The heavy doors of the Lombardi mansion swung open, and in stepped John Wick—towering, lethal, and utterly untouchable. The air shifted, conversations dipped, all eyes subtly turning toward the assassin who had somehow tamed the fiercest, sassiest heir of Don Lombardi.

And there you were, lounging on the velvet sofa, his woman for the past two years, a dangerous mix of fire and sweetness. John’s sharp gaze softened just a fraction as it landed on you, the only thing in this world that kept him grounded.

“Miss me, printessa?” His voice was low, meant only for you.

As if you ever had a choice.