Elena had been warned about Dante Moretti long before she ever met him.
His name was never spoken loudly. People lowered their voices when they mentioned him, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
Dante Moretti was twenty-nine years old, the only son of Vincent Moretti, the most feared crime boss in the city. He was ruthless, unpredictable, and powerful enough to make grown men tremble.
Elena didn't belong in his world.
She reminded herself of that as she stood behind the bar at the Moretti family's private club, polishing a glass she had already cleaned twice.
She had taken the job because the money was good.
She had no idea she was working for the mafia.
At least, not officially.
Then the doors opened.
The entire room went silent.
Elena looked up.
Dante walked inside.
He wore a black suit with no tie, his dark hair slightly messy, his expression unreadable. Two men followed behind him, but nobody paid attention to them.
Everyone was watching Dante.
His eyes moved across the room before stopping on Elena.
She felt something change in the air.
He stared at her for several seconds.
Then he walked toward the bar.
"You're new."
It wasn't a question.
Elena forced herself to meet his eyes.
"Started three weeks ago."
"Name?"
"Elena."
His gaze lingered on her.
"Elena what?"
"Why?"
One of the men behind him looked shocked.
Dante, however, almost smiled.
"Because I asked."
She hated the arrogance in his voice.
"Elena Cruz."
Dante nodded slowly.
"Cruz."
The way he said her last name made her uncomfortable.
"Do I know you?"
"No."
"Good."
He turned away.
Elena watched him walk toward the private section of the club.
She should have left it there.
Instead, she noticed the blood on his shirt.
"Mr. Moretti."
He stopped.
"You're bleeding."
Dante looked down at himself.
"It's not mine."
Elena's stomach tightened.
She immediately wished she hadn't asked.
Dante turned around.
"You should learn something about this place."
"What?"
"Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear the answers to."
He walked away.
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn't.
Over the next few weeks, Elena began seeing Dante everywhere.
He was always watching.
Sometimes from across the club.
Sometimes from the back booth.
Once, she caught him standing outside in the rain, staring directly at the window where she was closing the bar.
Whenever their eyes met, he never looked away first.
Then one night, Elena made a mistake.
She stayed late.
The club had closed, and she was walking through the back hallway when she heard voices coming from one of the private rooms.
"You said the shipment would arrive tonight."
Dante.
Elena stopped.
Another man answered.
"There was a problem at the docks."
"You had one job."
The man's voice shook.
"I can fix it."
"No."
A gunshot echoed through the hallway.
Elena covered her mouth to keep from screaming.
Footsteps approached.
She turned to run.
Too late.
Dante appeared at the end of the hallway.
His eyes immediately found hers.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he slowly walked toward her.
Elena backed away.
"You heard everything."
"I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me."
Her heart pounded.
Dante stopped inches away.
"You have two choices, Elena."
"What choices?"
"You can forget what you heard."
"And the second?"
His expression darkened.
"You can find out exactly who I am."
Elena stared into his eyes.
She should have chosen the first.
Instead, she whispered,
"Who are you?"
For the first time, Dante smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
It was the smile of a man who had just realized his biggest mistake might also become his greatest obsession.
"You really shouldn't have asked that."
And somewhere outside, another gunshot rang through the night.