DIMITRI
Dimitri Valentino didn't believe in fate.
He believed in power. Control. The cold logic of numbers and the warm satisfaction of watching his enemies break. He'd built an empire from blood and bone, clawed his way out of the gutter to become the most feared man in the country, and he'd done it all without once believing the universe gave a single fuck about his happiness.
Until tonight.
Until he looked across his club....his club, Sinners, the crown jewel of his legitimate holdings....and saw Eve Thorne sitting at his bar, drinking whiskey like she was trying to forget her own name.
Mike's little sister.
Off fucking limits.
The one woman in the world he'd promised himself he'd never touch.
And there she was, wrapped in a black dress that should be illegal, her long legs crossed, her throat exposed as she tilted her head back to drain her glass. Even from across the room, even through the crowd and the noise and the haze of smoke, he could see the devastation in her eyes.
Something had broken her tonight.
And every instinct he'd honed over fifteen years of surviving in a world that ate the weak told him he should walk away. Should leave her alone. Should remember that Mike was his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, and touching Eve would be the ultimate betrayal.
Instead, Dimitri signaled to Marco, his head of security.
"The woman at the bar. Black dress. Make sure no one bothers her."
Marco followed his gaze, then raised an eyebrow. "That's Eve Thorne. Mike's sister."
"I know who the fuck she is." His voice came out harsher than intended. "Just watch her."
"Boss, maybe you should...."
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
Marco wisely shut his mouth and melted back into the shadows.
Dimitri stayed in his private booth on the second level, the one with the perfect view of the entire club. From here, he could see everything. The dancers writhing on the floor. The deals being made in dark corners. The security cameras tracking every movement.
And Eve, ordering another whiskey.
She was getting drunk. Fast. The bartender....Tony, good kid, knew better than to water down drinks....kept pouring, and she kept drinking. By her fourth glass, her movements had turned loose, uncoordinated.
Dangerous.
Some asshole in an expensive suit slid onto the stool next to her, leaning in too close, his hand landing on her thigh.
Dimitri was moving before he'd made the conscious decision.
He took the private stairs down, the ones that led directly to the main floor, and crossed the club in long strides. People parted for him without being asked. They always did. Something about the way he moved....predatory, purposeful, deadly....made civilians step aside.
The asshole was still talking when Dimitri reached them, his hand now at Eve's waist.
"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her."
The man looked up, ready to argue, then saw Dimitri's face. Whatever he saw there made him go pale.
"I-I didn't know she was...."
"Now."
The man practically fell off his stool in his haste to leave.
Eve turned, her movements slow, her eyes unfocused. Recognition flickered across her beautiful face, followed by something that looked like relief.
"Dimitri?" Her voice was soft, slurred. "Is that really you?"
"What are you doing here, Eve?" He kept his tone neutral, controlled, even though every cell in his body was screaming at him to touch her, claim her, carry her away from all these people who were looking at her like she was prey.
She laughed, bitter and broken. "Drinking. Obviously."
"You're drunk."
"Not drunk enough." She reached for her glass, but he moved it out of reach.
"Where's your husband?"
Her face crumpled, just for a second, before she forced it back into something resembling composure. "Home. Probably fucking someone who isn't me. Again."
The words hit him like a physical blow.
Simon Ward was cheating on her.