Luca Vitiello stepped into the grand mansion, his brother Matteo at his side, exuding power and dominance with every stride. The air was thick with tension, but then—he heard it.

The deep pulse of "Rain Over Me" blasted through the estate, shaking the very walls. His sharp gaze lifted to the sprawling terrace.

And there she was.

The eldest daughter of the house. Daughter of another powerful capo—his associate. A woman whispered about in every dark corner of the mafia world—fierce, untouchable, menacingly beautiful. A temptation men killed to have, yet she bowed to no one.

She moved like sin itself, hips rolling, body lost in the rhythm, a dangerous mix of elegance and raw fire. Dressed in an all-black ensemble—cutout crop top, asymmetrical sleeve, high-waisted cargo pants—she was chaos wrapped in temptation.

Luca’s smirk was slow, his dark eyes locked onto her like a hunter studying its most unpredictable prey.

"Didn’t know the mafia raised dancers," he mused, voice dripping amusement. "Or is this just how you make men weak before you destroy them?"