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Familiar midnight blue eyes, dark hair, and a face made from cut glass appear in front of me. He looks the same and yet completely different—broader, colder, untouchable.

My heart stutters to an almost stop. Our eyes meet and it’s like I’m suspended in time, the stars, the universe and all its inhabitants slipping away, like they too are afraid of whatever happens next.

I shoot up from my seat, watching him as he crosses the room like he owns it. “Rowan,” I begin, my voice sounding more like a croak. “Hi.”

His lips twitch, spreading into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hello, Alex.”

My name on his tongue sends a shiver up my spine. “It’s uh—uh-it’s good to see you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I want to slap my forehead.

It’s good to see you. Nice job, Alex.

“Is it?” He tilts his head slightly.

He should terrify me. Not just because of our history, but because he’s the third son of the Vasilyev family—the family that has ruled The Snake, Senna’s largest and deadliest clan, for over half a century. He’s the heir apparent and when his mother, The Head of The Snake, dies, Rowan will become the most powerful man in Senna.

But two years ago, I helped put him behind bars.

Back then, I was just a rookie in Senna’s Organized Crime Unit, eager to prove myself—the skinny kid desperate to claw out of the gutters of Canning. My assignment was straightforward: get close to one of the Vasilyev brothers, uncover evidence, and secure an arrest warrant. Even a low-ranking Snake member would’ve been enough—a warning shot to rattle their empire. But I went for the kill, and I excelled.

Getting close to Rowan was easy. Pretending to be interested in him? Even easier. There was something about him, somethingelectric. His charm had a gravitational pull, and I was no different from the others who fell into his orbit. Before I knew it, the lines between duty and desire blurred, and I was drowning in him, making no effort to save myself.

I still hear the echo of the cuffs clicking around his wrists, see the flash of resignation mixed with odd amusement in his eyes when the officers ordered him to the ground. Every night since, I’ve told myself I did the right thing—that I did it to survive.

Itwasthe right thing to do.

“Yeah,” I say, dragging myself back to the present. “It is.” I gesture to the chair across from me. “You want to sit?”

Rowan slides in, one leg stretched out, his knee brushing mine. I flinch, pressing back against the booth, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“How are you?”

He raises a brow. “You called me here to ask how I am?”

“I—” A thick lump forms in my throat, stopping me from speaking, but luckily, a waitress comes to my rescue, pen poised over her notepad.

“Can I get you two anything? The Yuzu Sours and Negronis are on special. I must say, the Negronis are my personal favourite.”

Rowan’s smile is quick, the same practiced ease that could charm anyone out of their last meal. “Is that so?”

Her eyes glaze over at that, and she licks her lips. She nods enthusiastically and when Rowan smiles again, I’m afraid she might swoon.

“Then we’ll have those and two shots of tequila.” He meets my eyes. “For old time’s sake?”

She nods; eyes still trained on him while completely oblivious to the odd tension between us. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she walks away, I look at him, sweat prickling my scalp despite the chill in the air. “I shouldn’t be drinking,” I say.

I’m not here on official police business but being anything other than stone-cold sober around him is a terrible idea.

He laughs quietly, making my throat hot. “A tequila shot won’t get you drunk. Are you forgetting all of our crazy nights together?”

How could I?

In eight months, I got caught up in it all. I forgot why I was there—the lights, the clubs, the intoxicating sex. I got caught up inhimand two years later, I can still feel him in my system, embedded like a dormant virus.

“No.” I try to keep my voice level. “That’s not—”

“Why’d you call me here, Alex?”