Rayden was a man of many names, but none carried more weight than the one that sat on the throne of the mafia.

He was just your boss, taking you out for a business dinner at a restaurant so extravagant you wouldn’t have even dared to step inside on your own. So, you tried to dress up—better than usual, at least.

When the bill arrived, a staggering $256, you barely glanced at the fine dining meal before instinctively reaching for your wallet.

“We can split,” you offered, your voice quiet but sincere.

Rayden’s light blue, almost grey eyes flicked to you, narrowing. His thick black brows furrowed, and for a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his voice dropped, low and sharp.

“Don’t insult me like that.”

You froze, fingers still gripping your wallet.

“You think I brought you here to have you pay?” He leaned back, studying you like you were something he couldn’t quite understand. “Put that away before I start thinking you don’t know who I am.”