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Luca was stressed.

Not the usual "my mafia boyfriend just walked in with blood on his knuckles" kind of stress.

This was business stress.

And business stress sucked because Luca couldn't solve it with a kiss or by dragging Damien into bed.

No, this time, his problem was a missing model.

It was supposed to be a simple photoshoot.

The new fall collection was launching, and Luca had spent weeks planning the perfect shoot. He had the outfits, the concept, the location—everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

Because ten minutes before the shoot was supposed to start, his main model canceled.

Luca wanted to scream.

He slumped against a clothing rack, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am going to die. Right here. Right now."

His assistant, Claire, patted his back. "You're being dramatic."

Luca peeked at her from between his fingers. "We have no model."

"Just get a replacement?"

Luca groaned. "It's not that easy! The whole shoot was planned around the vibe of the model. We needed someone with the right look, height, aura—"

His words stopped.

Because at that moment, the door opened.

And in walked Damien.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dripping confidence. Wearing a black suit that probably cost more than the entire photoshoot budget.

Luca stared.

Claire followed his gaze. Then, with a slow grin, she said—

"Well. There's your model."

Damien blinked. "What?"

Luca grabbed his hand. "You. Model. Now."

Damien froze. "Excuse me?"

Luca was already dragging him toward the styling area. "You heard me. My model bailed, and you're stepping in."

Damien dug his heels into the floor, not moving an inch. "Luca, I am not a model."

Luca looked up at him, sweet and pleading.

Damien narrowed his eyes. "...No."

Luca leaned closer, brushing their noses together. "Please?"

Damien groaned. "Luca—"

Luca pouted. Full offense, he knew he was Damien's weakness.

"...Fine." Damien sighed, running a hand down his face. "But if any of these photos end up on a billboard, I will burn them."

Luca grinned. "No promises."

Claire handed Damien an outfit. "Change. Now."

Damien glared. "I don't take orders."

Claire, unfazed: "From Luca, you do."

Damien: "..."

Fair.

Luca giggled as Damien grabbed the clothes and disappeared into the dressing room.

When he came back out—holy hell.

Damien was wearing a sleek, black turtleneck, tailored trousers, and a fitted coat that made him look like he just walked out of a fashion magazine.

Luca felt dizzy.

Damien raised a brow. "What?"

Luca blurted out, "I am in love with you."

Damien smirked. "I know."

Luca died.

At first, Damien was stiff.

The man could command a room with a single glance, but ask him to pose for the camera? Suddenly, he forgot what to do with his hands.

Luca sighed, stepping forward. "Here. Do this."

He gently placed Damien's hands in the right position, adjusted his shoulders, tilted his chin.

Damien grumbled, but let him.

Then—click.

The first shot came out stunning.

Then another.

Then another.

And before long, Damien was getting into it.

The smolder.

The stance.

The presence.

Luca, behind the camera, swooned.

"This is so unfair," he muttered. "You weren't supposed to be this good."

Damien smirked. "I'm good at everything."

Luca: Internally screaming.

By the time the shoot was over, Luca was beaming.

"That was perfect."

Damien loosened the collar of his coat. "Glad you're happy."

Luca kissed his cheek. "So happy."

Damien sighed, fond but tired. "Good."

Then, just as he thought he was free—

BZZT.

His phone vibrated.

A message.

From one of his men.

A picture.

Of his own face.

On Instagram.

With thousands of likes and comments.

Mafia king turned fashion icon.

New favorite model unlocked.

WHEN IS THE NEXT PHOTOSHOOT??

Damien turned to Luca. Slowly.

Luca... grinned.

Damien closed his eyes.

"...I should have known."

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