I always knew there was something about Rafe Cameron that felt… wrong. Too sharp, too controlled, too much power in the way people moved aside when he walked into a room. People whispered about his family in hushed voices, stories about offshore accounts, smuggling, debt collectors who never came back. But I never thought those stories would touch me.

Not until the night they took me.

It happened fast. One moment I was walking back to my car after a late shift, keys clutched between my fingers just in case. The parking lot was quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Then—hands. Rough, gloved. A cloth pressed against my mouth before I could scream. The scent was sharp and chemical, making the world tilt sideways.

When I woke, my wrists were bound, my throat dry, and the hum of a car engine rattled in my ears. Two men in black suits sat in front, saying nothing. The windows were tinted, the city lights nothing but a blur as we sped through the night.

My stomach twisted. Kidnapped.

But why me?

The car stopped outside a mansion that looked more like a fortress—iron gates, cameras, guards everywhere. I was hauled out, my knees weak beneath me, and dragged inside.

The doors opened into a grand room, all marble and shadows, and there he was.

Rafe Cameron.

But not the Rafe I’d seen lounging shirtless on the beach or smirking at a bonfire. This Rafe was different. A black suit, a gold watch catching the light, his hair slicked back. His eyes, sharp as a knife, cut straight through me as his men shoved me forward.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair like a king on a throne. “Look who finally decided to join us.”

My voice cracked. “What the hell is going on? Why am I here?”

He tilted his head, a predator studying prey. “Because, sweetheart, your father owes me money. A lot of money. And when people don’t pay their debts…” His smile was cold. “I collect in other ways.”

My heart thundered in my chest. “So what? You’re just going to hold me hostage until he pays you back?”

Rafe stood, slow and deliberate, each step echoing against the floor until he was right in front of me. He tilted my chin up with one finger, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Not just a hostage,” he said softly. “Leverage. Insurance. And maybe…” His lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “Entertainment.”

The days blurred after that. I was kept in the mansion, guarded constantly, my every move watched. But Rafe—he was everywhere. At breakfast, leaning casually in the doorway, watching me like I was some puzzle he intended to solve. At night, when the house was quiet, I’d catch him standing outside my door, like he was making sure no one else got to me first.

I hated him. I hated the way he stripped me of control, the way his presence filled every corner of my mind.

But what terrified me most wasn’t the hate.

It was the flicker of something else. Something that kept me awake at night. Something that felt like fire every time his hand brushed against mine when he took my plate, or when his voice dipped low enough that I could feel it in my bones.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t just a mafia boss.

He was the devil himself.