Juliana's POV

"Don Landini," the housekeeper said, her head bowing instantly.

"I asked you a question, Maria," he said, his voice holding an authority that allowed no argument. "You are to inform me when I have a visitor, not dismiss them on your own." His gaze fell on me. "Come with me."

I followed him down a lavish corridor. Carved stone pillars, imported Italian marble floors, and priceless classical oil paintings on the walls.

"My time is valuable, Miss Rossi," he said, gesturing to an elevator. "I'm granting you a moment of it. Now, come."

He led me into a massive private study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a beautifully carved solid wood desk sat in the center.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the setting sun painted the New York skyline in shades of gold and red.

He wore a crisp white Italian shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the hard, lean muscles of his forearms. My eyes lingered a second too long.

"Ahem."

A soft cough snapped me back. He was watching me, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Speak," he said simply. "You went to great lengths to get in here. What is it you want?"

"I need money," I said, getting straight to the point. "My father was framed and jailed. The bail is five million dollars. I know that's nothing to you."

He said nothing, just watched me quietly, as if assessing the value of an item for sale.

"And why should I help a stranger?"

This was it. The moment of truth.

I took a deep breath and slowly untied the belt of my trench coat.

My hands trembled as I untied the belt. The coat slid open, the scent of the oil wafting into the air, revealing the black lace lingerie beneath.

The cool air on so much bare skin made me shiver.

"I know what a man like you wants," I whispered, rising on my toes to get closer to his ear. "I'm clean. A virgin. Just save my father."

I could feel his body tense, hear his breath hitch.

"You can have me. All of me."

My heart was hammering against my ribs.

Dante grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

I thought he was going to kiss me.

Instead, he bent down, picked up the coat from the floor, and draped it back over my shoulders.

"I don't like artificial scents," he said, his voice cold. "And I don't trade in bodies."

Heat flooded my face. I was drowning in shame.

"I thought..."

"I don't need a woman who can be bought," he cut me off, his eyes laced with disappointment. "Especially not one who arrives gift-wrapped like a cheap delivery."

"You..."

"Listen to me, Juliana," he said, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I have a daughter. I taught her to have pride. Dignity. I thought you were a woman of substance."

His words were a slap across my face.

He was right. I had turned myself into the very type of woman I despised.

He released me and pressed a button on his desk intercom. "Security, see our guest out."

Footsteps approached from behind. "Please escort Miss Rossi out," Dante said without turning around.

I bit my lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

I turned and fled.

To earn the money, I took a job Sofia found for me at a VIP underground club. One owned by the Landini family.

"This job will definitely make you a lot of money. The tips from the clients here are insane," Sofia said, patting my shoulder.

I looked down at the uniform. A black miniskirt so tight it was suffocating and a top with a neckline so low it was an open invitation for men to undress me with their eyes.

But I had no choice. I needed the money.

"Get in there. Some high rollers just took the back booth," the manager said, shoving me forward.

I took a deep breath, held my tray steady, and pushed open the door to the smoke-filled booth.

When my eyes adjusted and I saw the face of the man sitting in the center, my blood ran cold.

Sitting on the sofa were Marco and several of his men.

Juliana's POV

"Well, well, if it isn't the high-and-mighty Miss Rossi," a sleazy voice drawled. "Reduced to waiting tables in a shithole like this."

"Hey, kitten, open a bottle for us," another man whistled, his eyes raking over my chest. "How much for a night with you? That uniform is hot as hell."

I resisted the urge to smash the tray over their heads. "I only serve drinks."

I slammed the expensive bottle of Scotch down on the marble table.

As I leaned over, a hand grabbed my ass, squeezing hard.

"I like that uniform on you. Why don't you take it off and show us what's underneath?"

I stepped back, forcing him to let go. "Don't touch me."

"Drop the princess act, Juliana," one of Marco's men sneered, throwing a wad of cash onto the floor. It landed right in a puddle of spilled liquor.

