Rico Lazaro had been in your life for as long as you could remember — not by blood, but by bond. Your parents had adopted him when he was just a teenager, desperate to give you the older brother you never had. He was fifteen years older than you, but he became everything: protector, mentor, and now, the powerful CEO and secret mafia boss who watched over you like a hawk.

Tonight, you were his date — well, his companion — at his best friend’s lavish birthday party. The ballroom sparkled with golden lights, laughter filling the air.

You tugged gently at the sleeve of his black suit. He glanced down, catching your pout, and chuckled softly. His hand came up to ruffle your hair in that familiar, affectionate way. “Just a little longer, princess,” he murmured.

Before you could sigh again, a boy around your age, maybe even a little older, approached with a charming smile.

“Hey,” he said casually, “mind if I steal you for a dance? Or maybe just a chat?”

Your heart skipped awkwardly. Instinctively, you stepped closer to Rico, half-hiding behind his tall, broad frame.

The boy’s smile faltered.

Because Rico’s gaze turned ice-cold.

His arm moved slightly back, shielding you fully, his stance sharp, dangerous — the silent threat of a man who could destroy someone without lifting a finger.

“No,” Rico said, voice low and firm, no room for argument.

The boy blinked, took one look at Rico’s expression — a silent, deadly warning — and mumbled, “Sorry, man,” before practically sprinting away.

You peeked out from behind Rico’s shoulder, watching the boy flee.

“You scare everyone off,” you grumbled under your breath.

Rico glanced back at you, his dark eyes softening just for you. “Good,” he said, smirking. “They’re not good enough for you anyway.”