Pain wraps around me when I wake. My head, eyes, muscles—everything. It's agony.

Sitting up is a struggle. There's a weighted blanket over me, and a plush sofa beneath my body I can't help but sink into. Where am I?

It takes me a moment to adjust to the sunlight pouring into the room. My stomach churns so hard I think I might be sick, but the sight before me stops me in my tracks.

Milo DeLuca sits upright on the opposite cream sofa, his massive arms folded across his chest and his head hung low. He's sleeping. Uncomfortably, by the looks of things.

Some of the events from last night come flooding back to me like a horrible, distant dream. Everything at the club and outside my apartment, but after that... I can't remember anything.

Oh God. Oh no.

What have I done?

I reach for my phone, forgetting momentarily that it's been shattered to pieces by my stupidity.

Great work Adele.

Being a real estate agent, my entire life exists on my phone. I need to get a new one as soon as I get out of here. Art and Jamie will have been trying to reach me. They probably think I've been kidnapped or killed. Rightly so, too.

Releasing a breath, I glance to the door. It's only a few feet away. My best bet is to tiptoe out of here and then run for my life. Maybe I'll change my name and flee the country while I'm at it.

"If you were trying to sneak out, you should've left the blanket alone." Milo's husky, half asleep words make me jump and shiver at the same time.

I spin around to face him, clutching the cotton tightly between my fingers.

"I can't help it, I'm a clean freak," I blurt out like an incompetent fool.

He examines my face and then glances at the neatly folded blanket I'm holding. "That doesn't surprise me."

I do my best to look unbothered, but the truth of it is, I'm mortified. I can barely look him in the eye after last night. The things I said... The way I looked at him...

I swallow tightly before speaking. "Where are we?"

Milo stands. This is the first time I've been around him while I'm not wearing heels. He towers over me like a giant and makes this spacious apartment feel like a shoebox because he's just so... Big.

I try not to fidget or show just how flustered I am by the intensity of his observing stare.

I'm far too hungover for this. My brain isn't functioning well enough to handle Milo right now.

"One of my apartments. You passed out on the drive here. I had to carry you up."

"You had to carry me?" I repeat, cringing. "God Milo, I'm sorry. I never usually—"

"Get your shoes, we're leaving," he says, ignoring my apology as he cuts me off and turns towards the door.

This man goes from zero to one hundred within minutes of waking up.

"I'll call an Uber. You've chauffeured me around too much already," I answer. I can't think of anything worse than being trapped in a car with him again.

The further away I can be from him, the better.

Milo continues to walk to the door, holding it open with an impatient expression.

"Are you just going to ignore everything I say?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest. "I'll find my own way home. Thank you, though."

His brows draw together in frustration, his jaw clenching tightly enough for a vein to run down the side of his neck. I'm a terrible person for finding him more attractive right now, I know I am, but it's an impossible feeling to ignore.

"Adele." His voice turns hard. "We need to leave now."

I suck in a sharp breath, mustering all my courage before I answer, "No."

"No?" Milo's voice drops low. Low enough to be a cross between a rumble and a growl. It makes my toes curl the same time a shiver runs down my spine.

"Believe it or not, I don't have to do everything you say. I'm not one of your many servants you can just order around."

We both stare at each other.

His eyes turn so dark they're almost primal. The amount of testosterone radiating from him makes my head spin further. My lungs stop working, but I refuse to cower down to him.

He steps forward without hesitation, closing the remainder of the space between us. 

His voice is an unnerving whisper when he says, "I've killed people for speaking to me the way you just did."

Ignoring the coldness that seeps through my blood, I answer in a sweet tone, "Are you really threatening to kill me, Mr DeLuca?"

I look up at him through my lashes. We're so close to each other our chests are almost touching, my breasts mere centimetres away from his muscular torso. His ragged breath fans my lips in response, turning my mouth dry.

He could hurt me so easily if he wanted to. It would only take the slightest snap of his finger and I would crumble into oblivion.

But he wouldn't hurt me, would he?

His eyes fixate on me like a predator tracking its prey.

My heart is pounding so loud it's the only thing I can hear.

"You should be scared of me." Milo's words are a threat, yet his voice is soft, and he hasn't moved an inch.

In fact, if he lowered his head even slightly, his mouth would be on mine.

I try to regain control of my swooning head, fighting the trance he's pulling me into.

