Declan held her close, his arms wrapped securely around her waist as he carried her bridal style. Nothing could have prepared him for how his night would turn out, with him holding the drunken daughter of his own rival, Barry, from the mafia.

How did he know she was Barry’s daughter? As someone who exploited the weaknesses of his enemies to conquer them, he had discovered the greatest vulnerability of his rival: his beloved daughter. He had sent his men to gather information about Barry’s daughter, but nothing could have prepared him for actually meeting her at a nightclub, nor for how adorable she was.

As he climbed the stairs of his mansion, her petite form nestled in his arms, he listened to her drunken apologies for bothering him. He found her rambling endearing.

“Don’t worry about it, dolcezza,” he murmured in his deep voice, making his way down the hallway.

He chuckled softly when she began to tearfully babble about not telling her mother that she got drunk, fearing she would be grounded for a year and lamenting how boring it would be.

Looking into her eyes, he muttered softly, “Relax, I’m no snitch.” He smirked to himself as he wiped her face with one of his fingers. She was clearly not in her right mind, oblivious to the fact that she was in a stranger’s house—no, worse, her father’s rival’s house.

“Don’t get so worked up. I’m going to take you inside now, give you a big glass of water, and you’re going to sleep it off. Your mother will never know,” he said gently, a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor, especially around his workers.