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“Penthouse. Tonight. 8 PM. Don’t be late.” His text made my pulse spike. He was the man who stopped my assault. In the elevator, he invited me to his penthouse. “I wasn’t supposed to come,” I whispered. “I always get what I want.” His kiss stole my breath. Then he pulled back. “Now tell me,” he said quietly, “do you know what you just walked into?” Three months after breaking up with my mafia sugar daddy, I accidentally use his card to buy a box of condms. He sends me a text soon after. [Who's better, him or me?] I ignore it. That night, after a business trip, I return to my hotel and find a tall figure blocking my way. He is lean, sharp-edged, the kind of man who lives at the edge of gnfire and power. Even exhaustion clings to him like pressure rather than weakness. He should be in a city thousands of miles away, ruling his underworld empire. But now, Don Grimholt, the powerful head of a mafia family, is standing in front of me. As if crossing every boundary in the world just to get an answer. From me. "Kristen." He calls my name in a low voice, his tone rough. "You're playing with fire." Before I can respond, he grabs my wrist and pushes me straight into the room. He tears open my blouse, pressing me against the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel. His heavy breathing fills my ear. On the bed, he keeps pushing me to my limits. When I beg, he bites my earlobe and deliberately asks, "Can he do this to you too?" I bite my lip and say nothing, secretly pleased by his jealousy. After it is over, he leans against the headboard. The desire in his green eyes fades little by little, returning to the calm, dangerous composure of a mafia Don who controls everything. He looks at me like this is a transaction that must come to an end. "Kristen," he says, "I'm getting married next month." "This is the last time." I freeze. It feels like a bucket of ice water is poured over my head, freezing me from scalp to toes. Damien gets out of bed. A moment later, the sound of running wat
