The invitation

The city buzzed beneath her feet—horns, chatter, subway rumbles like a heartbeat under the streets. Amara Blake tightened her grip on her clutch as she stepped out of the cab and stared up at the glowing Aria Hotel, its gold-lit windows slicing through the Manhattan skyline like diamonds in the dark.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

The dress she wore was borrowed. The invite—a favor from her roommate Nia. The heels hurt. The air smelled expensive. But none of that made her turn back.

Inside the lobby, everything gleamed. Crystal chandeliers, champagne flutes, laughter that didn't sound real. Amara followed Nia through the grand ballroom doors, blinking under the soft lights, letting her eyes adjust to the crowd of power suits, glittering gowns, and whispers that meant more than words.

"Keep your head high," Nia whispered. "You look like you belong here."

"I don't."

"You look like you do. That's enough."

The gala wasn't on any public calendar. Everyone knew what it was though—a fundraiser on the surface, a front beneath. People like Roman Casso didn't host charity events for fun. And people like her didn't get invited.

She sipped from a flute of something sweet and tried not to look nervous. But when her eyes drifted across the room, she froze.

There he was.

Roman Casso.

The youngest Casso to ever run the empire. Rumors surrounded him—about the way he took power, about the bodies he left behind, about how no one ever crossed him twice.

Tall, clean lines, dark tailored suit. He stood by the bar, completely still, like he wasn't just at the center of the room, but at the center of everything.

His eyes flicked toward her. And held.

Amara's breath caught.

"Don't stare," Nia warned.

"I'm not."

"You are."

She looked away. But her heart didn't.

Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. And just when she thought she imagined the moment, someone appeared at her side.

"Miss Blake?"

She turned.

A tall man in a black suit gave her a polite nod. "Mr. Casso would like a word."

She blinked. "He… what?"

"Would you follow me, please?"

Amara's heart nearly stopped. Nia gave her a stunned look, then a silent nod that said *go*.

She followed.

Through the crowd, past champagne and stares, to a private balcony overlooking the city.

And there he was.

Roman Casso turned slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said softly.

"I know."

He stepped closer. "What's your name?"

"You know it. You sent your guy to find me."

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Smart. I like that."

Amara crossed her arms. "Why me?"

"You stood out."

"I don't belong in your world."

"Maybe that's why I noticed."

The wind lifted her hair. The city stretched out behind him. He stood close now, but not too close. Just enough to make her wonder what he smelled like. What his hands felt like. What it meant to be looked at like that by a man like him.

"You can go back in," he said. "Or you can stay a little longer."

She stared at him. Then at the city. Then back at him.

Amara Blake was smart. Careful. Controlled.

But Roman Casso wasn't a man you forgot. He was a question you didn't want answered… and couldn't stop asking.

She stayed.