Chapter 1

　　Adriano

　　They say power tasted best before noon, hence the decision to hold a brunch meeting.

　　But what most people didn't know was that I was my father's son – I exuded and devoured power all day, every day.

　　The Venetian's private dining room smelled like espresso, truffle oil, and money…old money, new money, the kind that bled if you cut it. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Manhattan like it was something I owned.

　　On mornings like this, I almost believed I did.

　　I halted at the hostess desk pocketing my phone.  I looked up and smirked…looking appreciatively at the tall slender blonde with big hazel eyes. Fitted black dress, tighter than any uniform should be, that showcased her big boobs and slim waist.

　　Her eyes travelled up and then widened taking me in, flicking over the Armani suit.  "Kyriakos table – they are expecting me" I drawled.  She smiled and licked her lips…slowly.

　　She looked down at her bookings pad..."Off course Mr Moretti" she simpered – crimson red lips revealing perfect white toothed dentistry. Tossing her golden hair back, she stepped around the desk, "Right this way Sir"

　　I followed, eyeing the sway of her backside appreciatively.  I laughed inwardly, new blood...and yet another conquest before my second cup of coffee.

　　The Greeks were already seated. Early, on purpose, of course.  The paranoid bastards obviously wanted to scope out the place beforehand even though I was coming alone. I checked my watch anyway, more to remind them that I saw through it.

　　A subtle insult, a measured one.

　　"The gents have already ordered.  Can I get you anything Mr Moretti" the hostess asked ingratiatingly.

　　I dragged my eyes over her ample breasts before taking in her badge.  "Just an Espresso please Camilla"  I dragged out her name and she flushed, I could see her nipples peak against the soft fabric of her too tight dress.

　　"Y..yes Sir, coming right up."  Flustered she bustled off.

　　I grinned…too fucking easy.

　　Across the table, Nikos shifted in his seat, his smile stretched too tight, his suit too loud for a room like this. His enforcers or bodyguards, two big dark-skinned oafs who looked like they would bust the seams of their cheap suits, sat silently, eating their breakfast while surreptiously scanning the room.

　　"You know," he said, stirring sugar into coffee he wouldn't drink, "your reputation precedes you, Moretti."

　　I arched an eyebrow...lips thinning into a stern unforgiving line "Then you already know how this meeting ends."

　　Silence. Good.

　　Contracts lay open between us—security routes, distribution corridors, inventory lists that never mentioned what they actually were. Weapons moved better when you pretended they didn't exist.

　　Normally, I wouldn't stoop to business with the Greeks. They were small fries. But…Mischief needed upgrades, and we were looking at a second club as well. And stealing yet another deal from the Irish was it's own reward.

　　This line of business was not for the faint of heart…to stay on top, to be the apex predator…you had to adapt and dominate or starve.

　　"You get your ports," I continued, calm as a priest at confession, "I get exclusivity for supply east of the river. No surprises. No freelancers. Anyone who tests that arrangement answers to me."

　　Nikos laughed softly. "And if we refuse?"

　　I smiled. "Then you get cut off, the city officials belong to me.  I supply the Government as well, so I can just whisper to them about any glitches.." I paused on that word.."and you don't want that kind of attention."

　　Camilla arrived with my espresso…and placed it in front of me. I murmured my thanks but never took my eyes of the disgruntled Greek.

　　He stared back at me, calculating. They always did. They mistook how young I was, the press Playboy, the good looks for soft…inexperienced. I held his gaze, mine glacial. Men like him believed in leverage. Men like me were leverage.

　　The pen scratched paper. Deal done.

　　By the time the Greeks left, all smiles and forced camaraderie, the room felt classier, no low lifes threatening its ambiance. I unbuttoned my jacket and stood, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders.

　　Design and architecture satisfied my right brain. The creator, the builder, the visionary. But this darker business satisfied something primal in me—the control, the inevitability. It was exactly like sex, another arena where I could really unleash my Dominant animal.

　　The hostess hovered near the doorway, pretending to straighten place settings already perfect. She'd been watching since I arrived. Watching me watch the room. A woman who knew how to make herself noticed without begging for it.

　　"Mr. Moretti," she said, voice smooth, eyes bright. "I hope everything was to your satisfaction."

　　"It was," I replied, letting my gaze linger. "You're new."

　　She smiled, pleased I'd noticed. "Is that a complaint?"

　　"Not yet."

　　Her laugh was soft, practiced. "If you need anything else before you leave…" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.