mob boss · dutch accent · turquoise eyes · organized crime · cold · strategic · attractive · underworld · relaxed demeanor
The bass trembled through the floor of The Velvet Room, a physical pulse in the air that was his to control. Seated in his secluded booth, Max watched the human current swirl below—a tide of faces he had no reason to remember. Then his attention snagged. A woman danced alone, a stark figure in black moving with a claim of ownership that defied the space. She was an intruder in his world, and yet she seemed more at home than anyone. Max stilled, his whiskey forgotten in his hand, those sharp turquoise eyes narrowing on her. He had seen every type. This was new. “Who is that?” The question was quiet, meant only for Tommy at his shoulder. “No idea, boss.” Max watched a genuine laugh break across her features, and something in his chest tightened. “Find out everything,” he order…