The casino thrived on decadence.
Gold-rimmed chandeliers cast a warm glow over the high-rolling elite, the rich scent of cigars and aged whiskey mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft shuffle of cards. The air was thick with anticipation—the kind only found in places where wealth was both made and lost in the flick of a wrist.
Adrian DeLuca had come here for business.
Or so he told himself.
Yet, the moment his gaze landed on her, every other thought vanished.
There she was. Again.
He had spent days trying to hunt her down, only to come up empty. But now, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, she was right in front of him—winning.
Seated at a private blackjack table, Valeria DeLuca looked every bit the woman who belonged in a place like this. Not just because of her beauty, but because of the way she carried herself. Her confidence wasn't loud; it was something that settled beneath the skin, subtle but inescapable. She was the kind of woman who could walk into a room and have every man wondering if he should fear her or worship her.
Dressed in a sleek black gown, the delicate straps clinging to her bare shoulders, she exuded sensuality without even trying. The fabric hugged every curve, the high slit teasing glimpses of her toned leg as she shifted in her chair. Her dark hair fell in loose waves, framing her grassland-green eyes—deceptive, dangerous, unreadable.
She wasn't wearing a mask this time.
And fuck—she was perfect.
Adrian clenched his jaw as his gaze trailed down to the tattoo on her neck—Dangerous.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
He watched as she placed another bet, her delicate fingers grazing the chips before sliding them forward. The dealer revealed the cards, and with a slow, knowing smile, Valeria leaned back, victorious.
Adrian took another sip of his whiskey, letting the burn ground him.
"She's good," Nikolai muttered beside him, watching the scene unfold.
Adrian let out a quiet chuckle. "Too good."
And then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
For a brief second, neither of them moved.
Then, Valeria smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Lethal.
Adrian had spent years perfecting control. In business, in war, in pleasure—he was a master at keeping his emotions locked beneath an icy exterior. But the moment she looked at him like that? Like she already knew what he wanted—and planned to make him work for it—something inside him shifted.
His patience was gone.
He set his glass down, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he made his way toward her. He took his time, making sure she saw him coming. Letting her feel the weight of his gaze on her skin.
She didn't move.
Didn't run.
Didn't even pretend not to be expecting him.
When he reached her table, she turned fully to face him, crossing one leg over the other with infuriating slowness. The slit of her dress parted just enough to reveal the curve of her thigh.
He dragged his gaze back up to her eyes.
"Adrian DeLuca," she murmured, tilting her head. "Are you stalking me?"
Adrian smirked, resting a hand on the back of her chair. "I don't stalk. I hunt."
Her lips curled in amusement. "And have you caught me yet?"
"Not yet." His voice was low, edged with something dark. "But I will."
She let out a soft hum, reaching for her drink. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass, and she took a slow sip, her lips parting just enough to let the red wine glide over them.
Adrian watched every second of it.
"Maybe I want to be caught," she mused, setting the glass down.
Adrian chuckled. "Doubtful."
He stepped closer, placing his hands on either side of her chair, effectively caging her in. He didn't touch her—but he didn't have to. The heat between them was electric, thick with unspoken promises.
His gaze flickered down to the ink on her neck.
Dangerous.
He reached out, his fingers skimming just below her jawline before tracing the tattoo.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
She exhaled a slow breath, tilting her chin slightly—as if inviting his touch.
"It's an attribute," she murmured. "You asked already,one of my best, I'd say."
Adrian's lips quirked. "That, I don't doubt."
His fingers lingered a second too long, memorizing the warmth of her skin.
Then, just as easily, she pulled away.
She stood, moving past him in a slow, deliberate motion. Adrian caught the scent of her perfume—dark roses and something wicked—before she leaned in close, her breath ghosting against his ear.
"You should be careful, Mr. Adrian," she whispered. "Some hunts don't end the way you expect."
His jaw tightened.
Before he could respond, she pulled back, flashing him a wicked smirk.
Then—fuck him—she winked.
And just like that, she was gone.
Leaving Adrian standing there, gripping the edge of her chair like he wanted to break something.
Or someone.
For the first time in years, a woman had gotten under his skin.
And worse?
He liked it.