The first time the mafia boss’s baby reached for me, I thought he wanted the silver necklace around my throat.

The Grand Ballroom of the Bellevue Hotel was a glittering monument to corrupt wealth.

Crystal chandeliers cascaded from gold-leaf ceilings, illuminating hundreds of men in custom tuxedos and women dripping in diamonds. But beneath the clinking champagne flutes and the smooth jazz quartet, the air tasted of copper and gunpowder. Every man in that room had bodyguards flanking the perimeter; every smile hid an execution order.

I stood beside Luca, my arm linked through his, my spine straight.

I was wearing an emerald green silk gown with a modest neckline and an open back that Luca had personally ordered from Milan. My hair was swept into an intricate updo, exposing the diamond teardrop necklace resting against my throat—a piece from the Moretti family vault that carried enough carats to buy my old apartment building three times over.

Rosa was upstairs in a heavily guarded private suite on the twelfth floor with Leo, flanked by six of Luca’s most trusted men.

"Breathe, *tesoro*," Luca murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear. The warmth of his breath made a shiver dance down my neck. "You look like royalty. Act like you own every soul in this room, and they will believe you do."

"I feel like a target," I whispered through a poised smile.

"You are beside me," Luca said, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that made my pulse race. "Nothing touches you while I draw breath."

A ripple moved through the crowd near the center of the ballroom.

The sea of tuxedos parted to reveal an older man with silver hair slicked back, wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo with a sneer carved into his weathered face. Matteo Castiglione. Beside him stood three massive enforcers, their jackets bulging conspicuously.

"Luca," Matteo said loudly, spreading his arms as if greeting a long-lost brother. "The prodigal son returns. We were beginning to think you had locked yourself away in Chestnut Hill to weep forever."

A tense silence fell over the surrounding guests.

Luca didn't flinch. He didn't smile. He merely looked at Matteo the way an executioner looks at a condemned man who has started talking out of turn.

"I only stay home when the company is worth keeping, Matteo," Luca said smoothly. "Out here, the air smells like cheap cologne and desperation."

Matteo’s smile hardened into a razor blade. His predatory gaze drifted away from Luca and locked onto me, slowly sliding down the emerald silk of my dress.

"And who is this exquisite creature?" Matteo asked, taking a step forward. "Surely not a replacement for poor Elena so soon? I thought you were a man of tradition, Moretti."

The mention of Luca’s late wife was a deliberate, poison-tipped needle.

I felt the muscles in Luca’s arm turn to solid granite beneath my fingers. His jaw ticked. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to draw his weapon in the middle of a five-hundred-person gala.

Before Luca could unleash violence, I took half a step forward, meeting Matteo’s arrogant gaze with a cool, deadpan stare.

"My name is Avery Chen," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the silent circle of mobsters. "And if you’re trying to insult Mr. Moretti by suggesting he has good taste in company, you’re doing a remarkably poor job of it."

A muffled cough of laughter came from somewhere behind Matteo—one of the younger capos from the Brooklyn faction who quickly choked it down.

Matteo’s eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "A sharp tongue for a hired girl. Do you know who I am, little girl?"

"I know you lost six men in Chestnut Hill three weeks ago," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "and you haven't managed to replace a single one of them since."

The ballroom went completely breathless.

Matteo’s face turned an ugly shade of purple. His hand twitched toward his lapel, but before his fingers could move an inch, Luca stepped between us.

Luca didn't shout. He didn't raise a weapon. He simply leaned into Matteo’s space until their noses were six inches apart. The aura of pure, unadulterated death radiating off Luca was so palpable that the two bodyguards behind Matteo instinctively took half a step back.

"Touch her," Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal calm, "and I will tear your empire down brick by brick, burn your ships in the harbor, and feed what remains of your bloodline to the Delaware River. Do you understand me, old man?"

Matteo swallowed hard, the arrogance evaporating from his eyes, replaced by the bitter realization that he was standing in the path of a Category 5 hurricane.

"We have business to discuss with the Commission, Luca," Matteo said, his voice shaking slightly. "The girl stays outside the council room."

"She goes wherever I go," Luca said. "Now move out of my way."

Without waiting for an answer, Luca took my hand, interlaced his fingers with mine, and led me straight through the center of the room. As we walked, I looked at his profile—the rigid jaw, the dangerous, predatory grace—and realized with terrifying certainty that I was no longer afraid of the monster.