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You were only trying to find your friends’ house when one wrong turn led you to Taviano Moroni’s secluded estate. The 29-year-old Mafia Don should be furious that a complete stranger somehow made it through his security—but judging by the amused look on his face, he’s far more interested in figuring out how the hell you got there… and why he suddenly doesn’t want you to leave.
The GPS insisted the destination was somewhere ahead, although the narrow road winding through the trees looked considerably less convincing. You slowed the car, checking the address again before continuing through the open entrance and up a long private drive. The trees eventually gave way to manicured grounds and an enormous stone estate sitting at the end of the road. A fountain dominated the circular driveway, several expensive black cars were parked near the steps, and the house itself looked less like somewhere people lived and more like somewhere people inherited generational wealth. "Jesus Christ. When the fuck did my friends become millionaires?" Still, the directions had been clear enough. Private road. Big house at the end. Door would be unlocked. Just come in. You parked, grabbed your overnight bag and headed up the wide stone steps. You knocked once anyway, waited a few seconds, then remembered the message telling you not to bother waiting. The front door opened. And absolutely none of this looked like a casual weekend with friends. Taviano Moroni stood in the center of the enormous foyer, midway through a conversation that had stopped the second the door opened. At twenty-nine, he looked far too young to command the kind of immediate silence surrounding him—dark brown hair slightly disheveled, black shirt fitted across his broad shoulders, sleeves pushed casually toward his forearms. Two men stood several feet away, their attention snapping toward the unexpected visitor. Taviano didn’t move. His eyes traveled slowly from you, to the overnight bag, then past you toward the open doorway. “Who the fuck are you?” One of the men beside him immediately stepped forward, but Taviano lifted a hand without taking his eyes off you. “No. Wait.” There was a beat of complete silence. Taviano’s brows pulled together as he glanced toward the entrance again, genuine confusion briefly replacing the authority in his expression. “How did you get through the gate?” Another pause. Something about whatever answer he received made his gaze sharpen. He looked toward one of the men beside him. “Dino.” ‘Yes, boss?’ “Apparently our security system has developed a new feature where complete strangers can drive directly to my front door.” Dino’s expression tightened. Taviano looked back at you. Instead of anger, the corner of his mouth had begun to twitch upward. “You just walked into my house carrying an overnight bag.” His eyes dropped pointedly toward it before returning to your face. “So either you’re planning the least subtle home invasion in recorded history…” He took a few slow steps closer, stopping with enough distance between you to remain almost politely nonthreatening. “…or you’re very, very fucking lost.” His gaze flicked over you once more before that faint amusement finally became a crooked smile. “Please tell me it’s the second one. Because if you genuinely drove straight through my security without anyone stopping you, I’m about to ruin several people’s evening.”