In the fourth year of my marriage to Vincent Trapani, he became obsessed with a stripper named Gigi.

She was young, hot, and dangerously wild. She had the Mafia Underboss twisted around her little finger, convincing him to trail her from exclusive nightclubs to the grimy tracks where her favorite underground racer burned rubber.

Vincent called. "I'm not coming home. I'm at the track watching Silas Kane."

Gigi, draped over his arm, scoffed. "That boring trophy wife—does she even know who Silas Kane is?"

They had no idea.

The moment the call ended, Silas pinned me against the back seat of a dimly lit, modified car. His teeth grazed my neck—a sharp, teasing pressure that promised pain.

"Alessia, if I win, how are you going to reward me?"

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1

The first time I met Gigi Monroe was at my twenty-sixth birthday family dinner.

I wore a practiced smile, greeting the various family members while maintaining a fragile facade of harmony.

"Vincent's tied up with some family business, but he had his gift sent over earlier—"

I hadn't even finished my sentence.

Vincent Trapani strolled in, and he wasn't alone.

Gigi Monroe, poured into a sequined red dress, was plastered to his arm as if she owned the place. She scanned the room, her eyes glinting with avarice, her voice a shrill siren. "So this is the big-shot party you were talking about?"

Her gaze lingered on me for two seconds before flicking away with open disdain.

"Ooh, that cake looks amazing! I have to try some!"

Vincent watched her with a glint of amusement, letting her turn my birthday dinner into her personal playground.

Whispers rippled through the room.

"The nerve on that girl. Pulling a stunt like this right in front of Alessia Gallo."

"Are you surprised? Vincent lets her get away with murder. Sure, he's married to Alessia—but that one clawed her way into his bed."

"God, how humiliating. To be insulted like that at your own birthday party and have to just take it? I'd rather die."

In my custom-made black gown, I ignored their venomous whispers.

I found Vincent and lowered my voice. "We had an agreement—no bringing your whores where I have to see them. It's basic respect—"

He cut me off.

The champagne he’d shared with Gigi may have glazed his eyes, but the contempt in them was sharper than ever.

He let out a low laugh. "Alessia, I've clearly been too lenient with you." His smile turned dangerous. "Do you really think you're in any position to lecture me?"

I froze.

The light from the crystal chandelier cascaded down, too bright, too harsh.

Under his mocking gaze, the armor I had built over the years began to crack, melting away like snow under a scorching sun.

I was a Gallo in name only, married to a Trapani. Everyone thought I had married up. The truth was, I’d never been welcomed into the Gallo family's inner circle.

"How pathetic. Then again, a woman with her background was bound to—"

The chatter behind me faded into a dull hum.

Vincent heard it too.

He showed no reaction, simply handing me a diamond watch. "That project you wanted? Handle it yourself. And Alessia, don't act like I've mistreated you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Learn to please me, and maybe you'll be of some use."

A hundred-thousand-dollar insult. Utterly tasteless. He wasn't giving me a gift; he was reminding me of my place.

The disastrous dinner finally crawled to an end.

Vincent left with a drunk Gigi clinging to him.

They didn't even wait until they were out of sight, their hands all over each other by the courtyard fountain.

I stood by the bulletproof glass window, watching raindrops streak down the pane.

I put away the ugly watch, picked up my phone, and opened the pinned chat.

Before the dinner started, I had sent a simple text: [Missing you a little.]

Six replies.

Five hours ago: [Miss you too.]

Four hours ago: [Going to practice.]

Three hours ago: [Actually, I don't mind being disturbed during practice.]

Two hours ago: [They told me it's your birthday.]

One hour ago: [Happy birthday.]

Just now: [I'm coming to see you.]

I smiled.

I replied: [No need. I'll come see you at your race next week.]

A long moment passed before two new messages finally appeared.

[Okay.]

[Don't play me.]

For the next month, Vincent paraded Gigi around the underworld, openly flaunting their affair like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

The all-powerful Vincent Trapani let her drag him to street food stalls, take cheesy selfies, and kiss under the sunset at the docks. He even followed her to an underground race—one featuring Silas Kane.

Twenty-one. A legend. He’d led his team to a championship last year. Now, he was the biggest star in the underground racing scene.

Outside the dockside warehouse, Gigi, wearing a cap with his name on it, posed for a picture while clinging to Vincent's arm. Vincent was clearly impatient, pulling her closer. "What's so great about some punk kid?"

