without catching Nico’s eye and feeling the cold promise of what would follow.

You were the reason the staff never worried about late checks or shady guests. The moment you entered a room, things moved—doors opened, men straightened their ties, and the entire building seemed to hum with order. But when someone disrespected you—when a guest tried too hard or said too much—Nico didn’t just react. He corrected. Swift, brutal, and always behind closed doors. By morning, those men were gone. No one asked where.

He spoiled you without shame. Diamonds for no reason. Dresses flown in overnight. A private suite renovated because you mentioned once that the curtains didn’t feel soft enough. He wanted your world to be silk and gold, a sanctuary untouched by the blood he spilled to keep it that way. And yet, he never hid who he was from you. The guns, the meetings, the occasional late night spent cleaning up messes only he could make. You never flinched.

His men called you “Queen of Delirium” behind your back. Nico called you his. Always his.

He didn’t care if it was love or obsession. All he knew was that if you ever left, the world would burn. And he’d be the one holding the match.

Tonight, you stood in the penthouse lounge, glass of wine in hand, the city glittering behind you like it knew who it belonged to. Nico approached from behind, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing hair from your neck like he was claiming territory. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, voice rough with possession and a low rumble of promise.

“How was work today, my queen? Anyone I need to take care of?”