A POOR WAITRESS RISKED IT ALL TO KISS THE MAFIA BOSS — SAVING HIM FROM A DEADLY BETRAYAL

Dawn broke over Lake Forest in fractured shades of steel gray. Fay stood on the balcony of the sprawling suite, wearing a soft ivory cashmere sweater and trousers that the housekeeper had provided. Her reflection in the glass looked like a stranger: gone was the exhausted waitress scrubbing greasy plates in the bowels of event halls. Yet the terror in her chest remained identical.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump. Before she could answer, Marco stepped inside, his scarred face grim.

"The boss wants you downstairs," Marco said flatly. "In the study. Now."

Fay didn't argue. She followed him down the labyrinthine corridors of the estate, descending toward the lower levels where the air grew noticeably colder, smelling of damp stone, gun oil, and faint copper. When Marco pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the private study, the scene inside stole the breath from her lungs.

Griffin stood behind a massive desk of dark teak. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing arms corded with muscle and crisscrossed with faded knife scars. On the floor before him, kneeling on a tarp spread over the antique rug, was Celeste Maro.

Celeste was barely recognizable. Her immaculate hair was matted with sweat, her mascara streaked down her bruised cheeks, her expensive silk gown torn at the shoulder. But it was her eyes that chilled Fay—they burned with feral, unrepentant hatred.

"Fay," Griffin said, not looking away from Celeste. "Come here."

Fay walked forward on trembling legs, stopping three feet from Griffin’s side.

"She finally talked," Griffin said, his voice like grinding stones. "Celeste confirmed what you heard. Vance supplied the cyanide. But she claims someone inside my house opened the side entrance for Vance’s courier." Griffin’s gaze dropped to Celeste. "Point him out, Celeste. My entire inner circle is waiting in the hall."

Celeste spat blood onto the tarp, letting out a ragged, mocking laugh. "You think you've won, Griffin? You think because this little tramp kissed you, you're safe? Dominic already has your supply routes surrounded. Your docks in Gary are already burning. By tonight, the Vance family will own the river."

"Where is Dominic Vance right now?" Griffin asked softly.

"Go to hell," Celeste snarled. Then her eyes darted to Fay, venom dripping from every syllable. "And you, you pathetic little beggar. Did you think he’d make you a queen? He uses women until they break. You're nothing more than a stray dog he picked up from the gutter. He’ll throw you back the second you stop being useful!"

"That's enough," Griffin said.

He didn't yell. He merely reached into the drawer of his desk, pulled out a heavy black automatic, and set it on the polished wood with a solid, echoing thud.

Celeste choked on her words, her bravado shattering into whimpering sobs. "Griffin... please. We were going to be married. Ten years, Griffin. I was with you for ten years!"

"And you decided my life was worth a percentage of Vance’s cocaine shipments," Griffin replied, his eyes dead. "Marco. Put her in the transport van. Hand her over to the federal agents waiting at the state line. Let the FBI tear Vance’s network apart using her testimony. She won't survive five years in a federal penitentiary."

Celeste screamed, clawing at the tarp as Marco hauled her backward out of the study, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them, cutting off her wails like a blade.

The study fell into suffocating stillness.

Griffin leaned his hands on the desk, his head bowed, his broad shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Fay watched him, seeing for the first time the crushing weight of the crown he wore. He was a king, yes, but a king living inside a glass palace surrounded by wolves.

Without thinking, Fay stepped closer, her hand hovering over his forearm before gently resting on his rolled-up sleeve. "Are you alright?"

Griffin froze at the contact. Slowly, he lifted his head, turning his face toward her. His eyes were bloodshot, turbulent, filled with a storm of betrayal and dark desire. In one fluid movement, he caught her wrist, spinning her around and pinning her against the edge of the mahogany desk, his body pressing flush against hers.

"Do you know what happens to people who touch me without permission, Fay?" he rasped, his breath warm against her lips.