Straightening my shoulders, I answer with fake confidence, "You won't hurt me."

"Won't I?" Milo rasps, sweeping his haunted gaze over my face, unnerving me. "What makes you so sure sweetheart?"

Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm going to end up dead in a ditch.

"A hunch," I answer instead, ignoring my rational subconscious.

Milo hums. There's a merciless look in his eyes that makes my body catch fire. I should step backwards, but I can't, nor do I want to.

Then, like a sick twisted joke from the universe, his phone rings and in shock, I leap backwards away from him. 

What the hell is wrong with me? Was I going to let him kiss me? Surely not, I would have stopped it. Right? Right?!

Milo's eyes remain fixated on me when he answers the call, speaking in Italian. I have no idea what he's saying, but his tone is so threatening it makes my skin crawl.

I step backwards again, gesturing awkwardly over my shoulder to the direction I assume the bathrooms in.

Milo half nods, too distracted by whatever information he's receiving to care.

Grabbing my purse and heels from the floor, I walk down the hall and try to ignore the electric current pulsating through my body.

The mirror greets me with a frightful sight. I look pale, exhausted, and hungover. No doubt I stink of alcohol—I cringe at the thought. I can't believe I stood that close to Milo looking like this. My hair is chaotic, and my makeup is barely holding together from last night.

Ripping open my treasured Louie tote, I swallow three breath mints before the smell of vodka makes me vomit. I use a wipe to remove every ounce of makeup I'm wearing before splashing cold water on my face to freshen myself up.

This leaves only my eyelash extensions and sallow, bare skin on display. Great.

I pull my hair into a messy bun, spray perfume on my neck and step backwards, not bothering with my heels. My feet are still killing me from dancing for hours last night.

I'm never drinking again.

As I walk back into the kitchen, heels and tote in hand, I feel ashamed—like a child who misbehaved. I can't believe I got myself in this situation. This is not me. I'm normal, very boring, and if I'm completely honest with myself, slightly dull.

Yet here I am in an empty apartment with a mafia Don who wants me dead.

Milo's eyes flare when he notices me walk into the kitchen again. He looks well and truly pissed. He's still on the phone, and that's likely the only reason I'm breathing.

"Let's go," he mouths.

There's something in his hardened expression. It's dark; animal like. A warning. Daring me to argue with him again.

Lucky for him, I'm exhausted and overwhelmed, and my head hurts. Plus, I really need a coffee and don't particularly feel like dying under his wrath today.

I leave the lavish apartment first, walking into the elevator as Milo continues on the call.

My back remains pressed to the wall as the doors close. I refuse to let my gaze move any higher than the floor. My heart is beating so fast I'll pass out if I look at him again.

The tension between us feels like a lightning strike, overwhelming me, making it impossible to breathe.

Does he feel it too? Or is it only me losing my mind?

Whoever Milo is speaking with is clearly on his last nerve. His tone is clipped and ice cold. The way he speaks in Italian with such animosity is both terrifying and alluring at the same time.

I freeze when he ends the call. Thankfully, the doors open quickly, and I leap out as soon as I get the chance, inhaling the cool morning air in hopes it will lower my internal body temperature.

It doesn't. In fact, I'm halted in my tracks by two blacked out SUVs parked beside Milo's car.

Worst of all, there are four men waiting beside them and one woman who could easily pass as a Vogue model. Fantastic.

One of the men is well dressed in a white button-up shirt, expensive brown boots, and pants. He's attractive, tall, and tan like the woman to his left.

The other three look like soldiers. Lethal, burly soldiers in combat boots wearing all black. They're covered in muscle and tattoos. One of them even has ink crawling all the way up the side of his shaved head. They look vicious; terrifyingly so.

The menacing smile I receive from the man with the shaved head makes me take a large step backwards.

Milo appears from behind me.

"This way," he whispers beside my ear, his hand pressing firmly to the small of my back, further igniting the fire already burning from within me.

I can't see his face, but whatever look he sends the men standing a few feet away from us makes them all look down at the ground in unison.

Shaved head guy is no longer smiling.

"Henri will take you home," Milo says, guiding me to the sedan he drove us here in.

My curiosity gets the better of me. I ask, "What's going on?"

Milo doesn't answer. Instead, he opens the passenger door for me. Once I'm seated, he walks over to his men before I can ask anything else. I lock eyes with Happy, who's already sitting in the driver's side of the car.

