“I Wonder What He Looks Like Without Clothes,” She Whispered—Not Knowing The Mafia Boss Heard Everything Spotlight8
CHAPTER 1
The crystal chandelier above the ballroom caught the light from a thousand angles, scattering diamonds across the marble floor. My champagne glass was sweating condensation onto my palm as I stood at the edge of the Vanderbilt Hotel’s main event space, watching Silicon Valley’s elite network and posture. Another tech summit. Another evening of calculated smiles and strategic conversations.
I adjusted the strap of my black evening gown—Valentino, purchased specifically because it said I belong here without screaming desperation. At thirty-two, I’d built NextGen Solutions from a garage startup into a company valued at three hundred million dollars. I’d earned my place in this room.
But that didn’t make these events any less exhausting.
“Riley Adams.” A voice beside me, smooth as aged whiskey. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
I turned and forgot how to breathe.
The man standing next to me was devastating in the way that dangerous things often are. Tall—easily six-three—with shoulders that filled out his tailored tuxedo in a way that suggested he knew exactly what a gym was for. His dark hair was styled back from a face that could have been carved from marble. Sharp jaw, straight nose, lips that curved into a slight smile as he watched me try to remember how words worked.
But it was his eyes that held me. Storm gray, intense, assessing me with the kind of focus that made my skin prickle with awareness.
“Have we met?” I managed, proud that my voice stayed steady despite my racing heart.
“Not yet.” He extended his hand. “Roman. Just Roman.”
No last name, no company affiliation, no context. His hand engulfed mine, warm and calloused in a way that didn’t match his expensive suit. This wasn’t a man who spent his days behind a desk.
“What brings you to a tech summit, Roman?” I asked, taking a sip of champagne to cover the fact that I didn’t want to let go of his hand.
“Business interests.” His smile deepened, revealing a dimple that should have looked boyish but somehow made him more dangerous. “And the hope of meeting interesting people. You’re the CEO of NextGen Solutions, correct? I’ve been following your work. The AI security platform you’re developing is impressive.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have a background in cybersecurity?”
“Let’s say I have a vested interest in security.” Something flickered in those gray eyes. “In all its forms.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn’t typical networking small talk. There was something underneath, something that made me hyperaware of how close he was standing, how his cologne—something woody and expensive—seemed to wrap around me.
“Are you here with anyone?” The question escaped before I could stop it, bolder than I usually allowed myself to be.
“No.” His gaze held mine. “Are you?”
“No.”
The single word hung between us, weighted with possibility. Around us, the party continued—waiters circulating with canapés, clusters of executives discussing valuations and venture capital. But it all faded into background noise.
“Would you like to get out of here?” Roman asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “I know a place. Quieter, better for conversation.”
Every rational part of my brain screamed warnings. I didn’t know this man. Didn’t know his last name, his company, his intentions. I’d built my career on calculated risks and careful decision-making. This was neither calculated nor careful.
“Yes,” I said.
His smile was pure triumph. He took my champagne glass and set it on a passing waiter’s tray, then offered his arm. I slipped my hand through it, feeling the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric, and let him guide me toward the exit.
The November air hit us as we stepped outside, cold enough to raise goosebumps on my bare arms. Roman immediately shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was still warm from his body and smelled like him.
“Where are we going?” I asked as a black car—sleek, expensive, something Italian that probably cost more than my first office lease—pulled up to the curb.
“Somewhere we can talk without interruption.” He opened the door for me. “Do you trust me?”
I should have said no. Should have made some excuse and gone back inside to safety and predictability. But there was something in his eyes, some pull I couldn’t name and didn’t want to resist.
“For tonight,” I answered. “I trust you for tonight.”
The drive took us through Manhattan’s glittering streets to a building I didn’t recognize in Tribeca. Roman’s hand stayed on the small of my back as we entered, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my dress. We took a private elevator to the top floor, and when the doors opened, I stepped into a penthouse that took my breath away.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, the lights stretching out like a carpet of stars. The space was masculine but refined—dark leather furniture, abstract art that probably cost a fortune, a bar that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.
“This is yours?” I asked, moving to the windows.
“One of my properties.” He moved to the bar, his movements fluid and confident. “Bourbon, or would you prefer wine?”
“Bourbon. Neat.”
He poured two glasses and brought one to me, his fingers brushing mine as I took it. The contact sent electricity up my arm.
“To unexpected meetings,” he said, raising his glass.
“To calculated risks.” I clinked mine against his and took a sip. It was excellent—smooth and complex with notes of caramel and oak.
“So, Roman-with-no-last-name, are you going to tell me what you actually do? Because I’m fairly certain you’re not in tech.”
His laugh was low and genuine. “Perceptive. No, I’m not in tech. I’m in import-export. Family business.”
“Import-export.” I turned to face him fully. “That’s wonderfully vague.”
“Some things are better left vague.” He moved closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “At least for tonight. Tonight I’d rather know about you. Riley Adams, self-made CEO, Forbes 30 Under 30, champion of women in tech. What does someone like that do when she’s not building an empire?”
