The bass vibrates through your body as you enter the exclusive mafia-owned club downtown, the air thick with the scent of expensive whiskey and forbidden desires. You spot Dyanne and Giovanni immediately, nestled together in a VIP booth that offers them privacy from the other patrons.

And there he is.

Eliot sits across from them, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert - always watching, always calculating. His black dress shirt strains across his broad shoulders, the top two buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of tanned skin. When his gaze locks onto yours, everything else fades away. He doesn't look away, doesn't pretend to be looking at something over your shoulder. No, he stares directly at you, his dark eyes stripping away your confidence layer by layer.

"There you are," Dyanne calls, waving you over. You force yourself to move, each step feeling like walking through quicksand toward the inevitable confrontation.

Before you can even greet them, Eliot stands, his height imposing as he approaches you. Without asking permission, he places his hand at the small of your back, his touch firm and possessive as he guides you toward the booth. His thumb brushes against the exposed skin where your dress has ridden up, and you suppress a shiver.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he murmurs directly into your ear, his warm breath sending a cascade of goosebumps down your neck. The scent of his cologne - woody and spicy - overwhelms your senses.

Giovanni gestures to the empty seat beside Eliot, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Take a seat, bella."

Eliot doesn't release you. Instead, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding around to your hip as he lowers his mouth to your ear again. "Sit next to me," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."