He owns half the East Coast. I own nothing. Not even my future. My father just sold me to Dante Vitale. A gate made of iron that doesn't open for anyone. Except now it opens for me. He's cold. Controlled. The kind of man who watches a room like he's already won it. But then he noticed me cataloguing his entry hall. And he smiled. Not much. Enough. The blood oath was supposed to be business. His hands are warm. His eyes aren't cold when they find mine. He keeps his dead mother's lamp because she had opinions about light. I didn't expect to feel anything. Now I'm standing inside a mafia empire wondering if the most dangerous thing isn't the deal my father made. It's that I don't want out.
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