Saturday night at Nocturne carried a different energy. Less business, more pleasure. Weekend crowds brought socialites and celebrities alongside the usual power players, creating a more unpredictable atmosphere. The music played slightly louder, the conversations flowed more freely while security remained vigilant but less obvious.

  Tatiana had noted Massimiliano's absence on Friday with equal parts relief and suspicion. A break in his pattern meant either distraction or strategy. Given their last interaction, she suspected the latter.

  She moved through her duties with ease, maintaining the slightly imperfect performance she'd established. A fumbled garnish here, a moment of confusion there. Nothing major but just enough humanity to seem ordinary.

  When he finally appeared precisely at ten, she pretended not to notice immediately.

  He wore black tonight. Tailored suit, no tie, crisp white shirt open at the collar. His usual booth was occupied by a group of tech executives, so he took a seat at the bar instead.

  She finished serving a group of models before heading to him with a professional smile in place.

  "Mr. De Luca. The usual?"

  His dark eyes studied her face with unsettling intensity. "Please."

  "Busy night," he observed, taking the glass from her hand.

  "Weekend crowd." She nodded toward the packed dance floor. "More play than business."

  "And which do you prefer, Tatiana? Business or pleasure?" The question carried layers of meaning, his voice dropping slightly on her name.

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Depends on the company." She answered while wiping down the bar and trying to maintain professional distance.

  He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving her face. Then suddenly he blurted, "Did you hear about Vincenzo Rosetti?"

  The name hit her like an electric shock, a ghost from the past she hadn't heard in over a decade. Vincenzo Rosetti was her father's former consigliere who had disappeared the night of the betrayal. No one knew where he went.

  Could have left the country, could also be dead but either way he disappeared without a trace. No body found, no record of his existence after that night.

  Her eyes widened before steadying herself.

  He had purposely trapped her with a name that shouldn't mean anything to a random bartender, a name known only to those deeply connected to the old families.

  A name that had significance only to the Morettis and De Lucas.But for the briefest of second she had shown her hand. Gotcha.

  "Should I have?" She kept her voice casual, but knew he'd seen it. The slip.

  Massimiliano's expression remained neutral, but something predatory flashed behind his eyes. "Funny. You reacted like you know that name."

  "Maybe I just like mafia gossip." She offered a slow playful smirk.

  He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "You don't look like the type to gossip."

  "And what type do I look like, Mr. De Luca?" She met his gaze steadily, refusing to back down from the challenge.

  "That's what I'm still figuring out." He watched the way she breathed, the way she held herself.

  He's searching for tells, for weaknesses or tells that would give her away.

  "You know," he continued, "I was thinking about the Palermo situation last month. That business with the Calabrese family."

  Another test, but this one is fabricated. There had been no "Palermo situation," no conflict with the Calabreses in recent memory. A trap within a trap. Predictable, she thought.

  Tatiana maintained her expression of mild interest. "Sounds complicated."

  "It was." He watched her closely, waiting for another slip that didn't come. "Strange how quickly things resolved."

  "The world works in mysterious ways, Mr. De Luca." She said while reaching for a bottle, mixing a drink for another customer. "Especially your world."

  His eyes narrowed slightly, confirmation settling into his features. She hadn't fallen for the second trap, but her reaction to Rosetti's name had told him enough. She knew more than she let on. Much more.

  Near midnight, Franco approached her behind the bar. "Tatiana, we're overstaffed tonight. You can clock out early if you want."

  She nodded, wiping her hands on a towel. "Thanks."

  As she gathered her purse from beneath the bar, Massimiliano appeared at her side. "Leaving so soon?"

  "Shift's over." She put on her light jacket. "I don't get paid to linger."

  "And here I thought you'd stick around just for the pleasure of my company." His tone was easy, but the intent behind it was anything but. "Got plans for the rest of the night?"

  "Sleep. Maybe a book first."

  "Boring." He said as he adjusted his cuffs. "I have a better idea."

  "Oh? Do you now?" She raised an eyebrow.

  "I'm heading to Viper. Come with me." Not a question. Not quite a command, but close.

