As I stepped into the office that morning, my mind was set on one thing—something I needed to handle before attending to any other business.

"Good morning, sir. I brought your coffee," Nicole, my secretary, said, placing the cup on my desk.

As she leaned forward, the neckline of her dress dipped just enough to offer a tempting view. She was petite, her curves more pronounced than her frame suggested. Her face wasn’t striking, but those curves? They more than made up for it.

I didn’t bother looking away. I knew she wanted me—her lingering glances, the way she always found reasons to be close. All it would take was a few words from me.

I cleared my throat, a silent reminder that the show was over. She straightened, adjusting her dress with a knowing smirk.

"I'll be at my desk, sir."

I gave a curt nod.

But she wasn’t the one I wanted. The only woman I wanted to hear screaming my name while I was fucking her probably hated me right now. And that was the real problem.

Back to the matter at hand, I pulled out my phone and dialed the supervisor’s number. Then, without hesitation, I called Lucas and instructed them both to meet me in my office immediately.

I wasn’t a man who minced words. So the moment they were seated in front of me, I got straight to the point.

"From this moment forward, I will be personally in charge of Harrah Joliet Casino."

Mr. Diego, the supervisor, raised an eyebrow, hesitating like he wanted to speak but didn’t dare to.

"Do you have something to say, Mr. Diego?" I asked, watching his reluctance.

He cleared his throat. "I was just surprised, sir. You’ve never really shown interest in the casino since you became a partner with the owner."

Because back then, Elena Russo had never been involved in her husband's affairs. I had only bought my share of the place to be close to her.

But to Diego, I simply said, "I wish to get myself familiar with the business from now on."

"That will be all," I said, dismissing Diego.

I saw him give a slight nod before heading out.

Turning to Lucas, I knew I was about to receive the lecture of a lifetime. He had no intention of leaving just yet.

"Does this have anything to do with Russo's widow?" Lucas asked. No one had ever dared to question my authority—except for him. Being my best friend, he got away with things others wouldn’t.

"She is a free woman," I replied, knowing I couldn't let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

Lucas crossed his arms. "Have you heard the latest rumor?"

I raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.

"It's being said that you confronted Russo, and the next day, he was found dead in his office."

"Son of a bitch," I growled, slamming my fist against the desk.

Lucas exhaled sharply. "My point is, do you think she’d want anything to do with the supposed killer of her husband?"

For a split second, I wondered whose side he was on.

"Yours, of course," he answered as if reading my mind. I hadn't realized I’d spoken aloud.

I clenched my jaw. "I wish I had killed that punk myself, but someone else beat me to it," I muttered under my breath.

Lucas shook his head. "Thank Jesus you didn't. That would have killed any slim chance you have with his widow."

"Will you be coming to the club today?" Lucas asked, changing the topic.

"No, not today. I have other plans,"

I replied quickly.

Lucas eyed me suspiciously. "What about your old man? When are you going to see him?"

At the mention of my father, I immediately opened the computer in front of me, pretending to be busy.

Lucas shrugged, not wanting to push further. He knew how sensitive I got whenever my father’s name was brought up.

After Lucas left, I buried myself in work, pushing anything concerning my father to the back of my mind.

Just then, my phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen—Marco’s name flashed across it.

If he was calling me at this hour, it had to be important. I picked it up.

"Boss, Colton is back. He just came in now," Marco informed me.

I clenched my jaw. "Is he alright?" I asked, trying to control the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Marco hesitated. "He... came in drunk."

The last thread of my patience snapped. "Take his car keys and his ATM card. Hold onto them."

"Yes, boss."

I hung up, resisting the urge to smash something. Father and son—both seemed determined to push me to my limits.

ELENA

Within the course of five days, I’ve uncovered more about my late husband than I ever did during our four years together.

And I can’t help but blame myself, too.

Growing up, I watched my father lose everything in the name of this never-ending war. The destruction of our family, the pain it brought, made me vow I’d never get caught up in such a violent world.

Lorenzo had promised to protect me, and for four years, he kept that promise.

But now, the very life I’ve tried so hard to avoid is closing in on me, and I can’t escape it.

“Bingo!” Sarah’s voice pierces through my thoughts, causing me to jump.

