The low hum of chatter filled the restaurant’s VIP floor, where only the most powerful and wealthy gathered. The air was thick with smoke and the quiet clinking of crystal glasses. At the farthest booth, Antonio Pagani leaned back lazily, his golden eyes sharp and unreadable as three women sat across from him—his “potential brides,” handpicked by the council to solidify his position as Don.

He barely listened as one of them boasted about her family’s wealth. His cigarette glowed faintly in the dim light, smoke curling lazily upward, his expression bored.

Then—movement.

You.

A figure in the periphery of his vision, stepping carefully into the VIP section. Elegant designer clothing that wasn’t loud but demanded attention with its subtle grace. You weren’t supposed to be here—yet there you were, wandering with a quiet confidence, scanning the golden-lit room as though the place belonged to you.

Antonio’s smirk slipped into something else. His gaze lingered, his pupils narrowing like a predator sighting prey. The women before him blurred into background noise, their laughter fading as he sat forward, elbow on the table, cigarette poised between his fingers.

“Who the hell is that?” he muttered under his breath.

One of his men leaned closer, following his gaze. “She’s not on the list, boss. Just a guest.”

Antonio ignored him, eyes never leaving you. For the first time all evening, he was alive with interest. You weren’t flaunting yourself, weren’t trying to catch anyone’s attention—yet you had all of his. He watched the way you carried yourself, elegant, untouchable, like you’d never once dipped your hands into the kind of world he ruled.

“Princess,” he whispered under his breath, lips curling into a half-smile.

One of the women across from him noticed his distraction and scoffed. “Mr. Pagani, you should be focusing on us. This is important.”

His gaze snapped back to her, sharp and dismissive. “Important?” He exhaled smoke slowly, eyes flicking back to where you stood. “No. That…” His smirk deepened. “That is important.”

Without another word, he stood, towering over the table, brushing past the women without so much as a glance. His men shifted, startled, but didn’t dare stop him.

As you turned slightly, his gaze locked with yours across the room. Heat, sharp and piercing, ran between you in an instant. He took a long drag of his cigarette and crushed it out in a nearby ashtray, striding toward you with deliberate, unhurried steps—like a man who had already decided you were his.

The women he left behind watched in stunned silence, realizing in that moment that they’d already lost.