Gigi giggled, kissing his cheek. "I just love watching him race. But of course, I love you the most!"

From my car, I watched it all unfold.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat, but before I could look away, my phone rang.

It was Vincent.

Cold. Impatient. "That money laundering project you mentioned? We'll talk some other time. I have plans tonight. I'm not coming home."

I let out a soft laugh, asking deliberately, "Busy with what?"

"Watching Silas Kane's race—"

Before he could finish, Gigi's scoff cut in. "That boring trophy wife—does she even know who Silas Kane is?"

Through my car window, I saw her snatch the phone from Vincent's hand.

"Alessia Gallo, don't ask questions you shouldn't. I'm hanging up."

Arrogant. Spoiled. Willful.

But young. Gorgeous. Like a firework, all dazzling, fleeting brilliance.

So Vincent just pinched her cheek, amused, and led her into the VIP section.

Everyone favors youth and beauty.

Including me.

My phone lit up again—it was Silas.

"Are you here or not?" His voice was impatient. "You stood me up last time. Don't tell me you're doing it again."

"I'm here." I tapped lightly on the car window. "But... you're too popular. I can only watch from the cheap seats. I'll find you after the race."

Silas scoffed. "Fuck that. You think you need a ticket to see me? I had the team hold the best seat in the house for you. Get over here now."

A pause. Then—

"Have you thought about it? You promised you’d make it up to me. If I win tonight, what's my reward?"

"What do you want?"

"Anything I want?"

His voice was low and husky. Even over the phone, I could picture that wicked smirk on his lips, the way his sharp, stunning eyes would darken when they landed on me.

I chuckled indulgently. "Anything."

A moment of silence.

Then—"Alessia, if I win the championship, tonight, you're mine."

The race began.

Through the warehouse's high windows, I watched Silas put on his helmet, his hands gripping the steering wheel. His expression was sharp, determined, utterly focused.

His driving was flawless, and he crossed the finish line a full car length ahead of the competition as the final results blazed across the scoreboard.

CHAMPION!!!

Only then did he emerge from the car, bathed in deafening cheers and camera flashes.

And in the chaos, his eyes found mine.

I mouthed the word: "Congratulations."

He grinned, mouthing back.

"Now, you're mine."

Tonight belonged to Silas.

By the time the post-race interviews were over, it was late.

Outside, a light rain was falling.

I had just turned into the dim alley leading to the parking lot when a hand grabbed me—yanking me into a muscle car.

"Trying to run again?"

The night air carried the clean scent of rain, but his body was scorching hot.

One word burned in my mind: restless.

I tensed, but he just held me tighter.

Sighing, I relented. "I wasn't running. You were still in your interview, so I went to take care of something. I didn't expect you to finish so quickly—"

"You always say the right things, but no one ever really knows what you're thinking."

His arms locked around me from behind, and he kissed my ear.

His warm breath ghosted over my hair, each exhale leaving a trail of tingles.

"The interview wasn't over. I got bored and left. I wanted to see you."

A twenty-one-year-old with boundless energy.

Under the dim car lights, he kissed me, inch by inch.

Then—his teeth grazed my neck, his sharp canines pressing in just enough to leave a faint sting.

"Alessia, you promised." His voice was laced with playful mockery. "I won. How are you going to reward me tonight?"

"I—" My vision swam.

I blinked hard, forcing back the tears that welled from the sheer intensity of it all.

Just as my vision cleared, two painfully familiar figures appeared.

"I told you, Vincent! This is Silas Kane's car!"

A second later, Gigi leaned down and tapped on the car window, her voice bright and eager.

"Mr. Kane! I'm a huge fan! Can you sign an autograph for me and my boyfriend?"

Gigi was close—just inches away.

Logically, she couldn't see inside the car.

But under her expectant gaze, my entire body went rigid.

Behind me, Silas let out a low, rough laugh. "You're nervous?"

His teeth left my skin.

Before the sting could register, it was replaced by a wet, lingering touch.

His breathing quickened, fanning across the back of my neck.

"If you're so afraid of being caught, why did you come to me in the first place?"

His tone dropped—teasing and dangerous. "Or... I could just roll down the window and tell them to fuck off. What do you think?"

For the first time, I glimpsed the untamable madness lurking just beneath his playful smirk.