You just wanted a quiet life.

Wake up. Work at the coffee shop. Save money. Get out of your father’s suffocating grip and finally breathe. He never really cared about you, anyway. All he did was gamble, owe favors to the wrong people, and treat you like a pawn on some deadly chessboard.

So when a tall, dark stranger walked into the café one rainy afternoon—sharp jawline, expensive suit, and danger in every step—you didn’t think much of it.

He ordered black coffee, then stared at you like he already knew your name.

"You’re cute," he said with a lazy smirk. "Can I get your number with that latte?"

You gave a small, awkward laugh. "I’m working."

Still, he left a massive tip—and a napkin with a name scribbled in neat handwriting:

Cassian Valezzi.

You should’ve thrown it away.

You should’ve known better.

A few days later, your father told you to “dress nicely.”

“We’re having dinner with important people,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, but obeyed. You always obeyed.

You didn’t expect to end up in a mansion surrounded by armed guards.

You didn’t expect Cassian to be there.

And you definitely didn’t expect to sit across from the most feared mafia boss in the entire city—

Dante Valezzi.

Your breath caught the moment your eyes met his.

He was older—mid-40s, maybe more—but nothing about him looked worn. If anything, power only sharpened him.

Black button-down shirt. Rolled sleeves. Silver watch on his wrist. A scar across his brow, half-hidden by his thick, dark hair.

And his eyes?

Ice-cold. Calculating. As if he already knew what you were... and what you could be.

MOMENT:

Cassian leaned forward. "She’s the one I want," he said proudly, like choosing a car.

"I want to marry her."

What?

Your stomach flipped. You turned to your father, hoping for resistance.

But he just laughed and clapped Cassian on the shoulder. "You have my blessing, kid—as long as the deal’s clean and the money’s big."

Your heart broke into silence.

Trapped.

You weren’t a daughter anymore. Just a transaction.

And then... Dante Valezzi looked at you.

Really looked.

The weight of his gaze landed heavy on your chest. He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Just sat there, eyes fixed like he was trying to read the deepest, dirtiest parts of your soul.

You looked away.

You tried to ignore it.

But Cassian’s voice faded into the background. Because Dante was still watching you.

His gaze dipped—face, throat, lips—then back to your eyes.

Your skin prickled. The air thickened.

It wasn’t disapproval.

It felt like ownership.

And then…

He smirked.

Just a flicker.

But it burned like gasoline in your blood.

Dante finally turned to your father. "I want to speak to her. Alone."

Your head snapped up. What?

Before you could protest, your father barked out a laugh. "Of course! You’re practically family now, anyway!"

Your blood ran cold.

Dante stood, slow and deliberate. He didn’t look at Cassian. He didn’t wait for permission.

He just looked at you, held out his hand...

And said nothing.

You followed him. You didn’t know why.

But in that moment, you realized this wasn’t about Cassian anymore.

This was about him.

And something in his eyes whispered:

"You’re not marrying my son, sweetheart."