On the day we were supposed to get engaged, my fiancé, Marco, married the Don's daughter.

My father was framed and thrown in jail. I needed five million dollars to get him out.

Then Marco found me. "Be my mistress," he offered, "and I'll save your father."

I smiled and turned to the man lurking in the shadows, a man known for his power, brutality, and his stone-cold heart.

They said the king of the underworld never let a woman spend the night.

But with me, he buried his head in my hair, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist.

The floor-to-ceiling windows, the mahogany desk, and the ornate carved bed all became our battlegrounds.

And there was one thing I forgot to tell Marco.

The man I was with was Dante Landini, the cold-blooded Don of the Landini family, who was Marco's soon-to-be father-in-law.

Juliana's POV

Today was supposed to be my engagement day.

Instead, I was forced to watch my ex-fiancé kiss another woman.

Marrying her was his ticket into New York's elite power structure. She was Isabella Landini, the only daughter of the feared Mafia Don, Dante Landini.

Months ago, Marco had abruptly broken the marriage agreement between our two families.

Now, every ambitious capo in the city was vying for an alliance with the Landinis, my ex-fiancé included.

Everyone knew the Landini family controlled the entire New York underworld. And Dante? He alone decided who lived and who died in this city.

So, Marco had made his choice.

Her, not me.

"A Scotch, neat. And a Dirty Martini for the lady."

A low, smooth voice slid past my ear.

"What has you looking so glum? The bride, or the groom?" the man asked.

"I'm just not used to these kinds of parties," I lied.

"What a coincidence," he said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "I'm here purely out of familial obligation."

The bartender pushed my drink forward. I tilted my head back and downed it in one go. The sharp burn seared my throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

Every time Marco kissed Isabella, I felt like I died all over again.

Were my dignity, my love, and our seven years together truly worth nothing?

"Thank you for the drink," I said to the stranger. I needed to get out of here. Now.

I slid off the barstool, turning so quickly that I didn't notice the waiter rushing past behind me.

A sharp crash echoed through the air.

The waiter's tray tipped, and three full glasses of deep red Cabernet Sauvignon spilled all over my chest and skirt.

The cold liquid instantly soaked through the fabric, clinging to my skin.

Scarlet wine snaked down my cream-colored gown, making it look like the aftermath of a grisly murder.

The room fell silent. Every eye in the room zeroed in on me.

I froze, mortified and utterly exposed.

Just as I was wishing the ground would swallow me whole, a warm, black suit jacket was draped over my shoulders, covering the curves that were all too visible through the wet fabric.

The next second, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me away from the suffocating center of attention.

I looked up into a pair of bottomless black eyes. They were cold and mocking, yet they pulled me in like an abyss.

My breath caught in my throat.

This man was dangerously handsome. Beneath the expensive, custom-tailored suit, his muscles were coiled and tight.

He shielded me in front of everyone, his grip possessive, as if protecting what was his.

A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, revealing a devastating dimple in his right cheek.

God, I wanted to lick that dimple.

"The color suits your complexion," his deep voice laced with amusement. "But being drenched isn't exactly appropriate for the occasion."

I stared at him, my mind momentarily blank.

"Are you always this helpful to pretty young women?" I shot back, trying to hide my panic.

He didn't answer, merely glancing down at the wine stain on my chest with a slight frown.

"The top floor," he said.

"My private suite."

"What?" The word was a strangled whisper.

"Your dress is ruined. There are clothes in my suite," he said, his eyes scanning the leering crowd. "Unless you'd prefer to give them a show."

Realizing I had no other choice, I nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

He turned to the bartender, tapping his fingers twice on the bar.

"Put it on my tab."

I let the man steer me out of the ballroom.

I found myself resting my head against his broad chest, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faintest hint of gunpowder.

The elevator went straight to the penthouse.

"Take off your dress," he commanded the moment we were inside the suite.

He loosened his tie and walked straight toward a massive walk-in closet as the cold, wet fabric made me shiver.

"What did you say?" I sputtered, crossing my arms over my chest.

"So you can change into a new one," he explained.

"Oh." I let out a breath, my cheeks burning.

I turned my back to him and peeled off the sticky dress, leaving me in nothing but black lace underwear.

He found a dress and turned, his gaze traveling from my collarbone, over my breasts, and down to my flat stomach.

The longer I looked at him, the more familiar he seemed.

I suddenly gasped, covering my mouth.

"It's you..."

"You know me?"

"I've heard of you," I clarified. A corner of his mouth tilted up as he walked slowly toward me, like a panther stalking its prey.

"And?"

"Just rumors..."

"What did you hear?"

"That you're a player. A different woman every week, and never the same one twice."

And you're the bride's father. Marco's future father-in-law.

Of course, I didn't say that last part out loud.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

He kept walking toward me, and I kept backing away until my back hit the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Nowhere left to run.

