The night I met Adrian Moretti, I was holding a gun to his chest.
And he was smiling at me.
Not the kind of smile a sane man would wear when staring down the barrel of a weapon, but the sort that belonged to someone who had never been afraid of death.
Someone who might have been the reason other people feared it.
"Are you going to shoot me, sweetheart?" he asked.
His voice was deep, smooth, and infuriatingly calm.
I tightened my grip on the gun. "Call me sweetheart again, and I swear I'll pull the trigger."
His smile widened.
"Interesting. Most women beg for my attention. You're threatening to kill me instead."
"Perhaps they're stupid."
"Perhaps." He tilted his head, studying me with dark, unreadable eyes. "Or perhaps they know something you don't."
I hated him already.
Unfortunately, I had no idea who he was.
Five minutes earlier, I had been running through the back corridors of the Vesper Hotel, desperately trying to escape the men who had chased me from the parking garage. My black heels were killing my feet, my lungs burned, and the expensive dress I'd borrowed from my best friend was probably ruined.
All because I'd witnessed something I was never supposed to see.
A man had been shot outside the hotel.
Not stabbed. Not beaten.
Shot.
And the men responsible had noticed me standing behind a parked car.
I had run before they could catch me, stumbling through a service entrance and bursting into the first unlocked room I found.
Unfortunately, the room wasn't empty.
The man inside had been standing beside a floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair brushed away from his forehead.
He looked like a model.
A very expensive model.
The kind who would probably sue you for looking at him without permission.
Then he'd turned around, and I'd seen the blood on his cuff.
My first instinct had been to scream.
My second had been to grab the gun lying on the table between us.
Now, here we were.
Me, terrified and pretending otherwise.
Him, looking as though I'd interrupted his dinner rather than threatened his life.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He glanced at the gun. "I believe I'm the one who should be asking questions."
"Answer me!"
"Adrian."
"Adrian what?"
"Moretti."
The name meant nothing to me.
At least, it didn't until the door behind me opened.
A tall man in a dark suit stepped inside, his expression hardening when he saw the gun in my hand.
"Boss."
Boss?
My eyes shifted toward Adrian.
He took a leisurely sip of whiskey.
"Leave us, Marco."
"But—"
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Marco immediately lowered his head. "No, sir."
He disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Silence filled the room.
Then Adrian looked at me again.
"You can put the gun down now."
"No."
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"It's thirty degrees outside."
"Then perhaps your hotel has terrible air conditioning."
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
I had never wanted to punch someone so badly in my entire life.
"You're either very brave," he said, setting his glass on the table, "or very foolish."
"I'm a woman who doesn't want to die tonight. If you have a problem with that, take it up with someone else."
Something changed in his expression.
It was subtle, almost invisible, but the amusement faded from his eyes.
"Who was chasing you?"
"I don't know."
"What did you see?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"Psychopath."
His mouth twitched.
Then, without warning, he moved.
I pulled the trigger.
The gunshot exploded through the room.
I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut.
For one terrible second, I was certain I had killed him.
But when I opened my eyes, Adrian was standing beside me, his hand wrapped around my wrist. The bullet had struck the wall behind him, leaving a small hole in the expensive wallpaper.
He had crossed the room before I could even blink.
My back hit the wall.
His face was inches from mine.
"Never point a gun at someone unless you're prepared to use it," he murmured.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Get away from me."
He studied my face for a long moment before releasing my wrist.
I immediately stepped away, rubbing the spot where his fingers had held me.
"You're insane," I whispered.
"And you're terrible at shooting."
"I hope someone shoots you properly."
"Careful, sweetheart. I might start thinking you care about me."
"I would rather marry a cockroach."
For the first time, his smile disappeared completely.
"Marriage," he repeated softly.
I frowned. "What?"
"Nothing."
He walked toward the table, picked up his phone, and made a call.
"Find out who she is," he ordered. "And locate the men who followed her."
He ended the call before I could protest.
"Excuse me?" I demanded. "I'm standing right here."
"I noticed."
"You can't just investigate me!"
"Apparently, I can."
"Who do you think you are?"
Adrian slipped his phone into his pocket.
"The man who just saved your life."
"You didn't save anything. I saved myself."
"Of course you did."
His tone was so infuriatingly patronizing that I considered trying to shoot him again.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Marco entered with a tablet in his hand. He looked between us before approaching Adrian.
"We have a problem."
Adrian's expression turned cold.
"What kind?"
Marco hesitated.
"The men from the parking garage belong to the Valenti family."
For the first time that night, Adrian looked genuinely displeased.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir."
I stared at them.
Valenti family.
Moretti.
The names suddenly clicked together.
My father used to talk about these families when he thought I was asleep. He had whispered about men who controlled entire cities, men who bought politicians and made enemies disappear before sunrise.
Cartel families.
Powerful, ruthless, untouchable.
And I had just shot at the head of one of them.
"Oh, God," I whispered.
Adrian turned toward me.
"Now you understand."
I swallowed hard. "You're Adrian Moretti."
"You've already established that."
"The Moretti cartel?"
His silence was answer enough.
I took a step backward.
"No. No, absolutely not. I'm leaving."
I hurried toward the door, but Marco moved aside only after Adrian gave him a small nod.
I grabbed the handle.
It wouldn't open.
I tried again.
Nothing.
"What the hell?" I snapped, rattling the handle.
"It's locked," Adrian explained.
"I can see that!"
"Then why are you asking?"
I turned around, ready to scream at him, but the look on his face stopped me.
He was no longer smiling.
"Listen carefully," he said. "The Valenti family believes you witnessed their business tonight. They will find you, and they will make certain you never tell anyone what you saw."
"I didn't see anything important!"
"That's not your decision to make."
"Then call the police!"
Marco let out a humorless laugh.
Adrian didn't.
"Some of the police work for them. Others work for me. You would be wise not to trust either side."
My stomach twisted.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing."
"Then let me go!"
"I can't."
"You can't or you won't?"
His jaw tightened.
"Both."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"You're kidnapping me."
"I'm keeping you alive."
"That's what every kidnapper says!"
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Adrian stepped closer, his expression unreadable.
"You have two choices. You can walk out of this room alone and hope the Valenti men find you before someone worse does, or you can stay here until I know you're safe."
"And if I refuse?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Then I'll have to spend the rest of my night cleaning up another mess."
I hated how calm he sounded.
I hated his expensive suit, his arrogant smile, and the way everyone in the room seemed to obey him without question.
Most of all, I hated that he might be telling the truth.
"Just so we're clear," I muttered, "I don't trust you."
"Good."
"I'm not your sweetheart."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"And I will never, under any circumstances, fall in love with a man like you."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Amusement, perhaps.
Or a warning.
"Darling," he said, walking toward the door, "you should be more careful when making promises about the future."
He paused beside Marco.
"Prepare the penthouse. No one enters without my permission."
"Yes, boss."
Adrian glanced back at me.
"Welcome to my world."
Then he walked out, leaving me alone with the terrifying realization that my ordinary life had ended in a single gunshot.
I didn't know it yet, but the man I had threatened to kill would soon become the most dangerous person in my life.
And, eventually, the one person I would be most afraid to lose.