Damian was at headquarters reviewing the new protocols for their men on the ground when a knock sounded at his office door.

“Come in,” he said, still scanning the report in front of him.

A long moment passed and he looked up to see Cole standing near the door, an uncertain expression on his usually stony face.

“What is it?” Damian asked.

“Aria Fiore is here,” he said.

Damian paused, steadying his voice through the embarrassing jolt of desire that stampeded through his bloodstream at the sound of her name.

“What does she want?” Damian asked.

“She wouldn’t say. Just said it was personal.”

Give me five minutes,” Damian said. “Then show her in.”

Cole hesitated as if he wanted to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He disappeared quietly into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Damian leaned back in his chair, mentally preparing for the things Aria Fiore might say. He couldn’t think of a single one. Regardless of her position on the periphery of Primo’s organization, she must be privy to the rules. Must know a war was in the making. Any reason she might have for coming to see him was either a betrayal of her brother or a move on a chess board she had no business making.

The war against Fiore was already in motion. Damian had spent the last twenty-four hours in communication with Farrell Black, asking for resources to help execute the strategy he’d developed, anticipating that Primo wouldn’t take him up on his offer.

He could have acted quickly, hit Primo’s most obvious targets, taken out Platinum in an effort to destabilize the organization. But that would have offered short-term satisfaction at the expense of long-term victory. The smart thing to do was to plan one big hit, deploy multiple teams to all of Fiore’s key business locations and take them out all at once.

Platinum included.

He didn’t like hitting another boss’ headquarters. It was usually a safe zone for an organization. But there were no rules in the middle of a war, and Primo Fiore had been given the opportunity to avoid one. Damian had declared the apartment Primo shared with his sister off limits out of deference to Aria. He could tell from her eyes that she’d suffered enough. Everything else was fair game, and he’d passed along their plans to the Syndicate through Farrell and received their approval only hours later.

Not that Damian was looking for permission.

He still hadn’t decided if he was going to take the Syndicate up on their offer. The alternatives were few: he could abandon the business he’d built or he could fight the Syndicate for the New York territory.

The former was unappealing for a number of reasons. He’d grown to like his business, the raw honesty of it, the hands-on aspect of making decisions that in a company would be delegated to a bureaucratic hierarchy, the opportunity to beat someone senseless when the need arose.

Fighting the Syndicate was no more appetizing. He might be able to pull it off — he was a powerful man with plentiful resources and the money to acquire more. But it would be costly and even if he won he’d be operating alone, an island in the sea of Syndicate territories. How long before they came for him again? How long before his distribution channels and other revenue streams were shut down by players loyal to the history of the Vitale name, the Syndicate leadership of old?

They were questions for which there were no answers. Not yet anyway. He would proceed as planned. Take out the Fiore organization — beautiful sister be damned — and see where they stood.

He was feeling strong in his resolve when another knock came from the door.

“It’s open.”

Cole stood in the doorway and a moment later, Aria Fiore walked past him into the room.

Which was exactly how long it took for Damian’s resolve to waver.

She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered, her hair swinging against her collarbone, making him wish he could duck his head to the hollow there, lick the velvety skin. She’d been poured into black jeans, a silky blouse half tucked in, revealing just enough of her figure to make him want more. A black bag was slung casually across her body, heavy boots adding to his impression of steel over velvet, the armor she used to make everyone think she was all hard edges when he was positive he’d find plentiful soft spaces underneath it all.

He stood as she entered, using all his discipline to appear unfazed by the electricity of her presence.

“Miss Fiore,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Please sit.”

He indicated the chairs in front of his desk and she hesitated before choosing one.

Damian looked at Cole. “Leave us.”

He bowed out of the room and Damian sat down in his chair, steepled his hands in front of him as he studied her.

“I can’t imagine why you’re here,” he finally said.

She drew in a breath, nodded slowly. “It’s… unconventional, I know.”

“More than that,” Damian said. “It’s been more than twenty-four hours and your brother hasn’t accepted my offer. I’m sure you know what that means.”

Her throat rippled as she swallowed. “War. It means war.”

“That’s right. And that makes you either a traitor or a pawn.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “I promise you I’m no pawn.” She looked at her hands. “I’m no traitor either.”

Admiration coursed through him. She was right.

She was a queen. She just didn’t know it yet.

“Then perhaps you should explain,” he said.

She looked down at her hands, twisting the strap of her bag. “You don’t know him,” she said. “He’s… not well.”

“I gathered as much.” He chose his next words carefully, wanting to be kind in spite of the conflict between their organizations. “And I’m sure you understand that isn’t my problem.”

She looked up, met his eyes. “It will be your problem,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. To warn you.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise. “To warn me?”

She nodded. “There is no honor code for my brother, not with Malcolm pulling the strings.”

“This is not news to me,” Damian said.

She shook her head, frustration visible in the furrow of her brow. “You don’t understand.”

“Help me understand then.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to see my brother hurt. He needs help, but he’s not a bad man. If you extend the consideration period, I may be able to convince him to take your offer.”

Damian turned his palms toward the ceiling. “The terms were set in our meeting.”

She hesitated and he sensed there were things she wasn’t saying. He was surprised to find that he wanted her to say them, not as a way to use her against her brother but because he wanted to unburden her. Wanted to smooth some of the lines from her brow, banish the shadows from her eyes.

“They’re your terms,” she said. “Which means you can change them.”

“I won’t.”

She rose suddenly, a whirl of activity that took him by surprise as she stalked to the window overlooking the neighborhood.

“You’re making a big mistake,” she said, her back still to him.

The words caused an unexpected flood of anger to rush his body. Who did this woman think she was coming here to his headquarters? Challenging him? Upsetting the careful balance of his life?

He rose to his feet. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He saw her breath in the shudder of her shoulders. When she turned, her eyes were glistening, an observation that left him with only two possibilities; either Aria Fiore was a world class actress or she was scared. He was still trying to figure out how to address the show of emotion when something on her face caught his eye.

For a minute he could only stare, his whole body still, his fists tightening at his side. He was hardly aware of stalking across the room to where she stood by the window. Hardly aware of taking her chin in his hand, tipping her cheek to the light. The bruise was faint, covered by makeup and more red than purple.

But he’d seen enough flesh marked by violence to know what it was.

“Who did this?” He sounded strangely calm, even to himself, particularly given the floodgate that had opened on his rage.

She froze, her eyes downcast, her breath soft against his wrist. He was torn between wanting to lower his mouth to hers — to kiss her tenderly in a vain attempt to make up for whoever had dared to hurt her — and the desire to drive to Platinum and kill Primo and Malcolm and anyone else who had done this or let it happen on their watch.

It was bad. Worse than bad.

But it wasn’t unrecoverable. He would try to minimize the damage to her when he destroyed her brother’s organization. Would take pleasure in the fact that he was hurting whoever had hurt Aria Fiore, because he knew if it wasn’t Primo Fiore himself, it was someone in the twisted sickness of his organization.

It all made perfect sense until she lifted her eyes. Then the heat that had sparked to life between them at the club expanded into a full-fledged wildfire.

And that was when he knew he was fucked.