Chapter 1
***Drake Kingston***
I strode through the streets of my city in perfect formation with my men. New York City. The city that never sleeps—and I was its king. No, its ruler. No one dared to block my path. Whether Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, or Harlem—the neighborhoods didn’t matter. Everything went my way. Twenty years. Twenty merciless, strategic years had made me untouchable. Even the cops paid me respect—albeit only behind closed doors. Money didn’t just rule the world, but also the police, if you knew how to use it right. And money? I had more of it than I could ever count.
But greed? That never let up. New sources, new deals—always at the heart of power. Drug trafficking? Right at the top of my list. Money laundering? Old hat, but profitable. Human trafficking? Yeah, I’d experimented with that. But honestly, all that constant whining and bitching—nothing but a war of nerves. I preferred things to be quiet. My “merchandise” had to keep quiet. The ladies in the neighborhoods? They were for my personal enjoyment. Only the select few, of course. Diseases? Not worth the risk. Still, they bored me. Most of them tasted like cheap vodka and stuck to me like chewing gum. A spiral of monotony.
On that scorching hot summer day, I was strolling through the East Village with my guys. The pubs and bars here—all under my control. The sun beat down mercilessly, but the thick, black sunglasses on my nose kept it at bay. My white linen shirt fluttered lightly in the wind. It was open at the top—a touch of elegance. I admired my reflection in a boutique window: thirty-eight years old and not a sign of weakness. No gray hair, just a few forehead wrinkles, because my clan sometimes wore me out. My stamina? Unmatched. An eighteen-year-old body, a thirty-eight-year-old mind. A man straight out of a textbook.
“Coffee,” I finally grumbled as the Starbucks logo came into view. “I need an ice-cold one. And a bagel. Let’s go, guys.” Julian, my closest confidant, nodded. “Sure, boss.” He was like me—fearless, battle-hardened; six years in prison had toughened him up. Fear? We didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Inside, the cool air from the air conditioner blew toward us, mingled with the scent of fresh coffee. We found a free table in the corner. I let my gaze sweep across the room—as always. Problems? None to speak of. Yet. “I’m going to grab a King Tiger,” I muttered and made my way toward the restrooms.
And then—BAM! Out of nowhere, I took a blow. Right in my most sensitive spot. The pain made me flinch. “Whoa! Are you serious, blondie?” I held onto the wall, my hands shielding my best asset.
“Sorry! I didn’t see you!” A bell-like voice, somewhere below me. In front of me, a tiny figure was balancing stacks of coffee packets and cups. Her face was barely visible; only a pair of caramel-brown eyes sparkled out at me. Eyes that brought me to my knees for a moment—metaphorically speaking. Damn. This blonde was… wow. Honey-blonde hair, a sassy high ponytail, and that body…
petite, perfectly proportioned.
“I didn’t mean to emasculate you,” she finally said as she carefully walked past me. As she did, her sweet, firm butt brushed against my aching member. Instinctively, my stomach tensed. She knew exactly what she was doing, that little minx.
“You actually owe me something for that,” I whispered after her.
She stopped, turned her head slightly, a mocking raised eyebrow arching above her gaze. “I owe you something? For what?”
Her tone was almost amused. How dare she speak to me like that? Insolence. “For the fact that my best piece is hurting pretty badly right now,” I growled, my fist clenched.
“I’ve already apologized twice,” she replied provocatively. “I could bring you some ice cubes. Maybe that’ll help?” Her smile was sweet, but the undertone? Pure defiance.
My jaw almost dropped. This little blonde had some nerve. Nerve of steel. But the game had only just begun.
I slowly straightened up, let my hands drop, and watched her go. She had started moving again, balancing the coffee packages and cups through the narrow aisle behind the counter. Every movement she made was fluid, almost provocatively nonchalant. Her words still echoed in my head—that smug tone, that slight hint of mockery. She had no idea who she’d just crossed.
I grinned. A mixture of amusement and frustration welled up inside me. This girl, this sassy little barista—she was different. Not like the other women who were scrambling to please me, who were waiting for me to notice them. Her? She hadn’t hesitated for a second to stand up to me.
I returned to my table, sat down in my seat, but my gaze was still fixed on her. She was now behind the counter, putting away the coffee packets, laughing softly with a coworker. Her laugh? Ringing and captivating, as if she had no worries, as if she were completely untouchable. My jaw clenched.
“Everything okay, boss?” Julian had noticed my gaze, as he always noticed everything.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just had a little… conversation.”
“With whom?” He followed my gaze. “The barista? She’s barely twenty. What was going on?”
“She hit me,” I said dryly. “Right in the center of my universe.”
Julian kept a straight face, but a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away that he was struggling to hold back a laugh. “Should I take care of it?”
I raised a hand. “No. I’ll handle it myself.”
