A shaft of light from the building across the street fell over his face, illuminating an ugly scar that sliced from his left ear to the edge of his firm mouth. It was white in the light, a direct contrast to his strong, shadow-etched features. He had thick, slashing brows, a square jaw and dark hair that fell across his forehead in a way that would have been charming on someone who seemed capable of smiling. Instead, it made him look fierce, disheveled from some fight he’d already battled and won.

As I studied him, a cold, gleaming smile cut through the darkness of his face.

“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said in the voice of politicians and East Coast socialites.

Clearly, he came from money.

As if the diamond cufflinks winking at his wrists weren’t obvious enough.

“You seem delighted to have me at a disadvantage,” I replied coolly, leaning my bottom against one of the bullpen desks, absently flicking a piece of non-existent lint off my cream pencil skirt. “Which is why I am not going to ask for your name. I am going to ask you to leave. Quite reasonably, I may add, as it’s after business hours and you are not a client.”

“Oh, but I intend to be,” he argued, leaning forward slightly to flash me that mean smile again. “Why else would I be here?”

“Hmm, you’re a deviant creep who enjoys stalking on unsuspecting women?” I offered with a mean smile of my own.

His lips twitched. “I may be deviant, but that’s not quite my kink.”

Despite myself, I was intrigued by him. There was a confidence, a surety in his body as he stood balanced on the balls of his feet, hands loose at his sides in direct contrast to his muscular framed pulled taut with potential energy. He was a man used to fighting, to getting his hands dirty. It surprised me, because usually the old money men paid other people to get physical for them.

“I am completely uninterested in your kinks,” I assured him, lifting my left hand to wiggle my fingers, the large red diamond on my ring finger flashing in even in the dim lights. “Married, remember?”

“Yes, to Dante Salvatore, capo dei capi of the New York City Camorra,” he recited, adjusting his cufflinks as if I was boring him. “Do you think I would solicit a lawyer without knowing everything I could about them?”

“It’s hardly a secret.” Usually, I would have called Adriano to dispatch of this man already. A few hotshot thugs had tried to approach me in alleys and outside restrooms since I became infamous for defending Dante against RICO charges that could have sent him to prison for life. I was used to dispatching of the riffraff.

But this man wasn’t your average thug.

And I’d always loved a good puzzle.