  Viper. One of the most exclusive clubs in Manhattan which is currently owned by a subsidiary of the De Luca empire. Territory where he would have complete control.

  Absolutely not, she thought.

  "I don't think so." She shook her head. "Not my scene."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "You haven't even been there." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "One drink. Then I'll have my driver take you home."

  Every instinct told her to refuse. Going to his club, allowing him to control the environment.

  Dangerous.

  But rejecting him outright would only heighten his suspicion. Strategic compliance might be the better play.

  "Fine. One drink," she finally agreed. "And I can find my own way home."

  She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Last time, she had let him control the destination, and it had ended with her rolling onto the pavement to remind him she couldn't be kept.

  This time, she was keeping the exit firmly in her hands.

  "My car's waiting outside." He gestured toward the exit, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back.

  Outside, a gleaming black Bentley idled at the curb. Antonio opened the door, and Massimiliano gestured for her to enter first.

  "Ladies first."

  As she slid across the seat, she noted the privacy partition already raised between the passenger compartment and driver.

  Massimiliano settled beside her, closer than necessary in the spacious backseat. She shifted closer to the door, attempting to create space between them.

  "Viper," he instructed the driver through the intercom. "So," he began, "this mysterious aversion to clubs. Bad experience?"

  "Just prefer quieter settings." She kept her gaze on the passing city lights. "Crowds, overpriced drinks, men who think grinding counts as dancing..." She shrugged. "Not really my idea of fun."

  "Viper isn't like that." His knee brushed against hers, accidentally on purpose. "Private tables, curated guest list, proper security."

  "Sounds exclusive." But of course she already knew that.

  Viper was one of the city's most selective nightlife spots, a place where business and pleasure blurred behind velvet curtains.

  She'd been keeping tabs on its clientele, its security rotations, and the kind of deals that went down in its VIP lounges.

  "It is." Pride colored his tone. "We don't let just anyone through those doors."

  "And yet you're bringing your bartender." She turned to face him, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Won't that damage your reputation?"

  His lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk. "I bring whoever interests me."

  The car stopped before a nondescript building in the Meatpacking District. No signage, no line outside, just a single bouncer who nodded respectfully as Massimiliano walked up.

  Inside, Viper revealed itself in layers. A sleek entryway opening to a cavernous main room where New York's elite danced and drank beneath artfully designed lighting.

  Massimiliano led her past the main floor to a private area elevated above the crowds. A hostess immediately appeared, escorting them to a secluded booth with a perfect view of both the dance floor and the entrance.

  "Mr. De Luca, welcome back. Your usual table."

  "Thank you, Mia. Bring us a bottle of Cristal and whatever the lady would like."

  Bottle?!

  Before Tatiana could protest, he added, "And two shots of Patrón."

  The hostess nodded and disappeared, leaving them alone in the intimate space.

  "Bottle? Shots?" Tatiana questioned. "I thought we agreed on one drink."

  "A shot is a drink." He smiled before tilting his head. "Unless you can't handle it?"

  The challenge was obvious. He wanted her guard down, and wanted alcohol to loosen her control. Two could play that game.

  "I can handle more than you might expect," she countered. "But I still have to work tomorrow."

  "Call in sick." He leaned back, arm stretching across the back of the booth. "Live a little, Tatiana."

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation at his audacity, briefly shedding the cold calculated persona she had crafted especially for him.

  When the drinks arrived, she accepted the shot glass, clinking it against his before throwing her head back. The tequila burned pleasantly, warming her from the inside out.

  "Another?" he offered immediately.

  "Trying to get me drunk, Massimiliano?" She asked, purposely using his first name to get a rise out of him. Surprisingly, he didn't react.

  Rather, he did but not the way she thought he would.

  "Mmm…would that work?"

  "Not likely." She accepted a glass of Cristal champagne, sipping it slowly. "I know my limits."

  "Everyone has a breaking point."

  "Is that what this is? Trying to break me?" She gestured around them. "The private booth, the premium liquor, the intimidation tactics thinly disguised as hospitality?"

