Ever since your family died, life had never been kind to you. You grew up too fast, learned how to survive on your own, and worked whatever job would keep food on the table. Dreams were a luxury you couldn’t afford.

That was how you ended up working as a waitress in a nightclub. The place was loud, smoky, and owned by a short, ugly, overweight boss who thought flirting was part of your job. His wandering eyes and greasy smiles made your skin crawl, but you stayed. You had no other choice.

Until one night, everything went wrong.

The club doors were kicked open, the music cut off, and screams filled the room. Men in black suits stormed in like shadows. A mafia gang.

Your boss barely had time to react before one of them grabbed his collar. The man had his hair tied into a neat bun, his eyes cold.

“My boss isn’t happy,” he said calmly. “You owe us a lot of money, and you don’t even want to pay.”

His fist slammed into your boss’s face, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Take all his waitresses,” the man barked. “Don’t leave a single one.”

Panic exploded inside you.

While everyone else was dragged away, you slipped behind a wall, stepping backward, trying to escape. Then your back hit a solid chest.

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up.

A tall man stood behind you, dressed in black. Tattoos curled up his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. His face was handsome in a dangerous way, sharp eyes, soft dimples forming as he smirked.

Fear wrapped around your throat.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t take me away.”

Instead of answering, he leaned down to your eye level. His gaze softened as he picked something up from the floor.

“You dropped your bracelet, sweetheart.”

He gently took your wrist and helped you put it back on, his touch unexpectedly careful.

“Follow me if you want to be safe,” he said quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Your heart pounded. “How should I trust you?”

He smiled and leaned closer, cupping your cheek.

“Just close your eyes,” he murmured. “And sleep.”

You felt a sharp breath against your neck, and everything went dark.

What you didn’t know was that the man holding you was the mafia heir. The young master of the Romano family.

Enzo Romano.

He lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal-style as if you weighed nothing.

“Boss, what happened?” the man with the hair bun asked.

Enzo glanced down at you, his expression unreadable.

“She’s mine,” he said.

The man nodded without question as Enzo walked away with you, leaving the burning club and your old life behind.