Valentina's pov

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, forcing my eyes to stay focused on the documents before me. The ink on the pages felt heavier than it should—like every word was carved in stone, branding itself into my mind. 

Weapons. Bribery. Extortion. Stolen cars. 

A slow, suffocating pressure settled in my chest. This was Luciano's world, built with precision, power, and ruthlessness. And yet, he had navigated it with such ease, like he was born for it. Like he thrived in it. 

I gripped the edge of the desk, my nails pressing into the polished wood. God, I missed him. The air felt colder without his presence, the room emptier. He had been my anchor, the only person who ever saw me—truly saw me—and still chose to believe in me. The only man who ever loved me the way I needed to be loved. And I had loved him in a way I would never love another. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime. 

But I couldn't fall apart. Not now. 

I forced a slow breath through my nose, straightening my spine. The tears burning behind my eyes had no place here. Emotion was a weakness, and weakness had no place in this office. Not in this world. 

A sharp knock at the door. 

I flinched, just slightly, before the mask slid into place. My expression smoothed, my shoulders squared. I reached for a tissue, dabbing carefully at the corners of my eyes, ensuring not a single tear would betray me. Then, with practiced precision, I ran a hand over my hair, fixed the collar of my blouse, and pressed my lips together. Cool. Composed. Untouchable. 

"Enter, please," I said, my voice steady, controlled. 

The door swung open, and Martin stepped inside, his movements confident but weighted. His suit was slightly crumpled, his tie loosened just enough to hint at exhaustion. The shadows beneath his eyes were deeper than usual. 

I offered him a small smile, a rare softness slipping through as I pulled him into a brief hug. 

"Hello, Val," he murmured, his voice familiar, grounding. 

The moment passed too quickly. My grip on control wavered. 

"I need you," I admitted, my voice lower now, the weight of everything pressing against me. "I can't do all this on my own. It's exhausting..." 

I might have said more, might have let the mask crack just a little further, but something caught my eye. A tall figure stood in the doorway, half-shadowed, just beyond my line of focus. 

I barely moved my lips as I whispered to Martin, "Who is he?" 

Martin straightened, the shift in his stance almost imperceptible. 

"He's the new bodyguard you asked me to find." He handed me a file, his tone even but firm. "This is Damien. I think he fits your requirements. And I have no doubt he'll protect you." 

I turned away from the doorway, away from Damien, my heels clicking against the floor as I inhaled sharply. 

This was not the time for weakness. Not the time for Valentina. 
I was Belladonna now. The queen of this empire. 

"This is something I will decide, Martin," I said, keeping my voice cool, final. "Where did you get him?" 

"From our old, trusty friend. It's fine." 

Fine. 

I turned toward the door just as Martin gestured for the man to enter. 

And then he stepped into the light. 

The first thing that hit me wasn't his presence—it was his scent. Apples and cider, crisp and warm, curling around me like a whisper against my skin. My fingers twitched against my desk, resisting the absurd, instinctive urge to lean in, to breathe him in deeper. 

Then I saw the way he moved—controlled, deliberate, every step exuding a confidence that bordered on arrogance. The kind of man who knew exactly what he was capable of. Exactly what effect he had. 

God, Martin, you really have a taste for my type. 

This was going to be a problem. 

My gaze traveled over him, slow, assessing. Sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, freshly shaven, yet still managing to look almost dangerously rugged. And his eyes—hazel, but burning. Something in them crackled like embers catching fire, holding me captive in a way that sent a slow, unwanted heat curling through my stomach. 

I swallowed and forced my eyes lower. 

A simple black t-shirt clung to his body, sculpting every inch of muscle, every ripple of tension beneath his skin. His jeans sat low on his hips, just tight enough to show strength, just casual enough to be infuriatingly effortless. 

Then, beneath the sleeve of his shirt, I caught it—a flash of ink. A tattoo. Maybe a full sleeve. Maybe more. 

God, I wanted to know. 

I wanted to trace it with my fingers, my lips, my tongue. 

My pulse kicked up, and for a second—just a second—I let myself wonder. Wonder how that strength would feel caging me in, how those hands would feel gripping my waist, how that mouth would taste against mine. 

Valentina, you're staring. 

I blinked, snapping my gaze back to his face, but it was too late. He had noticed. 

And worse, he smirked. 

Bastard. 

Then he spoke, and his voice was like a slow drag of whiskey over my skin. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Belladonna." 

The way he said it—low, rich, deliberate—sent a shiver down my spine. My stomach clenched, my thighs pressed together under my desk, and I hated how easily he affected me. 

No. I was not some foolish girl to be undone by a pretty face and a cocky tone. 

I forced my expression into ice, locking every flicker of heat away, and turned to Martin instead. 

"Can you leave us for a bit?" 

Martin chuckled, barely bothering to hide his smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing. 
"Sure," Martin said, his voice dripping with amusement as he walked out, leaving me alone with Damien. 

The air between us shifted instantly, thickening like a storm waiting to break. 

I leaned back against my desk, letting the edge press into me as I faced him, my arms loose at my sides, my body relaxed—but my eyes locked onto his. Testing. Teasing. 

"You can call me Valentina," I said, my voice smooth, slow. "I hate all this Belladonna shit they call me." 

His lips twitched, just the slightest curve, like he found that amusing. He didn't argue, but he didn't agree either. 

I gestured to the armchair in front of my desk. "Sit." 

