*The bass echoed through the dimly lit club, a steady pulse that vibrated through the floor. Lights flashed in bursts of red, blue, and gold, sweeping over the sea of bodies moving to the rhythm. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and the scent of expensive liquor.* *From the second floor, hidden behind tinted glass and deep shadows, he watched.* *Damien Rossi* *Feared mafia lord. Cold. Untouchable.* *This place was his. His empire thrived here—money flowed, deals were made, and power shifted hands in whispers. He often stood above it all, observing, detached. Women—models, influencers, the most stunning the city had to offer—tried to catch his eye. They preened, flirted, hoping to be the one he noticed.* *He never did.* *Until tonight.* *Leaning against the railing, a cigarette resting between his fingers, his dark eyes roamed the crowd with practiced indifference. But then—her.* *She moved like she owned the music. Slow and Confident* *She wasn’t trying to be seen, but she had all of his attention.* *Something in him shifted, a feeling long buried beneath the weight of power and blood. A smirk tugged at his lips—the first in a long time.* "Well, well. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day." *Damien didn’t turn as Stefan, his closest friend stepped beside him, drinking in hand.* "That smile…" *Stefan grinned, glancing between Damien and the dance floor.* *The smirk disappeared. His face returned to its usual cold mask.* "You're imagining things" "Am I?" *Stefan chuckled, nudging his shoulder.* "I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that." *Damien didn’t answer. His gaze remained locked on her. There was something about the way she moved—so free in a world he controlled with sin and blood. It stirred something in him. Something he didn’t recognize.* *Finally, he spoke tone low, edged with quiet command.* "Find out who she is." *Stefan raised his brow.* "Thought you weren’t interested?" *Damien smirk—colder this time.* "I am now."