I blink at her, her long curly brown hair dripping wet. She had dragged me out for a swim, but here I am—sitting on the edge of the pool, letting my legs splash the water idly.

“Are you even in this universe?” she teases with a playful grin.

I glance around, noticing the guards standing nearby. This definitely isn’t the place to talk about the storm brewing in my head.

“Catch me if you can,” I say, giving her a quick wink before diving into the pool.

I stepped out of the pool, leaving Sarah, who seemed born for the water, and headed for a shower. The day was winding down, and I had plans for the night. Wrapped in a towel, I emerged from the shower to find Sarah sitting on my bed, fiddling with the strings of her hair.

"Just the person I've been waiting for," Sarah said, rearranging her hair. I walked over to my dressing mirror and sat down, my back to her.

"Are you ready to talk about him?" Sarah whispered softly, her voice laced with concern. I knew she'd been trying to get me to open up, but I'd been avoiding the topic.

Sarah got up from the bed and sat on the dressing table, facing me. "I...I trailed off, unable to confront the memories I'd buried for the past five days. Sarah reached out, her hands encouraging me to continue.

"That morning, we made passionate love. He said he needed to remember my scent throughout the day. It was one of the most beautiful experiences we'd shared." I laughed bitterly, the pain still felt raw.

"Three hours later, when he left for the office, Dante came back to the house. Dante never left his side...ever. But that day, he returned, his eyes filled with bloodshed, his clothes stained with blood. All he said was, 'The boss has been shot.'" My voice cracked, the memories flooding back.

"That's the last thing I remember before waking up in the emergency unit," I whispered, the pain and fear still etched in my mind.

I gently disengage myself from Sarah's embrace, feeling a sense of liberation wash over me, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

"What's the authorities doing about his murderer?" Sarah asked, her voice trembling with rage.

I shrugged, my attention focused on applying light makeup to my face. Sarah's eyes widened in surprise.

"Where are you going at this time of night?" she asked, her concern evident.

I gave her a thoughtful look before responding, my voice confident. "The Casino."

Sarah's eyes went wide. "The what!" she exclaimed, incredulity etched on her face.

I walked into the casino, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and expensive cologne. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the space. I hadn’t been here since my husband’s death, but tonight, I was here for answers.

As I walked past, heads turned. Men let out throaty murmurs of approval, while women cast secretive, admiring glances.

"Mrs. Russo, welcome—"

I turned toward the voice that had just called my name, though I had been heading to the lounge.

"Forgive my manners. My name is Marcel," he said smoothly. "I must confess, you look even better in person than in the papers."

I didn’t bother asking how he knew my name—that would be a lost cause. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall and slender, with tattoos on his arm that caught my attention.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He chuckled, then shook his head. "That sounds stupid, right? Since you own the place."

I decided to save him from his misery by laughing heartily. "Who says you can’t buy me a drink just because I own the place?"

He smiled sheepishly, and I had to admit—he had a nice smile.

"Give me your contact," I said. "Once I’m done with what I’m doing, I might just take you up on that offer."

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find, but every investigation had to start somewhere. And what better place than the scene of the crime?

I flashed Marcel a polite smile before heading toward the lounge. The moment I stepped inside, a wave of revulsion rolled over me. Strippers swayed against drunk, glassy-eyed men. Cocaine lined the tables, disappearing beneath desperate noses. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and sin.

Then I saw him.

The man whose presence had unsettled me from the start. The man suspected of killing my husband.

He sat in Lorenzo’s usual spot in the high roller lounge, leaned back as if the chair had always been his. A crystal glass of Scotch rested in his hand, his fingers tapping lazily against the rim. He looked completely at ease—too at ease.

A knot formed in my stomach, but I forced my shoulders back and walked straight toward him. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His eyes tracked my approach with an infuriating mix of amusement and expectation, as if he had been waiting for me.

"You’re in the wrong seat," I said, my voice calm but firm.

He swirls his drink before taking a slow sip, then sets the glass down with deliberate ease.

"Am I?" His gaze flickers over me, assessing. "Funny. No one else seems to mind."

My fists clench at my sides. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. "You already know the answer to that, don’t you?"

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

"Did you kill him?" The question leaves my lips in barely a whisper.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. The air between us tightens, charged with something dark and unspoken.

"If I did," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, "what would you do about it?"

My breath catches. He’s taunting me. Testing me.