He obeyed, lowering himself into the chair with an easy confidence, legs spreading slightly, arms resting on the chair's sides. Like he belonged here. Like he owned the space instead of me. 

I took the file and flipped it open, skimming the words, though my focus was anything but steady. Because I could feel it—his eyes on me. Heavy. Unapologetic. Dragging over every inch of me like he was committing me to memory, peeling away my layers without permission. 

I felt the slow burn of it, the way my pulse stuttered under his gaze. Every second that passed only made the tension coil tighter. 

My move, dear Damien. I can't be the only one feeling this heat. 

A smirk curled my lips as I finally spoke. 

"Bouncer at Innocent." I let out a soft chuckle, glancing up at him. "Quite the recommendation." 
 
"I'm not interested in your resume," I said, flicking the folder closed with an impatient gesture. "What do you bring to the table?"

I watched as his jaw flexed slightly, his eyes darkening just a fraction—enough for me to feel the electricity crackling between us, building with every passing second. 

"I am here to protect you, so this is what I will do." His voice was steady, but I could hear the weight of the promise in it. 

I leaned forward, my fingers drumming lightly on the desk, my gaze fixed on him. "I hire men I can control. Men who understand that loyalty isn't a given. Are you that kind of man?" 

He didn't turn. Didn't flinch. Just stood there, the silence thickening around us. 

"Depends," he finally said, his voice low, measured. "Are you that kind of woman?" 

A slow, amused chuckle slipped from my lips, the sound almost dangerous in the quiet room. 

"It's up to you to decide what kind of woman I am." I took a step closer, letting my words land heavy between us. "Just keep in mind that my last bodyguard had a very... gruesome death. It would be a pity to kill such a handsome man, but I won't hesitate if I have to." 

For the briefest moment, I saw it—his surprise, his eyes widening at the unexpected compliment. But then, just as quickly, I saw something else. Beneath the surface, beneath the confident, controlled mask, there was a flicker—a flash of something wilder, darker. A wolf beneath the doe eyes. 

It was gone almost immediately, but not before I felt the shift. 

I moved then, slow and deliberate, walking behind him, just enough to ensure he could see the sway of my hips with every step. I positioned myself behind him, my hands drifting to rest on his broad shoulders. I let my fingers glide gently over the muscles there, just enough to feel the heat of him beneath my touch, just enough to let him know that I could break him with a single move if I chose. 

"I do not appreciate arrogance, Damien," I whispered, my fingers pressing slightly, feeling the tension in his body. His shoulders stiffened, and I could feel him fight the urge to respond, but I wasn't done. 

"But we're going to educate that, aren't we?" 

He turned his head, eyes locking onto mine—just a beat too long. His gaze was intense, raw, and for a second, I thought I might lose myself to the pull between us. His eyes burned into mine, and I had to fight the urge to melt right there in front of him. 

"Yes, boss," he said, his voice like velvet—low, controlled, but carrying an edge of something else. 

Damn, Damien. Just when I thought he couldn't make this any hotter. 

But I had to keep it together. I couldn't let lust cloud my judgment. Not now. 

"Good," I said, forcing myself to step back. "Martin will inform you about your duties. I need your assistance 24/7, so you'll be staying here with me. Martin will show you to your room." 

I moved my fingers along the curve of his collarbone, feeling the tautness of his body beneath my touch, his muscles coiled, restrained, like a tiger just waiting for the right moment to pounce. 

"Every Tuesday, I stay in Antonio's room," I said, my gaze steady as I watched his reaction. "You'll guard the entrance. And you'll also be my driver, because the last one... well, let's just say he didn't survive trying to kill me."

"A lot of people try to kill you," he said, amusement dancing in his voice. 

"Unfortunately." I smirked, stepping away just enough to maintain control. "But don't worry. That's why I have you." 

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating through the air, and for a moment, the tension between us thickened—almost suffocating. It was magnetic, a pull I couldn't ignore, but I wasn't ready to give in yet. 

I leaned in, moving so close that my lips hovered just inches from his ear. My breath was soft, deliberate, hot against his skin. 

"Don't you dare betray me, Damien. Please," I whispered, my voice soft but laced with something dangerous, something that could easily consume us both. 

His body stiffened, every muscle tense as though my words carved into him. He straightened, his response low, steady—almost too controlled. "I won't." 

I didn't give him a moment to breathe. My lips brushed against his earlobe, the touch deliberate, provocative. I could feel him tremble beneath my fingers, the slight shiver in his skin that betrayed him, but he didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle—just held himself still, that same arrogance radiating from him. 

"I know," I said, my voice low, a challenge slipping from my lips. 

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. The heat was pooling low in my stomach, swirling, intensifying. He wasn't going to get away with this defiance, not in my house. He would learn. 

"I am the queen here," I murmured, my lips grazing his ear once more. The words were a command, but also a warning, a reminder that he was nothing more than a piece in my game now. 

Without warning, I closed the distance, my teeth sinking into his earlobe, gentle but firm, just enough to make him flinch. Just enough to leave a mark—a clear, unmistakable warning. 

Then, my tongue traced the spot where I had bitten, the taste of his skin mingling with the bitter edge of his perfume, leaving behind a sharp, lingering sensation. 

"I know everything about you," I murmured against his skin, my voice soft but carrying the weight of something far darker—an unspoken promise, a veiled threat, a claim that he would never escape.