Chapter 1

The club pulsed with dark energy—red neon lights flickering like warning signs, the bass vibrating through the air like the pounding of war drums. Cigarette smoke curled in the dimly lit VIP section, mingling with the scent of expensive whiskey and perfume thick enough to suffocate.

Lorenzo De Luca sat at the center of it all, untouched by the chaos around him. He was power incarnate—sharp suit, sharper jawline, and eyes so cold they could freeze fire. A woman straddled his lap, pressing herself against him like an offering to a god.

He barely noticed her.

His mind was elsewhere. On war. On blood. On revenge.

She tilted her head, purring against his ear. "You're not paying attention, Mr. De Luca."

Lorenzo's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. He hated when people stated the obvious.

"I'm paying enough," he muttered.

"Mm." She traced her nails down his chest, playful. "Is that so?"

He exhaled slowly, suppressing his growing irritation. He had already fucked her once before, already gotten his fill, and now she was lingering. He didn't do attachments. He didn't do repeats.

With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed her.

She scowled but didn't dare argue. No one disobeyed The Devil.

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, rolling his glass between his fingers, his thoughts shifting to the reason he was here.

Tonight, he had one mission: secure the alliance with the Rossi family.

Or burn them to the fucking ground.

Then, like a cruel twist of fate, she walked in.

Valentina Rossi.

His grip on the glass tightened. Fuck.

She moved like sin, wrapped in silk. Black, as always, with a slit running dangerously high, revealing golden skin that looked like it would feel even better under his hands. Dark waves of hair cascaded down her back, a sharp contrast against the diamonds glittering at her neck.

She was temptation, walking. A woman who could ruin a man with just a look.

And he hated her for it.

Because he wanted her.

And that made her dangerous.

Her eyes, sharp and filled with something lethal, locked onto his across the room. The air shifted, thickened, the heat between them immediate and undeniable.

She didn't look away.

Neither did he.

A challenge.

She strode toward him, each step slow, deliberate—like she was daring him to stop her. Daring him to touch her.

When she reached his table, she didn't wait for an invitation. She never did. She slid into the seat across from him, one leg crossing over the other in a way that made his jaw clench.

"Lorenzo," she purred, voice smooth as the expensive whiskey he drank.

"Valentina," he returned, taking a slow sip, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "Didn't expect to see you here. Shouldn't you be at your father's side, playing the good little princess?"

She smirked, tilting her head. "And I didn't expect to find you bored with the cheap entertainment you seem to prefer. I suppose even The Devil gets tired."

His lips curled, the heat between them growing darker. "Careful, Valentina. We both know where this leads."

"Do we?" Her gaze dropped, just for a second, to his lips before flicking back up, something wicked and knowing in her expression.

Lorenzo's blood ran hot. Fuck.

He should push her away. Should walk away before he found himself tangled in her web again.

But instead, he leaned in. "What do you want?"

"The same thing you do." She swirled her own drink, her red nails tapping lightly against the glass. "Power."

A dark chuckle escaped him. "Power isn't given, sweetheart. It's taken."

"And yet, you were about to get on your knees for my father in exchange for a temporary alliance."

His smirk vanished. She knew.

Of course, she knew. The Rossis had their spies, their informants, their ways of worming into every crack in his empire. But so did he.

"Say what you came here to say," he muttered, eyes locked onto hers.

She leaned forward slightly, the scent of her perfume—vanilla and something dark—fucking intoxicating.

"We don't need our families," she said, voice soft but sharp. "You and I—we could end this war our way."

Lorenzo tilted his head, amused despite himself. "You and me? Alone against our fathers? Cute."

Her smirk widened, her hand brushing ever so slightly against his on the table. "It wouldn't be the first time we made a mess together."

Fuck.

Memories crashed into him—her legs wrapped around his waist, her body arching under his, the way she gasped his name like it was a prayer and a curse all in one.

Lorenzo clenched his jaw.

"This isn't like before," he murmured, voice low, rough.

She cocked an eyebrow. "No, it's not." A beat. "Now, we have to make it count."

His eyes darkened. "And what happens when one of us betrays the other?"

She smiled. "Then we do what we do best."

"Destroy each other?"

"Exactly."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The war drums outside continued. Lust. Power. Danger. It was all the same fucking thing.

Lorenzo exhaled slowly, then smirked.

"Tell me more, Valentina."

Because sometimes, alliances were built on blood.

And sometimes, they were built in bed.