“And mafia?” Jenna asked.
Claire Bennett nearly choked on her lemonade.
The three women around the table burst into laughter before she could answer.
“Mafia?” Claire repeated. “Why would that even be on the list?”
Jenna shrugged. “We’re at a luxury resort in South Carolina. There are men wearing linen shirts, watches worth more than my car, and sunglasses indoors. Statistically, one of them has to be laundering something.”
“Then statistically, I am staying single.”
Three tables away, Ethan Cole slowly turned toward Dominic Russo.
Dominic stared at the ocean.
Ethan waited.
Dominic refused to give him the satisfaction.
Finally, Ethan said, “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The problem.”
Dominic picked up his espresso.
“I don’t have a problem.”
“She just disqualified you without knowing your name.”
“That is not a problem.”
“She specifically disqualified organized crime.”
Dominic looked at him.
“I heard her.”
“And you added it to the list.”
Dominic’s expression did not change.
Ethan leaned back, visibly enjoying himself now.
For nearly fifteen years, he had watched Dominic handle hostile negotiations, federal subpoenas, business betrayals, family funerals, armed rivals, and boardrooms full of men waiting for him to make one mistake.
Never once had Ethan seen him look personally offended by a schoolteacher’s dating standards.
At Claire’s table, Jenna was still laughing.
“I’m serious,” Claire said. “No criminals. No men who say things like, ‘You don’t need to know what I do.’ No mysterious warehouses. No unexplained bodyguards. No family businesses where everyone calls each other by nicknames.”
Dominic glanced at Ethan.
Ethan almost smiled.
Claire continued.
“And definitely no man who thinks jealousy is romantic.”
Dominic’s eyes returned to the ocean.
That one landed differently.
There had been women before. Not many, but enough for Dominic to recognize the difference between attraction and genuine interest. Attraction was easy. He had learned early that money, danger, reputation, and appearance created a kind of counterfeit gravity. People approached him already knowing what they wanted him to be.
Some wanted access.
Some wanted excitement.
Some wanted to tell their friends they had slept beside a Russo.
Some wanted rescue.
Some wanted power without admitting it.
Claire Bennett wanted none of those things because Claire Bennett had no idea who he was.
For reasons Dominic could not explain, that made her infinitely more dangerous.
His phone rang again.
MOM.
Ethan pointed at the screen.
“You better answer. Requirement number five.”
Dominic gave him a look, then accepted the call.
“Ma.”
A woman’s voice came through loudly enough that Ethan heard every word.
“You ignored me.”
“I was busy.”
“You were drinking coffee.”
Dominic slowly looked at Ethan.
Ethan raised both hands.
Dominic’s mother continued.
“Ethan sent me a photograph.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“I’m going to fire him.”
“No, you are not. He remembers my birthday.”
“So do I.”
“Because I put it in your calendar.”
“Ma, what do you need?”
“I need you to call your aunt.”
“Which aunt?”
“The one you offended.”
“That does not narrow it down.”
Ethan coughed to hide his laugh.
Across the terrace, Claire turned again.
This time she watched Dominic for several seconds.
He was clearly being scolded.
The tattooed man who looked as though he owned at least one private island had the unmistakable expression of an adult son trying not to argue with his mother in public.
Claire smiled before she could stop herself.
Dominic saw it.
Something warm and deeply inconvenient moved through his chest.
“Yes, Ma,” he said quietly into the phone. “I’ll call Aunt Teresa.”
“And eat.”
“I am eating.”
“Espresso is not food.”
“It has calories.”
“Dominic.”
“I’ll eat.”
“And stop terrifying the staff.”
“I am not terrifying anyone.”
At that exact moment, a young waiter approaching Dominic’s table noticed who he was, lost his concentration, and nearly dropped a tray.
Dominic caught a glass before it hit the floor.
The waiter froze.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Russo.”
“It’s fine.”
“I can replace—”
“Nothing broke.”
Dominic stood, helped steady the tray, and moved his chair so the young man could pass.
“Take your time.”
The waiter stared at him.
Dominic’s tone softened.
“You’re all right.”
The young man nodded and walked away, cheeks red.
Claire had seen the entire exchange.
So had Ethan.
His expression changed.
“Requirement number four,” he murmured.
Dominic ended the call with his mother.
“Do not start.”
“Kind to people who can do nothing for him.”
“He works for me.”
“Which makes it worse, actually. You had power over him.”
Dominic glanced toward Claire.
She was pretending not to look.
He smiled despite himself.
That was his mistake.
