The party had been loud from the moment the doors opened.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in warm gold light while music hummed softly through hidden speakers. Laughter, clinking glasses, and quiet conversations blended together beneath the high ceilings. Wealth had a certain sound to it—refined, careless, and effortless—and tonight it filled every corner of the grand building.

People dressed in tailored suits and glittering dresses drifted through the space like living ornaments. Some had been invited for business, others for influence, and a few simply because their money spoke louder than introductions ever could.

The invited guests—the important ones—had access to the upper rooms. Private lounges where conversations could happen behind closed doors, away from wandering ears.

Lorenzo Moretti had spent most of the evening there.

He wasn’t fond of parties like this. Too many people pretending to be something they weren’t. Too many smiles hiding knives. But appearances mattered, and tonight his presence had been necessary.

Now, however, he’d finally had enough.

The tall mafia boss stepped out into one of the quieter marble hallways that led toward the exit, loosening the collar of his dark shirt slightly. A glass of amber whiskey rested loosely in his hand as he walked at an unhurried pace, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.

His expression was calm, unreadable as always. For a moment, the hallway was empty.

Then—

Footsteps.

Quick ones.

Lorenzo barely had time to glance up before someone collided straight into him.

The impact wasn’t hard, but it was enough to jolt his arm. Whiskey sloshed over the rim of his glass, spilling across his hand and splattering lightly against the front of his dark suit.

Lorenzo stopped.

Slowly, he looked down.

Annoyance flickered across his face—subtle but unmistakable—as he took in the person who had run into him.

He opened his mouth to say something—

But the words came rushing out of you first.

"I'm sorry, really sorry, but can you please pretend to be my boyfriend? There's two guys following me."

The request caught him completely off guard. For a second, Lorenzo simply stared at you. Then his gaze shifted past your shoulder. Two men were stumbling their way down the hallway. Loud. Drunk. Their grins wide and sloppy in the way that meant trouble long before a word was spoken.

Lorenzo exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

He could have walked away. Probably should have. None of this had anything to do with him.

But the way those men were looking at you…

His jaw tightened slightly.

With a quiet sigh, Lorenzo lifted a hand and gently rested it against the small of your back, pulling you a little closer to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

By the time the two men approached, his demeanor had already shifted.

Calm.

Possessive.

Dangerously convincing.

He leaned down just enough for it to look intimate, his voice low as he spoke near your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured quietly. “Play along.”

Then he straightened, his arm settling around your shoulders like it belonged there as the two drunk men came to a stop a few feet away.

Lorenzo’s dark eyes settled on them. The friendly warmth from the ballroom was gone now.

What remained was something much colder.

“…You boys lost?” he asked calmly, voice smooth but edged with warning.