The Don's Ultimatum

The silence in the lounge was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the ice machine behind the bar.

Elena refused to drop her gaze. She forced air into her tight lungs, lifting her chin with defiant pride, refusing to cower before the man who held the life and death of Manhattan in his hands.

"I told your thugs that I don't pay tribute to parasites, Don Moretti," Elena said, her voice remarkably clear, though her pulse was hammering like a trapped bird.

Lorenzo’s amber eyes flared with wicked, amused admiration. He reached up with one broad, impeccably manicured hand, resting his palm flat on the polished mahogany bar, leaning forward until his face was barely ten inches from hers.

"Parasites?" he murmuring, his voice a low, seductive vibration that sent an illicit shiver racing down Elena’s spine. "No one has spoken to me like that since my father died, little red. Most men tremble when my name is whispered. And here you are, standing behind a bar in an emerald dress that leaves very little to the imagination, threatening my enforcers with a baseball bat."

"I defend what's mine," she threw back.

"And I claim what's mine," Lorenzo countered softly, his gaze dropping to her parted, trembling lips before rising back to her hazel-green eyes. "We have business to discuss, Miss Bell. Your office. Now."

It was not an invitation. It was an imperial command.

Elena hesitated for a fraction of a second, but she knew that making a scene in front of her patrons would end in bloodshed. She nodded curtly to Gina, her head bartender, and led Lorenzo down the narrow hallway behind the stage into her private office.

The office was small, cozy, and private—paneled in dark oak, lined with jazz records, a worn velvet sofa, and a heavy wooden desk covered in invoices and receipts.

Elena walked around the desk, intending to put the solid wood between them, but before she could turn, Lorenzo closed the heavy door with a solid thud.

*Click.*

The deadbolt turned.

Lorenzo didn't stay by the door. He crossed the small room in two predatory strides. Before Elena could step back, his large, warm hands reached out, catching her by the waist and lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the oak desk.

"Hey! Put me down!" Elena gasped, her hands flying to his broad chest for balance.

Lorenzo stepped between her parted knees, trapping her completely within the perimeter of his massive frame. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his hands gripping her hips with firm, possessive strength through the thin emerald silk of her dress.

"You have a great deal of fire in you, Elena Bell," Lorenzo rumbled, his voice thick with raw, unbridled desire. "Dino is a brute, but he is my brute. You threw whiskey in his eyes and broke his partner's ribs. In my world, that requires payment in blood."

"Then shoot me and get it over with!" she snarled, her chest heaving against the crisp cotton of his white shirt, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest with every breath. "Because I will never give you a single dollar of my mother's money!"

Lorenzo chuckled—a deep, dark sound that vibrated against her thighs.

"I don't want your money, Elena," Lorenzo whispered, his antique gold signet ring cold against her hip as his fingers squeezed her waist. "I have more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. What I want is you."

Elena froze, her breath seizing in her throat. "What?"

Lorenzo slowly raised his right hand, his calloused thumb coming up to catch the line of her jaw, tilting her face up to his burning amber gaze.

"You will keep your club," Lorenzo declared, his baritone dropping into a husky, hypnotic rasp. "You will not pay a single penny in protection tribute. But starting tonight, this lounge belongs to the Moretti family. Every Friday night, you will reserve the private mezzanine booth for me. You will pour my wine. You will answer my calls. And when I look at you, you will not turn away."

Elena’s heart pounded wildly, a wave of liquid heat pooling low between her thighs. The sheer, overwhelming masculinity of him was suffocating.

"And if I refuse?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Lorenzo leaned down until his lips were a mere millimeter from hers, his warm breath fanning over her mouth like hot velvet.

"You won't refuse, little red," Lorenzo murmured, his thumb tracing the soft contour of her lower lip. "Because the moment my hand touched your waist, your heart started racing at a hundred miles an hour. You hate me, Elena. But you want me just as badly as I want you."

Before she could deny it, his mouth closed over hers in a searing, possessive kiss that wiped every coherent thought from her mind.

The heat inside the private office was suffocating, dense with the scent of old paper, leather, and the magnetic static electricity vibrating between their bodies.

Elena sat on the edge of the heavy oak desk, her hands planted on Lorenzo’s broad shoulders, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath his tailored charcoal suit. She could feel his thighs bracketing hers, pressing her legs apart, his hips pinning her firmly against the wood.

Every instinct in her body told her that she was playing with a man who had ended men for looking at him with disrespect. Yet looking into his amber-gold eyes, she didn't feel fear; she felt an intoxicating, reckless rush of fire that made her blood sing.

"You're a dictator, Moretti," Elena whispered, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths against his lapel. "You think you can walk into my club, back me into a corner, and demand my obedience?"

"I don't demand obedience, Elena," Lorenzo rumbled softly, his thumb caressing the soft line of her jaw, tilting her face an inch higher. "Obedience is for soldiers and politicians. What I want from you is far more dangerous."

"And what is that?"

"I want your surrender," he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive curve beneath her ear, making a delicious shudder ripple through her entire body. "I want the woman who had the guts to throw whiskey in my enforcer's face. I want the fire that lives in these copper curls."

His hands slid down to the small of her back, pressing her hips flush against his. Elena let out a soft, involuntary gasp as she felt the hard, thick ridge of his arousal pressing against her lower belly through the silk of her dress. He was massive, straining with a fierce, undisguised hunger that made her core clench with liquid heat.

"You think you can tame me?" she challenged, her hazel eyes blazing up at him.

Lorenzo’s lips curved into a slow, devastating smirk. "I don't want to tame you, little red. I want to watch you burn. And when you burn, I will be the one holding the flame."

Before she could speak another word of defiance, his mouth claimed hers in a deep, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt about who ruled the night.

His mouth slammed down onto hers in a deep, devastating kiss—an intoxicating, possessive claim that left her gasping for air against his chest as the shadows deepened in the locked room.