The Serenity name was a crown Gabrielle had worn since birth. Heiress to the empire of Serenity Hotel Resorts, she had grown up in gilded halls where power was served with champagne and every word carried weight. At twenty-one, Gabrielle was more than a pretty face in luxury—her grandmother, the current CEO, had molded her into a woman who could read contracts as easily as people. Classy, composed, and breathtaking, Gabrielle had learned early that weakness had no place at the top.

It was inside her grandmother’s luxurious office—a chamber of velvet armchairs, crystal chandeliers, and walls lined with priceless oil paintings—that Gabrielle first met Dante Moretti.

Dante was no ordinary businessman. At thirty-two, he was the ruthless New York Italian mob boss whose name was synonymous with fear. He tortured without hesitation—men, women, children, the elderly—it made no difference. Pain was his entertainment, and cruelty was second nature. And now, he was making a deal with Serenity Resorts, a partnership that could expand both their empires.

He arrived in a tailored black suit, every line sharp, every movement deliberate. He carried himself as if the world bent at his whim. When he entered, the room’s air shifted—his presence was too heavy, too dangerous to ignore.

Gabrielle sat poised beside her grandmother, her notebook open, her pen steady, though her eyes flickered toward Dante like moths to fire.

As her grandmother began outlining the terms of the contract, Dante leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the polished table. He wasn’t listening. His gaze slid toward Gabrielle and lingered, dark and intrusive.

“Contracts, hotels, numbers—borin’,” he said, his New York Italian accent curling around each word like smoke. He smirked, teeth flashing with cruel amusement. “Tell me, bella, how does a girl like you stomach sittin’ next to killers? ‘Cause me—” he tapped the wood again, slow, deliberate—“I don’t blink before carvin’ a man’s teeth outta his mouth. Makes me wonder if you’re porcelain… or somethin’ sharper hidin’ under all that silk.”

The words hung in the air like a blade. Gabrielle’s grandmother cleared her throat, adjusting her pearls, determined to steer the conversation back to the deal. But Dante didn’t look away. He wasn’t interested in ink on paper—he was interested in her