"Are there any other rumors you'd like to verify?" he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.

"All of them."

The alcohol gave me courage. If Marco could betray me, if my life was already in ruins, why couldn't I let go just once?

I tilted my head up, meeting those deep, abyssal eyes.

"Your eyes... they're dangerous. But so captivating."

"And?"

"That dimple..." I recklessly reached out and poked his cheek.

Before I could finish, his mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss was all hunger and possession.

I met his fire with my own, my legs wrapping around his lean waist.

He lifted me up, pressing me hard against the glass.

My body was pinned between the cool window and his scorching chest.

As his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, he sucked a dark mark there, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

All self-control vanished. My mind was filled with nothing but Dante. I tugged at his tie, wanting to rip it off along with his shirt.

He helped me, pulling the shirt over his head. My fingers explored the hard planes of his abs, gliding up to his broad shoulders.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked between kisses.

"Yes," I answered, my voice hoarse. "We're two consenting adults. Why not?"

His mouth claimed mine again, and just as he was about to unhook my bra, my phone began to ring insistently.

It was the specific ringtone I'd set for my mother.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

I shoved him away, gasping for air. "Stop."

He froze, the raw frustration of being interrupted raging in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to answer that."

"I have to," I said, sliding off him and scrambling for my phone. "It's my mom."

I answered to my mother's broken sobs. "Jules! Come home, please, I'm begging you, come home now!"

My mother had never sounded so panicked.

I hung up, my hands and feet turning to ice.

"I have to go."

Dante's brow furrowed, his displeasure obvious. "Are you kidding me?"

"My apologies, Don Landini. I'm sure you have a line of women waiting to climb into your bed."

I grabbed the wine-stained dress from the floor and started to pull it on.

"It's wet. Don't put that rag back on."

He sighed and snatched a large white shirt from a chair, tossing it over my head. It was his.

"Wear this. And get out."

I bolted from the hotel, his shirt saturated with his scent.

But I had no time to think about that.

The moment I walked through my front door, I found our home in chaos.

My mother was sobbing in the kitchen. "Juliana?" she wept. "The Feds took your father tonight."

Juliana's POV

My heart sank into a pit of despair. "What?!"

This was our home, an elegant townhouse on the Upper East Side. My father ran the trading company that had been in the Rossi family for generations. We had never wanted for anything.

My mother collapsed onto the sofa, her makeup a mess of tear-streaked mascara. "The Feds... there must have been twenty agents. They just stormed in."

Her voice broke. "They said it was fraud and money laundering. The company accounts are frozen, all our assets seized. Jules, we're ruined."

"That's impossible," I said, my throat tightening. "Dad has always run a clean business."

"It was a set-up. Someone framed him." My mother gripped my hand. "You know what happens when you piss off the wrong people. They can do whatever they want."

"The bail is an astronomical sum. If it's a RICO charge, he could rot in jail before he even sees a trial."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I frowned when I saw Marco's name.

Clenching my jaw, I stepped out onto the front porch.

The night air was cold. A black Maserati, one I knew all too well, was parked under a streetlight.

Seven years I'd spent in that passenger seat. We'd even made love in that car.

Marco leaned against the door, a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips. The red ember glowed in the dark.

He wore the smug smile of a man who thought he controlled everything.

"You look like hell, Juliana," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Did you come here to gloat?" I asked coldly, hugging my arms.

"I'm here to help you, baby," he said, closing the distance between us. "I heard about your father. Money laundering is a serious charge."

I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "You know he's innocent."

"In our world, the truth doesn't matter. Money and power do," he shrugged. "I can make it go away. I'll pay the bail, no matter how high. I'll even get the best lawyers to make this disappear."

I took a wary step back. "And what do you want in return?"

Marco never made a deal unless it benefited him. I knew that better than anyone.

A triumphant smirk spread across his face. "It's simple. I want you."

"I marry Isabella, you close your little gallery, and you become my girl on the side. Simple."

I stared at him, stunned. "You want me to be your mistress?"

"But Isabella is going to be your wife!"

"That's an alliance. Business," he said, his voice dropping low. "Don't be so high and mighty, Jules. We're good together. You know how good I am in bed."

His eyes roamed over my body without restraint. "Just say the word, and you'll never have to worry about money again. Your father can be home for dinner tomorrow."

Rage burned through my veins.

"Get the hell out of here," I hissed through my teeth. "I'd rather starve on the streets than be your back-alley slut."

Marco's face turned to stone. He lunged forward, his nose nearly touching mine.

"Don't be a fool."

"Who else is going to help the Rossis?" he sneered. "That's five million in cash for bail. You'll come crawling back to me when you realize your father is about to get his ribs broken in Rikers."

Marco got in his car and sped away.