I grip the edge of the table, steadying myself. "I’d make sure you paid for it."

His lips curl slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. He picks up his drink again, taking an agonizingly slow sip before meeting my gaze.

"Then I guess we’ll see how this plays out."

The last time I had been to this lounge was the day before Lorenzo’s death. That night, I had to confront him personally—even though I had stayed out of the business ever since we became partners.

The reason for that confrontation is known to only a few people to this day—and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

When I turned down Luca's invitation to go to the club, I came here hoping she might show up. The fire I saw in her sharp hazel eyes at the cemetery told me she was hungry for the truth about what happened to her husband.

And I had been right. She’s here for answers. I underestimated her—maybe more than I’d like to admit.

I just hadn’t expected her to confront me so directly.

She walked into the lounge with a boldness that made it seem like she’d been coming here all her life. Her heels complemented the elegant lines of her legs, and her skin glowed under the lounge lights, a perfect match for the warm amber tones. Her long, dark hair framed her magazine-cover face and cascaded down her back in soft waves.

She seemed to enjoy the attention as heads turned in her direction—but her focus was only on me.

I couldn’t blame the men for looking at her the way they did. Hell, even I wasn’t immune. But the sharp edge in her gaze warned me not to let my guard down. Her eyes weren’t softened by grief or confusion anymore. No, there was steel beneath those hazel irises—cold, hard steel.

Still, I would’ve preferred to see something other than the cold hatred burning in those sharp hazel eyes.

She was challenging me—and I’m not the type to lose, especially when there’s a slim chance I might be able to change her opinion of me.

I downed the last of my Scotch and straightened up, my eyes following her as she disappeared deeper into the lounge. I gave her a small head start, letting her think she was in control. She wasn’t. Not yet.

I rose to my feet, adjusting my jacket as I followed her, keeping a safe distance. She moved through the casino with quiet confidence, her heels clicking against the polished floor in a steady rhythm. Heads turned as she passed, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care.

After a while, I realized she was heading toward her late husband’s private office.

Interesting.

From the shadows, I watched as she pulled a key from her bag.

Lorenzo’s key.

She unlocked the door but hesitated, standing there for a moment as if debating whether to go in. Her hand rested on the polished brass handle, her knuckles tightening.

Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

I knew following her in there was a bad idea. I’m the last person she’d want to see.

From where I stood, I heard footsteps behind me. My instincts sharpened—someone was following her. It made sense, considering she was trying to expose them.

Without thinking, I slipped the pistol from the back of my pocket, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. Whoever it was, they’d be unlucky to walk away unscathed.

Then a figure stepped out of the shadows of the basement. My grip loosened the moment I recognized Dante—Lorenzo’s right-hand man. He was here to protect his boss’s wife.

But why was he dressed like that? No suit, no official look—he was in disguise, glancing around like he expected trouble.

I watched him move with calculated precision toward Lorenzo’s office, pausing at the door.

My hand tightened around the pistol. No matter how much she hated me, I wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

ELENA

You shouldn’t be here!”

The sharpness of his voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the folder in my hand.

Instinctively, I reached for the last gift Lorenzo had left me. As much as I hated carrying a gun, I’d come to realize it was the one thing I could rely on lately.

Slowly, I turned around, keeping the gun tucked beneath my bag, my fingers tightening around the handle.

“Dante,” I breathed, shocked to see him here at this hour. My surprise deepened when I took in his appearance—dressed in disguise, not his usual suit.

“I mean it, Mrs. Russon. You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, his tone calmer but no less urgent than it had been before. “It’s not safe.”

“I was just in the casino, so I figured I’d check the office.” I lied effortlessly. At this point, I didn’t trust anyone.

“It’s late, ma’am. Let me escort you back to the mansion,” he said, gesturing toward the exit.

“Why are you dressed like that?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Dante smiled—a rare sight. His dark eyes locked on mine.

“This is my night shift attire, ma’am,” he said smoothly. Then he stepped behind me, his presence steady and controlled, as he led me toward the car.

As he walked me to the car, a question kept nagging at the back of my mind.

“How did you find me?”

“Huh?” I heard the surprise in his voice from where he sat behind the wheel.

“How did you know I’d come to the casino tonight?” I pressed, unwilling to believe it was just his bodyguard instincts.