Elena hadn’t seen Dominic all day.

  Not at the café. Not lurking by the alley like usual. Not a single message or call.

  It shouldn’t have bothered her. But the silence was maddening.

  She stood behind the counter wiping the same glass for the third time, eyes flicking toward the entrance every time the bell chimed. Nothing. No him.

  “You waiting for your boyfriend or something?” her co-worker teased.

  Elena rolled her eyes. “He’s not my—”

  The words died on her lips.

  The door opened.

  And there he was.

  Dominic Moretti.

  Dressed in a charcoal suit like sin itself. Dark eyes locking with hers across the room.

  Every nerve in her body snapped awake.

  She didn’t remember walking over to him—only that the café blurred around them, and then suddenly she was standing too close, and he was towering over her with that calm, dangerous look.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  He raised a brow. “Missed me?”

  She scoffed. “No. I just…”

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  Her voice trailed off.

  He leaned in. “You did.”

  She hated how right he sounded.

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I was handling something.” His tone dropped, velvet wrapped in steel. “Something that could’ve hurt you.”

  A shiver ran through her.

  “You’re not safe, Elena,” he said quietly. “Not while people think I care about you.”

  “You do care about me.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “I told you,” he said, stepping closer, “once I cross that line, I’m not letting you go.”

  Her breath caught. The heat between them was unbearable now—buzzing under her skin, radiating off him in waves.

  “I don’t want you to hold back,” she whispered.

  That was all it took.

  Dominic moved.

  One moment there was distance, the next his hand was at her waist, fingers curling into her apron strings like he owned them—like he owned her.

  “Are you sure?” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

  “I’m not made of glass.”

  He chuckled low and dark. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  Elena felt it—the shift.

  The way his touch changed. The way the air thickened.

  Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just… intentional.

  A thumb tracing the edge of her hip. Fingers brushing against the back of her neck.

  His breath was warm against her temple, and her body responded before her mind could catch up. She leaned in, letting him pull her close until they were nearly pressed together in the narrow staff hallway.

  “I dreamt about this,” he said, voice low and full of something raw. “The way you’d feel against me. The way you’d look when I had you pinned and breathless.”

  Elena’s heart thundered.

  “Dominic…”

  “You don’t know what you do to me,” he growled. “I’ve fought it. Every time you smiled. Every time you walked away from me. But you have no idea how close I’ve come to losing control.”

  She swallowed. “Then stop fighting.”

  He stared at her, eyes burning.

  Then he kissed her.

  Not gently. Not sweetly.

  It was fire and fury—long-suppressed hunger finally breaking free.

  His hands cupped her face, his mouth devouring hers, and she melted into it.

  Into him.

  Time stopped.

  All she could feel was the press of his body, the power in his hold, the way his lips bruised hers with every pass.

  She clutched his shirt, gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.

  “I want you,” she whispered between breaths.

  “Not here,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this. You deserve better.”

  She pulled back slightly, searching his eyes.

  “Then where?”

  His hand brushed her cheek. “My place.”

  Elena’s pulse stuttered.

  She nodded.

  They left the café without a word.

  The city lights passed in a blur. Her heart raced the entire drive, but Dominic’s hand never left her thigh—his thumb stroking slow circles that had her trembling.

  When they reached his penthouse, he opened the door for her. Led her inside like he’d done this a thousand times.

  And then—he stopped.

  “Wait here,” he said, disappearing down the hall.

  Elena stood alone in the massive space, pulse pounding.

  She ran her fingers over the marble countertop. The velvet couch. Everything expensive. Cold. Untouched.

  Like him.

  Until now.

  “Dominic?” she called softly.

  No answer.

  Then—

  A sound behind her.

  She turned.

  And there he was, in the doorway.

  Shirt gone. Expression unreadable.

  And in his hand—

  A gun.

  “Elena,” he said tightly. “You need to hide. Now.”