Seraphina stood at the massive front door of the De Luca mansion with her suitcase in hand, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she stepped inside. The place screamed wealth. Every corner of the house glowed under dimmed golden lights, the scent of expensive cologne and power lingering in the air.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Vincenzo appeared at the top of the staircase, fresh from a swim, water still glistening on his bare chest. His abs were sculpted, his dark joggers hanging low on his hips, making no effort to hide the tattoo that wrapped around his side. He looked lethal, like lust and danger molded into one man. “Welcome to the devil’s den,” he said, his deep voice echoing.
“I thought this was a job, not an invitation to hell,” Seraphina replied, folding her arms.
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