"I kissed a handsome stranger for a $500 dare—unaware six armed men would instantly call him 'Boss'."

Idling silently near the industrial dumpsters was a massive, midnight-black armored Maybach. Its tinted windows caught the amber glare of the streetlights, its exhaust curling into the freezing air like white smoke.

Standing beside the open rear passenger door, holding a wide black umbrella, was the broad-shouldered man in a dark suit who had called Adrian "Boss" inside the bar—Leo.

When his sharp gray eyes caught me walking out into the rain, his severe, unreadable posture didn't shift. He offered a short, respectful bow.

"Miss Bellamy," Leo spoke, his baritone voice smooth, deep, and surprisingly polite. "Please. Mr. Moretti is waiting for you inside."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands squeezed into tight fists at my sides as I stepped across the wet cobblestones.

"Is he going to kill me?" I asked flatly, stopping two feet from the open car door, my hazel eyes meeting his without flinching. "Because if he is, I'd prefer to do it out here where my brother can find my body."

Leo blinked, a subtle, unexpected flicker of surprise passing through his dark eyes before he masked it behind his professional filter.

"Mr. Moretti does not execute women in alleys, Miss Bellamy," Leo replied cleanly. "He requested your presence because you are the first person in seven years who dared to touch his person without permission... and he wishes to understand why."

I swallowed hard, the cold rain soaking through my fitted sweater, and stepped into the plush, warm interior of the Maybach.

The heavy door clicked shut behind me with an airtight, reassuring THUD, sealing out the sound of the storm.

Sitting on the far side of the broad leather bench seat, unbuttoning his tailored dark suit jacket, a crystal tumbler of vintage bourbon resting in his hand, was Adrian Moretti.

In the soft ambient glow of the vehicle's interior lights, he looked even more intimidatingly handsome than he had under the dim bar lights. His carved, sharp jawline, his short dark hair, and those cold, storm-gray eyes were locked directly onto my face.

"Sit down, Mara," Adrian commanded softly.

His baritone wasn't yelled, but it carried an absolute, sovereign weight that made my body obey before my mind could even object.

I slid onto the plush leather seat, keeping my back pressed flush against the opposite door, my hands folded tightly over my soft lap.

"Mr. Moretti," I began, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "I know who you are now. Jimmy told me. I know I made a mistake. But I didn't mean any disrespect—"

"You took five hundred dollars to kiss me," Adrian interrupted smoothly, taking a slow sip of his bourbon, his dark eyes trailing slowly from my face down over my throat, my shoulders, and the soft, generous curves of my hips.

My cheeks burned hot with intense humiliation. I looked down at my lap.