  Instead of denying it, he laughed. "You're not like most women."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "It was meant as one."

  What was supposed to be one drink turned into two hours and several drinks later. By this time she had allowed herself to seem slightly more receptive to his attention, laughing at his dry observations, occasionally touching his arm or shoulder when making a point.

  The music had shifted to something slower, more sensual. Massimiliano watched her with intensity as she swayed slightly to the rhythm.

  "Dance with me," he said suddenly.

  "No, I don't think…"

  "One dance." He interrupted her. "Then we can leave." He stood, extending his hand. "Unless you're afraid?"

  The challenge hung between them. Refusing would seem suspicious, what normal woman would reject dancing with an attractive, powerful man after a few drinks?

  She took his hand, allowing him to lead her to a secluded corner of the VIP dance floor. His arm circled her waist, pulling her closer than necessary as they moved to the music.

  "See? Not so terrible." His breath brushed her ear.

  "I've endured worse," she quipped, keeping her tone light despite the dangerous proximity.

  His hand at her lower back pressed her closer. "You're full of surprises, Tatiana Hayes."

  The emphasis on her surname carried weight, a reminder that he questioned its authenticity.

  "Not really." She pushed slightly to maintain enough distance to meet his eyes. "I'm exactly what I appear to be."

  "We both know that's not true." His gaze dropped to her lips. "The question is, what are you hiding?"

  Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, lips pressing firmly against hers, his hand lightly cupping her face. Her eyes widened in shock but she didn't push him away — not immediately.

  And just for a heartbeat she allowed it, all the while calculating her next action. Then, with a steady hand, she pressed against his chest, pushing him back gently but firmly.

  "I don't mix business with pleasure." She said finally, her voice remained steady despite the unexpected flutter in her stomach.

  A hint of respect flickered across his eyes before he said, "All rules have exceptions, Tatiana."

  "Not mine." She stepped back, putting more distance between them. "I should go. It's getting late."

  "I'll take you home." He signaled to Antonio, who materialized from the periphery. "Car out front."

  "I don't—" she started, but he cut her off gently.

  "Not up for debate."

  In the Bentley, she noticed Massimiliano sitting closer, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders.

  He wasn't restraining her, not exactly, but his body was conveniently positioned to prevent any sudden movements.

  "Afraid I'll jump out again?"

  "Just learning from experience." His thumb traced small circles against her shoulder. "You have a tendency to make dramatic exits."

  When they arrived, he insisted on walking her to her door. A gentleman's gesture that doubled as surveillance.

  "Thank you for the drinks," she said, keys in hand, maintaining professional distance despite the evening's familiarity.

  "This isn't over, you know." His expression turned serious. "Whatever you're hiding, whoever you are, I will find out."

  "There's nothing to find." She met his gaze steadily. "But you're welcome to waste your time trying."

  He stepped closer, backing her against her door. For a moment, she thought he might try to kiss her again. Instead, he simply studied her face, as if memorizing every detail.

  He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke with a quiet, almost reluctant voice, "Goodnight, Tatiana. Sleep well."

  "Goodnight, Massimiliano."

  Inside her apartment, she locked the three deadbolts before kicking off her heels and collapsing onto the couch. The tension she'd been holding finally released, leaving her exhausted but clear-headed.

  She massaged her temple replaying the events of the night, scrutinizing her misstep and self-control. She'd slipped, the Rosetti name had caught her completely off-guard. A rookie mistake. Massimiliano was smarter than she'd given him credit for. She hadn't expected him to be this strategic in his approach.

  And that kiss...

  She pressed her fingers to her lips, still feeling the ghost of his mouth against hers. Unwanted heat pooled in her stomach at the memory.

  Dangerous. Distracting.

  "Get it together," she muttered to herself, heading to the kitchen for water.

  As she took a large gulp of water trying to clear her head, one thought remained crystal clear: she could not, nay, would not, be attracted to Massimiliano De Luca. He was the son of the man who murdered her father. The heir to an empire built on her family's destruction. No way. No chance in hell.