**Chapter 1: Velvet & Vice**
The bass throbbed through the floor like a second heartbeat, pulsing in time with the flickering neon lights that bathed the stage in shades of crimson and gold. The air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor, sweat, and something darker—something that made the hairs on the back of Scarlett's neck stand on end.
She adjusted the strap of her stiletto, her fingers lingering a second too long on the hidden blade strapped to her thigh. *Just in case.*
*"Scarlett, you're up in five,"* hissed Marco, the club manager, his beady eyes darting toward the VIP section. *"And for the love of God, don't fuck this up. We've got… special guests tonight."*
Scarlett didn't need to ask who. The entire city knew when *he* was in the room.
Dante Vercetti.
The Devil of New York.
The man who owned half the city's underworld and had the other half running scared.
She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as the previous dancer slinked offstage to scattered applause. The DJ's voice crackled over the speakers—*"Put your hands together for the one and only Velvet Scarlett!"*
The crowd roared as she stepped into the spotlight, her body moving before her mind could catch up. The first chords of *"Do I Wanna Know?"* slithered through the speakers, and she let the music take over.
This wasn't just a dance.
It was a hunt.
Her hips swayed, slow and deliberate, her fingers tracing the curve of her neck before sliding down her body. The sea of hungry eyes blurred into nothing—all except *one.*
In the shadowed VIP booth, a man sat motionless, his sharp jawline illuminated by the occasional flash of blue light. Dante Vercetti didn't clap. Didn't cheer. Didn't even blink.
He just *watched.*
Like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.
Scarlett held his gaze as she peeled off her gloves, one finger at a time, her lips curling into a smirk when his knuckles whitened around his glass.
*Good.* Let him squirm.
She turned, bending low to the stage, her back arched like a bowstring. The crowd went wild, but she didn't hear them. All she heard was the sudden scrape of a chair—Dante, standing abruptly.
And then he was gone.
The song ended too soon. The lights dimmed. The roar of the crowd faded into white noise as Marco rushed over, his face pale.
*"He wants you. Private room. Now."*
Scarlett wiped the sweat from her brow, her pulse kicking up. *"Tell him I don't do privates."*
Marco grabbed her wrist, his grip bruising. *"You don't say no to him. Ever."*
She yanked free, her smile razor-sharp. *"Guess there's a first time for everything."*
But as she turned to leave, two massive bodyguards materialized from the shadows, blocking her exit.
And then *his* voice—low, lethal, and laced with something that sent a shiver down her spine—cut through the noise.
*"We need to talk, little liar."*
Dante stepped into the light, his dark eyes burning with something far more dangerous than lust.
*"And you're not leaving this room until we do."*
The private room smelled like leather and expensive whiskey. Scarlett's stilettos sank into the plush carpet as Dante's bodyguards shut the door behind her, leaving them alone. The lock clicked—too final.
Dante didn't sit. Didn't offer her a drink. He just stared, his gaze dragging over her like a physical touch.
*"You're taller than I expected,"* she said, tilting her chin up. *"Most men who need armed guards to intimidate women are compensating for something."*
A muscle twitched in his jaw. *"You've got a death wish, dancing in my territory with that name."*
*"Scarlett isn't my real name."*
*"I know."* He pulled a photo from his jacket and tossed it onto the table.
Her breath caught.
It was her—eighteen years old, face streaked with blood and tears, fleeing the burning wreckage of her father's estate. The night the Vercettis slaughtered the Reyes cartel.
*"Liana Reyes,"* Dante murmured, circling her. *"Only survivor. Until tonight."*
Her fingers twitched toward her thigh blade. *"If you're going to kill me, do it. But we both know you wouldn't waste a private room on a bullet."*
**Flashback - Three Years Earlier**
*Scarlett—no, Liana—pressed against the hidden panel in her father's office, watching through the vents as Marco, then just a low-level enforcer, dragged a knife across her father's throat.*
*"Tell the Vercettis it's done," Marco panted, wiping his blade on his jeans. The other men cheered, passing around bottles of her father's prized tequila.*
*Liana didn't make a sound. Not when they set the house ablaze. Not when she crawled through smoke and broken glass. Not even when she stumbled into a strip club weeks later, trading her bloodstained diamond earrings for a fake ID and a job.*
*The club owner, a washed-up mob associate, eyed her shaking hands. *"You'll need a new name. Something that doesn't scream 'cartel princess.'"**
*She grabbed the first bottle she saw—Scarlett Rouge bourbon—and smashed it against the wall. *"Call me Scarlett. And I don't dance for free."***
**Present**
Dante's voice yanked her back. *"Marco recognized you last year. Came to me, begging for a reward."* He stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around her—bergamot and gunmetal. *"I told him to keep you close. I wanted to see how long you'd play this game."*
Her stomach twisted. All those nights she'd let Marco's hands wander, thinking she was manipulating *him*—
*"You sick fuck,"* she breathed.
Dante smirked. *"Now we're even. You've been lying to me for years. I lied for one."*
The door burst open. Marco stood there, face flushed with panic. *"Boss—the Russians just hit the docks!"*
Dante didn't look away from Scarlett. *"Handle it."*
*"But—"*
*"I said handle it."* His voice cracked like a whip.
Marco hesitated, his gaze darting between them. Then he left, slamming the door.
Scarlett laughed—a sharp, broken sound. *"He's terrified of you. And yet you let him touch what's yours?"*
Dante's hand shot out, gripping her throat. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel her pulse hammering against his palm.
*"I don't share,"* he growled. *"But I needed to know if you'd kill him yourself."*
Her nails dug into his wrist. *"I still might."*
*"Good."* He released her, stepping back. *"Because tomorrow, you're going to. Then you'll take his place."*
*"What?"*
Dante pulled out a contract. *"Work for me. Really work for me. And in a year, I'll give you the name of the man who gave the order to kill your father."*
The room tilted. *"Why wait a year?"*
*"Because revenge tastes better when it's earned."* He slid the paper toward her. *"Unless you'd rather spend tonight in the East River?"*
Scarlett grabbed the pen. *"Go to hell."*
Dante watched her sign, his smile all teeth. *"Welcome to the family, Liana."*