“Honestly?” I took another sip of bourbon, emboldened by the alcohol and the darkness and the way he was looking at me. “I don’t remember. It’s been five years of eighteen-hour days, investor meetings, product launches. I can’t remember the last time I did something just because I wanted to.”
“And what do you want?” The question was quiet, intense. “Right now, in this moment—what do you want, Riley?”
I set down my glass and looked up at him, at this beautiful, dangerous stranger who’d appeared in my carefully controlled life like a comet, who made me feel reckless and alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
“You,” I said simply. “Tonight, I want you.”
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating. “You’re sure?”
In answer, I rose on my toes and kissed him.
For a heartbeat, he was still. Then his control shattered. His hands came up to frame my face, tilting my head for better access as he kissed me back with a hunger that matched my own. He tasted like bourbon and promise, and when his tongue swept into my mouth, I made a sound I’d never made before—desperate and needy and completely honest.
He walked me backward until my back hit the window, the glass cool against my overheated skin. His hands found the zipper of my dress, sliding it down with agonizing slowness. The Valentino pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but black lace and heels.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes traveling over me with an intensity that should have made me self-conscious. Instead, I felt powerful. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Riley.”
I reached for his bow tie, fumbling with the knot until he helped me, shrugging out of his shirt to reveal a chest that made my mouth go dry. He was all lean muscle and smooth skin, with a small scar above his heart that I traced with my fingers.
“How did you get this?” I asked.
“A reminder that not all risks pay off.” His hand caught mine, bringing it to his lips. “But some do.”
What followed was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Roman was attentive and demanding in equal measure, learning what made me gasp and shiver, pushing me higher until I shattered in his arms with his name on my lips. And when he finally claimed me, it felt less like sex and more like recognition—as though some part of me had been waiting my entire life for this moment, for him.
Afterward, we lay tangled in his sheets, my head on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. The city lights painted shadows across the ceiling, and I felt safe and peaceful in a way I couldn’t remember ever feeling before.
“Stay,” he murmured against my hair. “Stay tonight.”
I should have left. Should have gathered my Valentino and my dignity and called a car. But his arms were warm and his heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, and for once in my carefully planned life, I wanted to just be—to exist in this moment without thinking about tomorrow.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER 2
I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and an empty bed.
For a moment, I was disoriented, struggling to place where I was. Then memory came flooding back—the gala, Roman, the night we’d shared. Heat rose to my cheeks as I remembered exactly what we’d done, how many times, how thoroughly he’d learned my body.
I sat up, pulling the sheet around me, and looked around the bedroom. No sign of Roman. His tuxedo was gone from where it had been discarded on the floor. My dress was draped over a chair, my shoes placed neatly beside it.
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“Roman?” I called out.
Silence.
I got up and padded to the bathroom, finding my reflection in the mirror—hair tangled, lips swollen, a mark on my neck where Roman had sucked hard enough to bruise. I looked thoroughly ravished. I looked alive.
But when I explored the penthouse, I found it empty. No note, no message, nothing. Just my dress and shoes and the memory of storm-gray eyes promising me everything.
I dressed quickly, my hands shaking slightly as I zipped up the Valentino. This was fine. This was probably normal for encounters like this. One night, no complications, no expectations.
Except I’d wanted more. Had already been imagining seeing him again, learning his last name, figuring out if whatever this was could survive the harsh light of day.
The doorman downstairs called me a car without comment, and I made the walk of shame back to my apartment in last night’s evening gown and smudged makeup. My phone had seventeen missed calls and twice as many messages—all work-related, all urgent, all reminders that I had a company to run and a life that didn’t include mysterious strangers who disappeared in the morning.
I threw myself back into work with single-minded focus—investor meetings, product development, strategic planning. I told myself the night with Roman had been exactly what I needed: a release, a reminder that I was still a woman with desires outside the boardroom. Nothing more.
But at night, alone in my bed, I could still feel his hands on my skin, could still hear his voice murmuring my name, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d lost something important—something I’d never even known I was looking for.
Three weeks passed. Then four.
The memory should have faded. Should have become just another story I didn’t tell at business dinners. Instead, it grew sharper, more vivid, until I found myself touching the faint mark on my neck that had long since faded and wishing I’d asked for more than just his first name.
It was the morning sickness that finally forced me to pay attention to the signs I’d been ignoring. The exhaustion I’d attributed to long hours. The tenderness in my breasts I’d blamed on stress. The fact that my period was now six weeks late.
I stared at the pregnancy test in my bathroom, watching the second line appear with a clarity that felt like a punch to the gut.
Positive.
I was pregnant. With a stranger’s child. A man whose last name I didn’t know, who I had no way of contacting, who’d disappeared without a trace.
I sank to the bathroom floor, my back against the cold tile, and tried to process what this meant. I was a CEO. I had a company to run, investors to answer to, a reputation to maintain. I couldn’t be pregnant by a one-night stand whose last name I didn’t even know.
But I was.
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And despite the fear and the complications and the absolute insanity of the situation, as I placed my hand over my still-flat stomach, I felt something unexpected.
Hope.
