Rain poured relentlessly over the city, drumming against the tall windows of the old Rossi mansion. Dark clouds covered the sky, swallowing the moon and leaving everything beneath them wrapped in shadows.

Standing by the window of her bedroom, Alma Rossi watched the storm in silence. A crumpled letter trembled slightly in her hand.

At nineteen years old, Alma had always looked younger than her age. She was short, with short black hair framing her sharp face. Three tiny beauty marks rested near her lips, something her grandmother used to call "The Three Sisters." Her fox-like eyes were clever, observant, and impossible to read.

Tonight, however, fear hid behind those eyes.

Her father was drowning in debt.

And the man who had come to collect it was not known for mercy.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

The guest has arrived, Miss Alma.

Alma closed her eyes for a moment.

She had heard countless rumors about him.

Dante Blackwood.

The king of the city's underworld.

The owner of luxury hotels, private clubs, and businesses that looked perfectly legal on paper.

Alma straightened her oversized sweater and walked downstairs.

The moment she entered the grand living room, she saw him.

Dante Blackwood sat calmly in a leather armchair as though he owned the mansion.

Maybe he already did.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. His dark hair was slightly messy, and a tattoo disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

Her father stood across from him, visibly terrified.

Dante... please. Give me more time.

Dante didn't even look at him.

I already gave you two years.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Then Dante's gaze shifted.

Straight toward Alma.

Who is she?

My daughter.

Dante studied her carefully.

Alma crossed her arms.

What?

Her father nearly choked.

Alma!

But she ignored him.

Dante tilted his head slightly.

Interesting.

What is?

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

You're the first person who's looked me in the eyes all evening.

Alma shrugged.

Maybe because I'm not impressed.

Dante's smile widened slightly.

You are brave.

And you're arrogant.

Several guards exchanged nervous glances.

No one spoke to Dante Blackwood like that.

Yet instead of becoming angry, he laughed softly.

I like you.

A chill ran down her spine.

People like Dante never liked someone without a reason.

Dante slowly stood from his chair and approached her.

When he stopped, only a few inches separated them.

His gray eyes focused on the three beauty marks near her lips.

Then they met her gaze again.

Your father owes me a fortune.

I know.

He cannot repay it.

I know that too.

Dante slipped one hand into his pocket.

I have a proposal.

Alma's stomach tightened.

What kind of proposal?

His expression darkened.

Marry me.

The words struck her like lightning.

Her father looked as though he might faint.

The servants stared in disbelief.

And Alma simply blinked.

What?

Marry me.

You're insane.

Possibly.

She took a step back.

I'm not marrying you.

Dante took a step forward.

Yes, you are.

No.

Your father goes to prison.

Another step.

No.

You lose this house.

Another step.

No.

Everything your family owns disappears.

Alma clenched her fists.

Hatred burned inside her chest.

She hated him.

She hated the way he spoke as if her future already belonged to him.

Most of all, she hated the fact that he was right.

Dante Blackwood held all the power.

And they both knew it.

He extended his hand toward her.

You have twenty-four hours to decide.

Alma stared at his hand.

The hand of the man who had just destroyed her life.

The hand of a stranger who looked more like a devil than a savior.

And for the first time, she understood something terrifying.

Sometimes villains don't arrive carrying weapons.

Sometimes they arrive carrying a contract.

And Dante Blackwood had just offered her one.

To be continued...