"Who are they?" I ask, nodding toward the other SUV.

Happy sighs reluctantly, taking his time with his answer.

"The woman is Amelia, she's what we call a caporegime. High up in the food chain," he explains vaguely, careful not to disclose too much. "The men are all soldiers. Emilio, the fancy one, is like... head of the soldiers, but not as head as a caporegime. I could spend forever trying to explain how our hierarchy works."

"It all seems very complicated."

"It would be for someone who isn't used to it," he agrees distantly. "We grew up with Amelia. She trained with Milo."

I nod silently, processing all of this newfound information.

Milo returns to the car then, resting his arm on the hood. He leans towards me, sheltering me from his men. Our close proximity makes my heart pound all over again.

I stare forward, refusing to look at him. He doesn't look at me either.

Instead, his eyes remain focused on his brother with an intensity I don't like.

"Is it done?" he asks in a low voice.

"Done," Henri confirms, and I look between the two in a daze.

Milo's gaze softens only slightly when he finally looks at me, as does his voice. "I need you to do something for me."

I don't like where this is going already, yet somehow, I find myself nodding against my will.

He pulls a flash drive from the pocket of his suit shirt, handing it to me. Wearily, I take it from his grasp and examine it. It's sleek and harmless enough to look at, but I know better.

"What is it?" I look up at him as he towers over me in all his alpha male glory. Our close proximity makes my head spin. All I can smell is his cologne and the faded scent of whiskey he must've been drinking last night.

"It's documents on a property I need you to secure." His explanation is less than detailed.

Beside me, I feel Happy tense. He stares at the flashdrive like it's a bomb waiting to be set off.

"Adele." Milo regains my attention. "I need this done immediately, by tomorrow at the latest. It's very important the price is nine hundred and nine thousand. All the information you need is in the drive, along with the other conditions of sale."

I crack a smile. Nine hundred and nine thousand? That buys you next to nothing in New York—certainly nothing Milo would want to get his hands on, at least.

My humour fades when I look at him again. He isn't kidding, not even in the slightest. His face is so impassive and serious I feel nauseous all over again.

"Milo, this doesn't make any sense," I begin. "You can't just hand me a flashdrive and expect me to secure a property overnight. Is it already for sale? We need to sit down properly and talk about this."

His eyes seem to burn deeper when his name rolls off my tongue. Clearly, he's not used to being challenged because his frustration is rising again.

"Just do your job and do it quick. Don't ask questions." The scolding tone in his voice makes my eyes narrow.

He returns the look with just as much force, causing my heart rate to skyrocket.

"This isn't going to work if you think you can just order me around." I stand my ground, ignoring Happy's evident gulp. "I don't work solely for you. I have a list of other clients to look after. I can't simply jump every time you demand something." 

I've done it. I've gone too far. Art always said my stubbornness would be the death of me and here it is, at the hands of a mafia boss.

Milo leans down. The minute he does so, my body freezes. His presence is overwhelming, wrapping around me like an invisible force. His mouth meets my ear, so close the warmth of his breath fans my skin like fire colliding with ice.

I shudder.

"You will do exactly as I say," he growls against my ear. The sound of it sends a wave of anticipation through my body. "Speak to me like that again, and there will be repercussions."

He pulls away quickly, like nothing happened at all. His expression remains as guarded as ever. Meanwhile, my heart flutters in my chest so badly I'm about to go into cardiac arrest.

"Make sure you get it done." His words are hard, tone commanding.

The look in his eyes says this would end differently if we weren't in a public place.

A stiff nod is the best I can manage. My confidence has been thoroughly knocked back into place and all he did was whisper in my ear.

He shakes his head at me. It looks like he wants to say something more, but he gazes over his shoulder at his men instead and then closes the door more loudly than is necessary.

For a moment, I just watch him. I can't find the self-control to look away.

I watch the way he turns and walks staunchly back to his men. I thought he was intimidating around me, but now...now I see him in his true colours. In Alpha mode. A darkness drapes over him like a suit of armour. Even the way he walks is terrifying, so confident and sure of himself. Like he isn't afraid of anything.

My eyes roam over the flashdrive again as Happy starts the car.

He doesn't say anything until we've pulled out onto the main road, away from any potential onlooking eyes.

"Be careful," Happy's voice is a murmur, so low I barely hear it at first.

He examines the flashdrive again before meeting my gaze.

"Be very careful, Adele."