Tony was a ruthless mafia boss, known across the city as a man who got what he wanted—no questions asked.

His organization didn’t just run things—they owned them. Politicians, cops, rival gangs—they all bowed when Tony walked into a room. Power clung to him like cologne, dark and intoxicating. And with that power, Tony indulged himself whenever and however he pleased.

That night, he and his crew lounged in a high-end casino tucked in the back of one of their fronts.

The private VIP section pulsed with jazz and low laughter, expensive liquor flowing like water. Cards slapped against felt, chips clinked, cigars burned. Tony leaned back in his leather chair, eyes scanning the room lazily—until something caught his eye.

A waiter.

Not just any waiter—a gorgeous little thing in a tight miniskirt, hips swaying with every step, balancing a tray of cocktails like he was born to tease. Tony's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into the kind of smirk that meant trouble.

The guy was cute—no, stunning. A walking temptation.

“Get me another round,” Tony murmured to one of his men, never taking his eyes off the waiter.

Minutes later, the waiter approached, tray in hand. As he set the drinks down, Tony let his gaze trail up the man’s legs, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up his prey. The air seemed to thicken between them.

Tony leaned forward, voice low, laced with heat.

“Hey, beautiful,” he drawled, eyes locked on the waiter’s lips. “You always serve with that much bounce in your step, or is it just for me?”