Because Jenna noticed.
Jenna had the subtlety of a car alarm.
“Oh my God,” she whispered loudly. “Tattoo Guy is looking at you.”
Claire immediately stared at the table.
“Don’t.”
“He is.”
“Jenna.”
“He is very much looking at you.”
“I swear, if you wave—”
Jenna waved.
Claire’s eyes widened in horror.
Dominic’s eyebrows lifted.
Ethan muttered, “This is the best weekend of my life.”
Jenna pointed to the empty chair at their table.
Claire grabbed her wrist.
“No.”
“What? We’re being friendly.”
“You are being insane.”
“He laughed at your joke.”
“He was probably laughing at something else.”
“He is still looking.”
Claire finally turned.
Dominic stood.
Ethan’s amusement disappeared.
“You’re actually going over there.”
“I own the resort.”
“That sentence alone violates three items on her list.”
Dominic ignored him.
He crossed the terrace.
Claire watched him approach with the uncomfortable realization that he was even more intimidating standing up.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the calm confidence of someone who never needed to hurry. Black ink covered most of one forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his charcoal shirt. His expression was controlled, but there was humor in his eyes.
He stopped beside their table.
“I believe I was summoned.”
Claire looked at Jenna.
Jenna smiled innocently.
“I apologize for my friend.”
“I don’t,” Jenna said. “Sit.”
Claire wanted the Atlantic Ocean to rise twelve feet and swallow the terrace.
Dominic looked at her rather than Jenna.
“Would that bother you?”
The question surprised her.
Not Can I sit?
Not I’m sitting.
Would that bother you?
Claire looked at the empty chair.
“No.”
Only then did Dominic pull it back.
He sat.
Ethan watched from across the terrace with the expression of a man witnessing an historic event.
“I’m Dominic,” he said.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed.
His mistake registered instantly.
Dominic corrected himself.
“Your friend said it several times.”
Jenna laughed.
“True.”
Claire relaxed slightly.
“Philadelphia?” Dominic asked.
“How do you know that?”
He considered several possible lies.
“You said you live there.”
Claire stared.
Then laughed.
“Right. I did.”
Dominic smiled.
For a minute, the conversation stayed light.
Jenna asked him what he did.
Dominic hesitated.
Claire noticed.
Immediately.
“Uh-oh.”
He looked at her.
“That pause was suspicious.”
“I’m in hospitality.”
Ethan almost spit out his coffee three tables away.
“You work here?” Claire asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What kind of manner?”
“The ownership kind.”
Claire blinked.
“You own the resort?”
“One of the companies I’m involved with owns it.”
Jenna kicked Claire beneath the table.
Claire ignored her.
“So you’re rich.”
Dominic shrugged.
Her eyebrows rose.
“You’re trying very hard not to answer that.”
“I’ve found that discussing personal finances five minutes after meeting someone is generally considered unattractive.”
Claire laughed.
“You heard us.”
“Most of the terrace heard you.”
Her face reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear my ridiculous checklist.”
“I didn’t think it was ridiculous.”
That silenced her.
Dominic leaned forward slightly.
“I thought it was specific.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes.”
Claire studied him.
“You always analyze strangers’ dating requirements?”
“Only when they loudly announce them three tables away.”
She smiled.
“Fair.”
A breeze moved loose strands of hair across her cheek.
Dominic’s eyes followed the movement.
He caught himself and looked away.
Claire noticed that too.
“What’s your list?” she asked.
He frowned.
“My what?”
“Your impossible woman.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has one.”
“No.”
“Then what do you look for?”
Dominic thought about it.
The obvious answers would have been beauty, intelligence, loyalty.
He had known beautiful women.
He had known intelligent women.
And loyalty, in his world, was often purchased, negotiated, or enforced.
He looked at Claire.
“Someone who tells me the truth even when it’s inconvenient.”
Her expression softened.
“That’s a serious answer.”
“You asked a serious question.”
Before Claire could respond, a little boy crashed into the back of Dominic’s chair.
A glass tipped from the table.
Dominic caught it.
Again.
The boy stared up at him with enormous terrified eyes.
His mother hurried over.
“I’m so sorry.”
Dominic looked at the boy.
“You okay?”
The child nodded.
“Then we’re good.”
The mother apologized again.
Dominic waved it away.
Claire watched him.
No audience mattered to him in that moment.
No performance.
No irritation.
Just patience.
Another check on the list.
Then an older woman appeared near the terrace entrance carrying two shopping bags and arguing with a hotel concierge who wanted to help.
