(Dermont's POV)
Hiding in plain sight wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.
I had lived my entire life surrounded by luxury. I was born into power, molded by it. My father, Vincent Gregorio, built a billion dollar empire from nothing, and I was supposed to inherit it. But power like that attracts enemies, and in my case, it attracted the worst kind—family.
Uncle Brandon always had a sharp eye for opportunity. The moment my father died, he saw his chance to take control. He knew the board wouldn't approve a hostile takeover, not when the empire rightfully belonged to me. So he went for the next best option.
Elimination.
The assassins came at night.
I had just stepped out of my car when I heard the whisper of movement behind me. Instinct took over before logic did. I dropped low, just as the first bullet whizzed past my ear. I didn't hesitate. I rolled to the side, yanked my gun from my holster, and fired back.
One of them screamed. Another shouted a curse.
Then I ran.
I don't know how long I sprinted through the streets, but by the time I reached the train station and slipped into the crowd, my lungs were burning. My suit was torn up, my hands were scraped raw from hitting the pavement, and my mind was running through a hundred different possibilities.
I had no doubt who was behind it.
Brandon.
I knew he wouldn't stop until he was sitting on my father's throne. Until I was buried six feet under, forgotten.
So I did what I had to do. I disappeared.
***
Life as a commoner had its challenges.
I went from private jets to public transport, from thousand-dollar meals to cheap bar food. It was humbling, but it was necessary.
I couldn't afford to be Dermont Gregorio anymore.
So I became nobody.
I rented a small apartment under a fake name. I paid in cash. I kept my head down, stayed out of trouble, and kept moving.
Then I found The Margarita.
At first, it was just another bar—a place to drink, to blend in, to gather information. But then I saw her.
Susan.
She wasn't the kind of woman you forget.
The first time I walked in, she was behind the bar, moving like she was born to be there. There was something effortless about her—a quiet grace, a sharp wit behind her soft voice.
And then I noticed the bruises.
She tried to hide them. Covered them with makeup, turned her face at just the right angle so the dim lighting wouldn't catch them. But I saw. And once I saw, I couldn't stop looking.
I knew that kind of pain.
I knew what it meant to feel trapped, to have someone else hold the strings of your life, pulling tight until you couldn't breathe.
So I asked questions.
She lied.
I asked again.
She lied again.
But there were cracks in the story, cracks that only widened every time she showed up to work with fresh wounds and empty eyes.
It made me angry.
It made me want to break something.
It made me want to break him.
Her husband. Greg.
I watched him from a distance. I saw the way he carried himself—cocky, careless, like the world owed him something. I saw the way he touched her, the way he talked to her. Like she was an object, not a person.
And I hated him for it.
More than that, I hated the way Susan looked at me whenever I asked about him. Like she had already given up.
Like she had already decided this was her fate.
***
I should have walked away.
I had enough problems of my own. I was a man on the run, a man with a target on his back. Getting involved with Susan was a risk—one I couldn't afford to take.
But it was already too late.
The first time I saw her smile—really smile—I knew I was doomed.
It wasn't a big moment. Just a passing second when she said something sarcastic, and I shot back a quick remark, and for the briefest moment, her guard slipped.
And she smiled.
It wasn't the kind of smile you force for customers or the polite one you give to strangers. It was real. Warm. Alive.
And it shattered me.
I had spent so long running, so long hiding, that I had forgotten what it felt like to want something other than revenge.
I wanted her.
Even if she was married.
Even if it was wrong.
Even if it meant dragging her into the storm that was my life.
***
I spent the next week making calls.
I had been in hiding for months, but I wasn't alone. I still had loyalists—people who believed in me, who knew what my uncle had done and wanted to see him pay.
I reached out to them. Quietly. Carefully.
And I started building my plan.
Brandon wanted to rule my father's empire? Fine.
I would remind him that the Gregorio name belonged to me.
And I wouldn't stop until I had taken back everything he stole.
But first—I had to take Susan away from Greg.
Because I knew one thing for certain.
I wasn't leaving this city without her.