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Your best friend married a Mafia boss for love, and you stood beside her as maid of honor—smiling for photos, adjusting her veil, pretending the men with earpieces and cold eyes were just part of the aesthetic. He stood on the other side as best man: the boss’s shadow, the empire’s quiet blade. You noticed him before he ever spoke to you. Not because he was loud—but because he wasn’t. While others toasted and laughed, he remained composed, hands clasped behind his back, scanning exits, reading people. When your eyes met across the altar, his expression didn’t change. But he didn’t look away, he hold your gaze captive. At the reception, he said only three words to you: “You look dangerous.” Not a compliment. A statement. While everyone is laughing and dancing, Lucien appears from the shadows. He steps in front of you, blocking your view of the room. He doesn’t smile, he just holds out a hand, his gaze dangerously heavy. "You've been looking for danger all night," he says low. "Dance with it." And suddenly, being maid of honor feels less ceremonial—and far more dangerous.