"I teased a handsome stranger at my restaurant job—unaware he was a feared mafia boss who already knew my real name."

The interior of the vehicle smelled of fine leather, cedarwood, and the subtle, expensive scent of Dante’s cologne.

I sat pressed against the far leather door, holding my canvas bag tightly against my knees, my breath coming in ragged hitches. Beside me sat Dante. He had unbuttoned his black jacket, his sleeves turned back over his strong forearms, his dark eyes watching my face in the amber glow of the dashboard lights.

The car glided smoothly up the winding cliffside roads of Imerovigli, leaving the city lights behind as we ascended toward the isolated northern tip of the island.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked quietly, keeping my eyes on his sharp profile.

"My estate in Oia," Dante replied without looking away from the window. "A private villa on the cliffs. It has thirty-foot stone walls, eighteen armed men, and security systems that no street thug from Columbus can bypass."

"And what happens when Tyler realizes I'm not in my apartment?"

"Tyler will realize very quickly that Santorini is not Ohio," Dante said smoothly, taking a slow sip of dark wine from a crystal glass attached to the console. "In Ohio, the police take forty minutes to answer a domestic call. In my world, men who come onto this island looking for my guests vanish into the Aegean Sea before sunrise."

I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands. "I'm not your guest, Mr. Moretti. I'm a waitress who refilled your wine glass."

Dante turned his head slowly. He reached out, his broad, calloused hand gently catching my wrist, his thumb pressing firmly against my erratic pulse point.

"You ceased being just a waitress the second you leaned across my table and asked me what I was," Dante murmured, his voice dropping into an intense, dark rhythm. "You poked a sleeping beast, Emily. Did you really think I would let another man touch what caught my attention?"

A hot, dangerous spark flared in my chest at his words—a mixture of terrifying vulnerability and an intoxicating thrill that I had never felt in my quiet, suppressed life in Ohio.

"I didn't ask for your protection," I whispered, holding his dark gaze.

"You didn't have to," Dante promised softly, his thumb gently stroking my wrist before releasing his grip. "It was yours the moment you sat in my chair."

The car pulled through a set of massive, wrought-iron security gates that opened silently into a breathtaking cliffside compound. The villa was a masterpiece of modern architecture blended with traditional Greek stone—a white fortress lit by warm golden lanterns, overlooking the dark, endless horizon of the sea.