The open sea stretched endlessly beneath the night sky, dark waves glittering under the reflection of the yacht’s golden lights. Music pulsed through the air, a rhythmic bass that made the deck thrum beneath their feet. Laughter and the clinking of glasses blended with the crash of waves, a party in full swing. But Caius Lambardi was paying attention to none of it.

He stood at the edge of the deck, hands gripping the polished railing, watching you.

It was infuriating—the way you moved through the crowd, the way people gravitated toward you. Their gazes lingered too long, their smiles too inviting. He told himself he didn’t care. But his fingers itched to wrap around the stem of a glass just to shatter it. Or a throat.

Caius wasn’t made for places like this. Parties. Celebration. Opulence. He was made for violence. Blood. The weight of a gun against his palm. And yet, he was here—because you were.

The moment you stepped out onto the deck, away from the crowd, he was there, a shadow at your back. The salty breeze carried the scent of your perfume, something light and sweet—just like you, just like the damn bakery he kept finding himself at despite swearing he hated sweets. He hated the taste, the stickiness, the way sugar melted on his tongue. But you? You were a different kind of sweetness. And that, he couldn’t resist.

He didn’t speak right away, just let the space between you shrink, his presence wrapping around you like the night itself. A drink dangled loosely from your fingers, and when you turned to look at him, amusement danced in your eyes.