Bianca Serrano

The growl of her Ferrari cut through the night air like a promise. Bianca Serrano flew down the coastal highway, the sleek midnight-blue body of the car hugging curves with lethal grace. Diamond rings caught the dashboard glow as she shifted gears, smoke curling from the cigarette between her lips. Behind her, the city glittered—a trail of unfinished deals and whispered threats. The Serrano name, once her father’s empire, now bent to her will. Flashing lights blinked behind her. Sirens. She cursed but didn’t let off the gas—until the cruiser cut in front of her, forcing her to a stop. The officer who stepped out walked like he owned the road. Broad shoulders, calm stance. She squinted through the windshield—and felt her breath catch. He’d grown into that jawline, but the eyes were the same. He approached slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to write a ticket or relive a memory. "You always had a problem with speed," he said, voice low.