Dominic stood immediately.
“Excuse me.”
He crossed the terrace.
The woman looked up.
“You finally answered your phone?”
Claire’s eyes widened.
His mother.
Dominic kissed her cheek.
“You called me ten minutes ago.”
“That was an eternity.”
He took both shopping bags without being asked.
Ethan turned his head toward Claire and silently mouthed:
Requirement number three.
Claire bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Dominic saw.
So did his mother.
She looked from her son to Claire.
Then back to Dominic.
A slow, dangerous smile appeared on her face.
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
Claire heard him.
Her mouth opened in mock offense.
Dominic immediately realized what he had done.
“I mean—”
His mother slapped his arm.
“You call a beautiful woman no one?”
“Ma.”
Claire laughed.
Dominic’s mother walked directly toward the table.
“I’m Sofia Russo.”
“Claire Bennett.”
Sofia took Claire’s hand warmly.
“My son has terrible manners.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Dominic stared at her.
Claire smiled sweetly.
Sofia looked delighted.
Within two minutes she had learned Claire was a teacher, lived in Philadelphia, was visiting with college friends, and had a mother in New Jersey.
Within three minutes she had invited Claire to dinner.
Dominic intervened.
“Ma.”
“What?”
“You cannot invite strangers to dinner.”
“She is not a stranger. She is Claire.”
Claire laughed again.
Sofia squeezed her hand.
“Seven o’clock. Private dining room. Bring your friends.”
Then she walked away.
Dominic followed, carrying her bags.
He stopped after several steps and turned toward Claire.
“There’s no obligation.”
“I know.”
“If you say no, she’ll survive.”
From across the terrace Sofia shouted, “No, I won’t.”
Claire laughed.
Dominic shook his head.
Then his gaze held hers.
For a second, neither looked away.
Something shifted.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Just awareness.
The dangerous kind.
That evening, Claire stood in front of her hotel mirror longer than necessary.
Jenna sat on the bed.
“You’re changing dresses.”
“No.”
“You’ve changed twice.”
“The first one was uncomfortable.”
“You wore it to brunch yesterday.”
Claire ignored her.
Jenna leaned back.
“He’s interested.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He crossed a resort to sit with us.”
“He owns the resort.”
“That makes it worse. Billionaires don’t walk anywhere unnecessarily.”
“I don’t know if he’s a billionaire.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“He owns twelve resorts.”
“How do you know that?”
“I Googled him.”
Claire froze.
The room went quiet.
Slowly, she turned.
“You what?”
Jenna’s expression had changed.
Her phone rested in her hand.
“Claire…”
Something in her voice made Claire’s stomach tighten.
“What?”
Jenna stared at the screen.
“There’s something you should see.”
She handed over the phone.
The first article was from a financial magazine.
DOMINIC RUSSO EXPANDS CAROLINA HOSPITALITY EMPIRE.
The second was about commercial real estate.
The third was older.
Much older.
It showed a younger Dominic leaving a courthouse beside several men in dark suits.
The headline made Claire’s heart stop.
RUSSO CRIME FAMILY HEIR REFUSES COMMENT AFTER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION.
She scrolled.
Illegal gambling.
Dock unions.
Racketeering allegations.
Witnesses unwilling to testify.
His father, Vittorio Russo.
His uncle.
Associates.
Dominic’s name appeared repeatedly, often followed by words like alleged, suspected, linked, and no charges filed.
Then she found a photograph of him at twenty-nine, standing outside a funeral beneath a black umbrella.
VITTORIO RUSSO DEAD AT 61; SON DOMINIC EXPECTED TO TAKE CONTROL OF FAMILY EMPIRE.
Claire stared at the screen.
Jenna said nothing.
Neither did the other women.
Five minutes earlier, Claire had been trying to decide between two pairs of earrings.
Now the phrase from that afternoon echoed through her head.
Absolutely cannot be mafia.
A knock sounded at the hotel door.
Every woman in the room froze.
Another knock.
Claire walked toward it.
She opened the door.
Ethan stood outside.
His face was polite but serious.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Claire held Jenna’s phone at her side.
“Mr. Russo asked me to tell you dinner is ready.”
She stared at him.
Ethan looked at the phone.
Then at her expression.
Understanding passed across his face.
Claire swallowed.
“Is he mafia?”
Ethan did not laugh.
Did not deny it.
Did not insult her intelligence.
He simply said, “That is a question Dominic should answer himself.”
And suddenly Claire understood why the seventh rule had sounded funny at lunch.
It did not feel funny anymore.