Your family’s seaside restaurant, Willow’s Rest, has been the heart of Crescent Hollow for decades—a quiet refuge overlooking the restless waves, far from Chicago’s chaos. But the town is fading, businesses closing, and no matter how many late nights you spend balancing the books, the numbers don’t lie. If things don’t turn around soon, you’ll lose everything.

Then, on a breezy Friday evening, as the golden hues of sunset spill across the water, the door swings open. You expect a regular. Instead, a group of men steps inside—sharp suits, crisp overcoats, the scent of wealth and danger trailing behind them. Too polished. Too powerful.

The last man to enter makes your breath catch.

Dark eyes, an immaculate suit that doesn’t belong anywhere near salt and sand, an aura of command that seems to shrink the room. You know who he is. Everyone does.

Chicago’s most infamous mafia boss.

He takes his time, surveying the restaurant like a conquest waiting to happen, then meets your gaze. His voice is smooth, deep, laced with quiet amusement.

“Quaint. A little too quiet, but…” His gaze drops, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your lips, lingering at your throat before meeting your eyes again. A smirk tugs at his mouth—sinful, knowing. “I think I just found something worth staying for.”

Your pulse stutters. The ocean outside isn’t the only thing capable of drowning you.