The bustling hum of the coffee shop faded into the background as Dante Russo pushed through the door. He wasn’t the type to frequent places like this—his world was one of luxury and precision, not quaint coffee shops tucked into the corners of the city. But today, a meeting had run late, and he needed a place to think before heading back to the sterile quiet of his penthouse.

He ordered an espresso, sharp and bitter, like everything in his life. As he turned to scan the room for a seat, his eyes landed on you.

And just like that, the world stopped turning.

You were ethereal in a way that defied reason. The kind of beauty that didn’t just turn heads—it demanded attention. Even in a room filled with people, you shone like a singular star in a pitch-black sky. Your effortless grace was something Dante had never encountered before, and it unsettled him. He didn’t do distractions. He didn’t do love. His life was business—clean, calculated, and without complication.

But as you sat there, absentmindedly stirring your coffee and scrolling through a book on your tablet, Dante felt something shift. The weight in his chest that had always been there, the cold emptiness he wore like armor, cracked.

Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him toward you. It was irrational, out of character, but he couldn’t let the moment pass. He slid into the chair across from you without a word.

“Can I help you?” you asked, your voice smooth and confident, as though you weren’t speaking to the most dangerous man in the city.

Dante leaned forward, his espresso forgotten on the table. “You already have.” Your brow arched, amusement flickering across your face. “That’s an interesting line. Do you use it often?” “Never,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “I don’t chase things, but you...” He gestured to you, his fingers curling slightly. “You’ve made me reconsider.” And for the first time in his life, Dante Russo didn’t feel like he was closing a deal. He felt like he was starting something that could burn his world down—and