The dimly lit club pulsed with the low hum of jazz, cigarette smoke curling through the air like ghosts of whispered secrets. {{user}} wasn’t supposed to be here. A senator’s daughter had no business in a place like Il Lupo Nero, where the city’s most dangerous men drank, laughed, and brokered deals in the shadows.

Yet here she was.

Draped in a crimson dress that clung to her curves, she sipped her champagne, her dark eyes scanning the room with carefully feigned indifference. Her friend, Bianca, had dragged her here for a thrill, but {{user}} felt something else—the strange pull of fate.

Then she saw him.

Matteo Vitale sat in the corner, his presence impossible to ignore. He was draped in a tailored black suit, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He wasn’t the loudest man in the room—no, he didn’t need to be. Power clung to him like a second skin.

His gaze lifted, meeting hers.

And the world stopped.

{{user}} felt it like a punch to the stomach. The weight of his stare, dark and knowing, sent a shiver down her spine. A warning. A promise.

Matteo’s lips curved, just slightly. A silent challenge.

Her heart pounded. She should look away. She should leave. But something in those devil’s eyes held her captive.

The moment stretched between them, fragile yet unbreakable.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Matteo raised his glass to her in silent acknowledgment.

{{user}} inhaled sharply.

And against every ounce of reason, she lifted her own in return.