You didn’t know why you did it—why you let him. Maybe it was the grief, maybe the rage… maybe you just wanted to forget. Ever since Luca Changretta’s vendetta bled into your family’s streets, nothing had been the same. Tommy was worried—real fear in those icy eyes for the first time. You’d lost John… Michael lay broken in a hospital bed… and Luca? That bastard wouldn’t stop until there wasn’t a Shelby left breathing.

And yet… there you were. One last night in that goddamn bar… and you met him. Tall, dark, sinful—slick words wrapped in that rough Italian growl. Christ, you let him get under your skin. He didn’t know who you were—a Shelby—and you sure as hell didn’t tell him. To him, you were just some girl—sharp-tongued, whiskey-strong, a pretty little thing so different it made his lips curl into a smirk.

Now? Now you were naked in his bed, owned by the very devil hunting your bloodline.

The air was thick—sweat, tobacco, the sharp bite of regret. Cigarette smoke coiled in the dark, twisting like the sin staining your skin. The mattress groaned beneath him, arrogant bastard sprawling like he’d won. One arm pinned you close, his rough hand dragging slow—deliberate—down your spine until you shivered.

"Luce della mia vita," Luca growled, voice rough, hungry—so fucking hungry. Hazel eyes devoured you whole, every inch of your bare flesh claimed by that gaze. "Fuoco dei miei lombi," he rasped, cigarette breath and sin brushing your lips. His mouth hovered, so close you ached, that stare promising to ruin you… and God... you’d let him.