We had nothing in common. He was a wealthy, dangerous mafia don who could buy half the city before breakfast. I was a tired waitress with student loans and a father who still couldn’t stay out of trouble. He’d used me to settle a debt. That was it. End of story.

I never expected him to walk into Giovanni’s on a random Thursday night.

The bell above the door chimed and my stomach dropped. There he was — tall, commanding, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked illegally good on his powerful frame. His dark hair was styled back, that scar through his eyebrow catching the light. Two serious men...