I stood shivering in the cold wind. I didn't let myself slide to the floor until his taillights were gone.

Five million dollars.

Yesterday, that might not have been a problem. But now, the Rossi family was finished.

The next day, at the Rossi Gallery.

This place, once my pride and joy, now felt hollow. Its shine was gone, tarnished by our family's scandal.

"You look terrible," Sofia said, pushing the door open with two coffees in hand.

"Things have been better," I admitted, my hand trembling as I took the coffee. "Last night was a nightmare."

Sofia was not only my best friend, but also the most well-connected person I knew. She worked at a high-end club owned by the Landini family and had seen her share of dirty dealings.

"I heard about your father. I'm already trying to help you pull some money together," she said, perching on the edge of my desk. "But right now, we need to talk about something else. This is a man's shirt. And this fabric... only a handful of men in New York could afford it."

"So spill. You vanished last night. Where did you go?"

I avoided her gaze, staring into the ripples in my coffee cup. "A waiter spilled wine on me. A man took me to his suite to clean up."

"Whose? Don't you dare tell me it was that bastard Marco."

"It wasn't him."

I couldn't hide it from her. Taking a deep breath, I said the name that still made my heart hammer in my chest.

"Dante Landini."

Sofia's coffee cup almost slipped from her grasp.

"Who?" she shrieked.

Juliana's POV

"Dante Landini?"

Sofia's cup hit the floor, brown liquid splashing across the expensive carpet. "Are you telling me you went to the Landini estate with the Goddamn King of the Underworld?"

I nearly lunged across the desk to cover her mouth. "Keep your voice down, Sof."

"How can I keep my voice down? That's Dante Landini! The man eats people for breakfast!" Sofia worked in a Landini club; she knew the weight of that name better than anyone.

"I didn't have a choice," I said, slumping in my chair, utterly drained. "And that's not even the worst of it."

I told Sofia everything, including Marco's offer to make me his mistress.

"That goddamn animal!" Sofia was shaking with rage. "He wants you on the side? After marrying someone else? I'm going to kill him."

"Killing him won't help. I need money, now." I covered my face with my hands. "There's no way I can come up with five million dollars."

We both fell silent. Then, her face suddenly lit up.

Sofia grabbed my wrist. "Wait. You said Dante gave you his shirt?"

I nodded. "It was to cover myself."

"No, Jules, you don't get how these men think."

"Don't you get it? He's interested in you. A man like that doesn't give a woman his shirt unless he wants the connection to continue. I've worked at his club for years, and you're the first woman I've ever heard of him helping."

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Dante isn't interested in me. He gave me a jacket because I needed one."

"Why would he care?" Sofia asked. "He's Dante Landini. Besides, you said he kissed you passionately. There was clearly chemistry between you."

"He was a gentleman, but that doesn't mean he's going to hand me five million dollars."

"Money is just a number to a man like him. He doesn't need more of it. He wants a thrill. Something that makes him feel like he's losing control."

Sofia suddenly pulled open her handbag and rummaged inside, producing a small crystal vial.

"This is 'Siren's Kiss,'" she said, her voice low. "It's a pheromone oil. The top girls at the club can't even get their hands on it. They say one drop can drive the most disciplined man wild. Stir up his most primitive, possessive instincts."

I stared at the vial. "You want me to drug him?"

"It's not a drug, it's an enhancer. It just amplifies desire."

"Jules, this is your only chance. Marco wants to humiliate you, to turn you into his cheap plaything. But what if you become Dante Landini's woman?"

"He's Marco's father-in-law," I said, my voice trembling.

"Exactly! It's the perfect revenge!" Sofia gripped my shoulders. "Go tonight. Wear your sexiest dress, use this, and tell Dante you're his. If you have to sell yourself, at least sell to the most powerful man in New York."

It was the craziest decision I had ever made in my life.

That evening, I stood before the heavy, fortress-like doors of the Landini estate.

A black trench coat was wrapped tightly around my body. Underneath, I wore nothing but an expensive set of black lace lingerie, which I had originally bought for my wedding night.

Following Sofia's instructions, I had dabbed the oil behind my ears, on my wrists, and at the hollow of my throat.

The scent was faint, yet it carried a sweet, intoxicating note that, mixed with my body heat, made even my own head feel a little dizzy.

Inside the high-ceilinged foyer, a housekeeper in a crisp black uniform looked me up and down. Her gaze lingered on my worn heels and the way I clutched my coat.

"I'm here to see Don Landini."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but..."

"Then I must ask you to leave. Countless women come here demanding to see the Don. He is a busy man and has no time for girls trying to climb into his bed." She dismissed me without a second glance.

My cheeks burned with shame. As I stood there, unsure of what to do, the heavy double doors of a side hall swung open.

But then a man's low voice cut through the air. "Who gave you the authority to turn away my guest?"