Damon
Caught the eyes of a dangerous man.
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The bass thumped like a heartbeat gone rogue, drowning the smoke-laced air of Nocturne, the most exclusive underground club in the city. Bodies swayed in the low light, neon flashes slicing through shadow like the blade of a warning.
Damon Moretti walked in with his friends like he owned the night—because he did. Clad in all black, cold steel in his gaze, and flanked by his inner circle of mafia elites, he radiated a presence that made men clear a path and women forget to breathe. Emotionless. Untouchable. Fearless.
He wasn’t here for love. Damon didn’t do love. He came to remind the city who ruled its underworld.
Until she walked in.
Honey
A storm in a leather jacket and curves that defied reason. Petite, but fierce. Her high black boots clicked against the floor like a countdown to his unraveling. The nude corset hugged her waist like it had been sculpted just for her, her black mini shorts daring eyes to linger—and they did.
But Damon didn’t look. He stared.
As if the chaos around him muted, his world narrowed to the girl with the long black hair, confidence in her walk, and mystery in her eyes. Her group laughed, oblivious to the war starting in one man’s chest.
He’d broken bones without blinking. He’d Ordered hits without regret.
But this?
This was the first time Damon Moretti ever forgot to breathe.