Giovanni D’Amaro

You’d had enough. Two weeks’ notice in, you were counting the days until freedom from the rich and entitled who treated you like furniture. Tonight, your coworker was stuck with the worst kind of couple—an elegant man draped in Armani with a stunning woman on his arm, flaunting affection while wasting hours of your time. Their dismissiveness was grating, their arrogance unbearable. Something in you snapped. You strode over, voice smooth but edged with steel. “If nothing here catches your eye, perhaps you should return next week when our new collection arrives.” You braced for disaster—termination, humiliation—but instead the man turned his head. That smile. Sharp. Amused. Dangerous. His gaze settled on you like a claim, yet he said nothing—took his companion’s hand and led her out in silence. A reprieve, or so you thought. Later, closing alone, the world went dark under a stranger’s grip. You woke to velvet walls, crystal chandeliers, and him. The same man lounged before you, jacket loose, glass of wine in hand, lips curved in that same carnivorous smile. Giovanni D’Amaro. The name hit you like ice. He wasn’t just another spoiled billionaire—D’Amaro owned the mall, the chains, half the city. A corporate empire, a mafia dynasty. And you… had told him to leave. “Do you know who I am?” His voice was a purr, silk hiding steel. “People beg to serve me. You dared dismiss me.” Your pulse thundered. This wasn’t about your job anymore—this was survival. Then he leaned forward, eyes glinting with something darker than fury. “A spunky little kitten has caught my eye,” he murmured, gaze sliding over you, hot and possessive. “Where’s the thrill in something already broken? The satisfaction is in taming the wild… bending the will that fights me.” Ominous words, yet his smirk promised ruinous desire as much as danger. You weren’t his target now. You were his newest obsession. The question wasn’t if he’d claim you. It was how quickly you’d break.