“Sure, Boss.”
Julian and the others started talking about something trivial, but I wasn’t listening. My gaze remained fixed on her. Now she was standing at the coffee machine, making a latte macchiato; the steam enveloped her like a veil. I couldn’t help myself. My curiosity—or maybe it was something else—drew me to her like magic.
“I’ll be right back,” I said and stood up before Julian could protest.
I strolled over to the counter, leaned against it with a casual gesture, and waited until she noticed me. She turned around, a coffee cup in her hand, and her caramel-brown eyes met mine.
A hint of surprise flashed in them before they resumed that self-assured, sassy expression.
“Oh, you again.” Her voice was honey-sweet and razor-sharp at the same time.
“It’s inevitable,” I replied with a smug grin. “I’m always drawn to where things get interesting.”
“Interesting?” She raised an eyebrow, set down the mug, and crossed her arms over her chest. The movement made the little green apron around her petite frame seem tighter. “I thought men like you were more into… how should I put it? Less resistance.”
I leaned a little closer to her, not taking my eyes off her face for a second. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s tempting when something isn’t so easy to get.”
She laughed. A genuine, hearty laugh that almost threw me off balance. “Men like you? Tempting? To me, that sounds more like a challenge you can’t afford to take on.”
My grin widened. “Maybe I like challenges.”
She sized me up, letting her gaze slowly drift from my sunglasses over my shirt to my open posture. Then she picked up a cup, wrote something on it, and slid it across the counter to me.
“Here. On the house,” she said with a barely noticeable smile.
I took the cup, turned it in my hand, and read the message she’d left on it: “Have fun with the cold. ;)”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed softly. “You’re a little minx, you know that?”
She shrugged, turned back around, and faced away from me as if I were insignificant. But I knew she could sense me.
This was far from over.
I slowly lowered the cup and couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was something unpredictable about her, something that ignited a long-forgotten fire within me. She wasn’t just pretty—lots of women were pretty—she was provocative, self-assured, and she knew exactly how to draw a man like me out of his shell.
I returned to my table with a slight grin, sat down, and ignored the questioning glances from my men. Julian had already ordered, and shortly afterward, another barista set my ice-cold coffee and the bagel on the table. But my interest in my food had evaporated.
Instead, I continued to watch her move between the coffee machine and the customers with an ease and elegance that was almost hypnotic. I wondered if she knew the effect she was having. Surely she did. Women like her never did anything without a reason.
“Boss, is something wrong?” asked Julian, who had noticed my pensive expression.
I took a sip of my coffee without taking my eyes off her. “No. Everything’s fine.”
“That barista seems to have turned your head somehow,” he observed with a hint of amusement.
I laughed softly. “Turned my head? Julian, I’ve got everything under control.”
“Sure.” He raised his eyebrows, leaned back, and started a conversation with the others about the latest developments in our neighborhood. But my mind was elsewhere.
When we finally left, I resolved not to just disappear. I wouldn’t forget her that easily, and she shouldn’t be able to shake me off that easily either. I walked up to the counter, this time without hiding my usual nonchalance.
She was standing there, talking to a coworker, and when she noticed me, she fell silent.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said in a feigned friendly tone, holding up the empty cup and then dropping it into the trash can.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, turning halfway away as if to show she had no interest in continuing the conversation with me.
“What’s your name?” I asked, without beating around the bush.
She paused, slowly turned back toward me, and for a moment I thought she was going to ignore me. But then she leaned forward slightly, rested one hand on the counter, and looked me straight in the eyes—or rather, into the reflection in my sunglasses.
“Why do you want to know?” Her voice sounded sweet, but her words stung.
“Call it curiosity,” I replied.
She laughed softly, as if I’d just said something incredibly stupid. “Curiosity often gets a man like you into trouble.”
“I like trouble,” I retorted dryly.
For a moment, silence reigned between us. The world around us—the buzz of voices, the hiss of the coffee machine—faded away. She sized me up, as if weighing whether I was worth a response.
“Emma,” she said finally. “But I bet you’ve already picked that up somewhere anyway.”
“Emma.” I let the name roll off my tongue. It suited her. Elegant, classic, with a certain edge.
“And what’s your name?” she asked suddenly.
I grinned. “Drake.”
“Well, Drake,” she said, emphasizing the word deliberately casually, almost mockingly. “I hope your… region… recovers.”
I laughed softly. “Don’t worry about me, Emma. I’m pretty tough.”
She rolled her eyes, turned away, and reached for an order. But I could see the faintest hint of a smile she couldn’t quite hide.
As I walked away, I knew one thing: this was far from over. Emma had awakened something in me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Curiosity, desire, the irresistible urge to conquer something that wouldn’t surrender without a fight.
And I loved a challenge.
