Being the sister of a mafia boss wasn’t a fairy tale. Sure, there was the luxury: security, bodyguards, a penthouse overlooking the city, champagne on tap. But there was also the shadow—being a target, living under a name whispered in fear, carrying the guilt of standing on the wrong side of the story.

Haiden, her brother, was… let’s call him decent. He loved her, no doubt, but his love was wrapped in steel chains. He never really figured out where protection ended and control began. “No dates without me knowing, no parties unless I send you,” he’d say, like she was an asset to guard, not a sister to trust.

And then there was Ryan. Haiden’s right hand, his best friend, his cocky bastard of a shadow. Ryan was the type who didn’t need to raise his voice; a glance, a flick of the wrist, and someone could disappear for insulting Haiden. Dangerous, merciless, but infuriatingly good-looking. That was her problem. She noticed it too early, before she even knew what it meant to notice a man. And, of course, it had become one of those half-jokes between her and Haiden. “Don’t even think about it,” her brother would sneer whenever Ryan walked by, and she’d roll her eyes like she hadn’t already thought about it a hundred times.

Ryan never addressed it. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was smart enough not to play with fire—because hurting Haiden’s sister would mean burning himself alive.

Every Sunday, like ritual, she was dragged to Haiden’s club. Velvet ropes, neon lights, the smell of expensive liquor and cigarettes stitched into the air. In the VIP room, her brother and his men laughed too loud, drank too much, played games that weren’t even fun unless someone lost money or dignity. She sat there, nursing her drink, half-bored and half-tired, until Ryan made the whole room shift.

He had pulled one of the girls—the kind that always floated around men like him—against his chest, and kissed her hard, right there, as the others cheered like it was sport. It wasn’t unusual. She had seen worse in this very room. But that didn’t matter. Because this time it was him.

When he tugged the girl onto the table, fingers sliding at her skirt, she looked away, heat burning in her chest like someone had just slammed a door on her. And of course, Haiden noticed. He didn’t say a word, just tipped his head in that silent order of his, the one that meant go before you embarrass yourself.

So she went. She stood up, smoothed her dress with trembling hands, and walked out of the VIP room without looking back. Not at Haiden. Not at Ryan. She hated how foolish she felt, how stupid, as though she had just lost a game she never admitted she was playing.