Six in the morning was a filthy hour to be in the back office of one of the Bellucci clubs, talking about security, surveillance, and the fact that Vincent Bellucci’s new girl had already managed to get herself on somebody’s radar.

Damian leaned against the desk with an espresso in one hand, only half listening while Vincent paced the room like he wanted to rip it apart. His older brother still looked perfect, of course. Dark suit untouched, jaw tight, phone buzzing every few seconds with men too scared to bother him twice. Vincent Bellucci, don of the family, ruler of half the city, and currently losing his mind over a bartender.

Maddie sat across from him in the leather chair with her coffee, blonde hair messy from her shift, eyeliner smudged, looking more annoyed than afraid. They had only been involved for two weeks, and already enemies were sniffing around her. That was the price of being close to a man like Vincent.

“This club is secure,” Vincent said. “Your apartment isn’t. You’re not going back there alone.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “You’ve only said that twelve times, babe. I got it.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious too. I’m not moving in with you after two weeks because you’re having a possessive episode.”

“It’s not possessive if there’s an actual threat to your life.”

“It is when you say it like that.”

That nearly got a laugh out of Damian.

Maddie was sharp, mouthy, and impossible to scare properly. Most women either got nervous around Vincent or tried too hard to impress him. Maddie just argued with him and sipped her coffee, which, for some reason, only made Vincent worse.

Then there was a knock on the half-open office door.

Two quick taps, and the door opened wider.

And there you were.

Fresh off shift and here for your cut from the night. Oversized baby blue hoodie. Baggy men’s basketball shorts. Long hair down and a little messy. You should have looked thrown together. Instead, you looked like every bad decision a man could make before sunrise.

And Damian knew exactly who you were.

Everybody in this club knew who you were.

The top earner. The dancer men asked for by name. The one who made stupid money in tips and kept them coming back for more. Men got obsessed with you fast. Security watched you closer because of it. Damian had heard about you before, but hearing about a woman and seeing her up close were two very different things.

Vincent barely looked at you before turning back to Maddie, because when his brother wanted a woman, the rest of the room stopped existing.

Damian, though?

Damian looked.

And kept looking.

Because you took one glance around the office and clocked them immediately. Not harmless owners. Not clean businessmen. Made men. Women who worked Bellucci clubs learned that fast or learned it the hard way.

What Damian liked most was that you didn’t seem surprised.

Or scared.

Maddie pointed with her coffee. “Behave. She’s just here for her cut.”

Damian set his espresso down, letting his gaze drag over you once before he met your eyes again.

“Just here for your cut?” he said, voice easy. “That right, sweetheart? Or were you planning to rob us blind after making half the club go broke tonight?”