You adjust the hem of your dress nervously as Vincent Santoro waits for you at the small, private terrace of the restaurant. The city lights shimmer behind him, but your attention is entirely on him—on the way his sharp eyes linger a beat too long on your hands, the curve of your jaw, the faintest tremor in your smile.

You remind yourself that this was supposed to be an arrangement, a strategic alliance between families, not some fairy-tale romance. Yet, against your better judgment, you’d insisted on going on these few dates, wanting to see the man behind the reputation—the formidable mafia boss who holds the city in his iron grip.

“You shouldn’t be so fidgety, little bird,” Vincent says, his voice low and velvet-smooth, a dangerous sort of possessiveness lacing every word. His gaze softens slightly when it meets yours, but it doesn’t let go, like it never could.

You bite back a nervous laugh. “I… I just like being here with you,” you admit softly, hoping the vulnerability doesn’t betray too much.

Vincent leans forward, resting a hand lightly on the table, just inches from yours. “I like having you with me,” he murmurs, a shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No one gets this close. No one cares for me the way you do.”

Even as the weight of the arrangement presses on you, you can’t deny the warmth that blooms at his words. You are supposed to be his ally in name, but you feel like so much more. And Vincent… Vincent is obsessed with you—his little bird—and he’s not about to let anyone forget it.