"You're just here for the money, right? Get on your knees and pick it up. A few hundred should be enough to pay the electricity bill for that pathetic little gallery of yours, right?"

I glanced at Marco. He sat in the shadows, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his expression cold and detached, as if he were watching a show put on just for him.

There was a time he would have gouged out the eyes of any man who looked at me too long. Now, he was savoring my humiliation.

"Pick it up!" another one of his men jeered. "Don't want to? Fine. Down this bottle, and the cash is yours."

I stared at the soaked bills. I wanted to spit in their faces, but my father was still in prison. Every dollar was a lifeline.

Clenching my jaw, I slowly bent down.

Humiliation coiled in my gut. Just as my fingers were about to touch the filthy, soaked bills, a hand grabbed the back of my neck.

Marco dragged me from the booth, through the noisy club, and threw me into the cold air of the back alley.

"Are you this pathetic?" he hissed.

"Debasing yourself for a few hundred dollars from those animals?"

"Take my offer and stop this foolishness," he said, stalking toward me and pinning me against the rough brick wall. "Be my mistress, and I'll give you everything. Do you really like this kind of place? Being stared at by these men like you're a whore?"

"I will never be your mistress, Marco. Forget it," I spat, struggling against him.

"You're still mine, Jules. You always will be," he growled, his fingers digging into my chin. "Since you like being humiliated so much, maybe I should just take you right here..."

SLAP.

I swung with all my might, the sound cracking across the alley.

His head snapped to the side. The silence that followed was absolute.

Marco slowly turned his head back, his eyes turning terrifyingly dark. He lunged, his hand wrapping around my throat. "You dare hit me?"

Then, his movement froze. His eyes were glued to the side of my neck.

A dark red mark stained the skin.

"What is this?" Marco's voice was a rasp.

I realized it was the mark Dante had left on me that night. Even though nothing had happened, he had kissed me hard.

"Is that a fucking hickey?"

I sneered. Though it was hard to breathe, I lifted my chin. "What if it is?"

"Who was it?" The pressure on my throat tightened. "That broke artist you hang out with? Or some lowlife you picked up in this shithole?"

"It's none of your business."

I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and spun me back around. "Answer me, Juliana! Who was it?!"

"You'll never guess," I said, lifting my chin in defiance. "Dante Landini. Your father-in-law."

Marco froze, then burst out laughing.

"Are you dreaming? Dante? The Don who doesn't even give women a second glance?" He let go, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Don't try to get a rise out of me with that pathetic lie. If that mark was from Dante, I'd eat this fucking wall."

His men had followed us out and now erupted in another round of jeering laughs.

"Stop dreaming, Jules. A guy like Dante would just toss a piece of trash like you out on the street," Marco said, grabbing a handful of my hair.

"Now, you'd better listen to me and move into the apartment I bought for you. You can spend your days spreading those pretty legs just for me..."

A pair of blinding headlights cut through the darkness, and Marco let go, shielding his eyes.

The tinted window of a jet-black Rolls-Royce slid down in silence.

Finally free, I bent over, coughing and gasping for breath.

In the shadows of the back seat, a man sat, revealing only the hard line of his jaw.

Dante Landini turned his head and locked his eyes directly on me.

"Get in the car," he commanded coldly.

I stood frozen. Marco looked like he'd been struck by lightning, his mouth hanging open as he stared at that face in disbelief.

"I'm not a patient man, Juliana," Dante's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't make me repeat myself."

I snapped out of my trance and scrambled toward the car.

The driver was already out, holding the door open for me. I slid into the back seat, surrounded by that familiar, mint-laced scent.

The car pulled away. Through the back window, I could see Marco, standing frozen in the alley like a statue.

Before I could even catch my breath, Dante's voice, cold as ice, sounded right next to my ear.

"Using me to provoke your ex-fiancé. Is that your new game, Miss Rossi?"