Page 21

ALESSIO

I pace the apartment like a caged lion, restless and wound tight. This is a first for me, clocking in for an actual job. No trust fund safety net. No Marchetti name smoothing the way. Just me, a bartending certificate I barely remember earning, and a black button-down that still smells like starch.

The silence is loud. My foot taps. My palms itch.

I’m used to action, chaos. Not... this. Not waiting for something real to begin.

I check the time. Almost there.

And for once, I’m not thinking about what I’ll get out of it.

I’m thinking about what I’ll prove. To her. To me.

The club pulses with bass and sweat and heat. Neon slices through the dark, catching the gleam of glass and the smirk on my face as I pour another drink.

I’m behind the bar now. Me. Not posing at a VIP table. Not being waited on. I’m the one mixing drinks, cracking jokes, earning my keep.

It’s gritty. Loud. Real. And weirdly? I don’t hate it.

I catch Nikolai’s nod from across the floor. Silent, sharp. His way of saying I’m covered. Protection’s tight tonight. I’m safe. For now.

But I don’t relax.

Because I know better.

Because I’ve learned the hard way that the moment you start thinking you’re untouchable… that’s when someone takes the shot.

The second she walks in, I feel it.

That shift in the air.

She doesn’t belong in a place like this. She’s too polished, too composed, too Sophie. But fuck if she doesn’t own it.

Black dress hugging every curve, lips slightly parted, eyes scanning the room like she’s already bored of it. Until she finds me.

My grip on the cocktail shaker tightens.

She slides onto a barstool like she’s doing me a favor.

“Don’t get used to this,” she says, all cool and clipped.

But her eyes betray her. They don’t stop moving, cataloging every woman who’s looked at me for longer than a second.

And yeah, they’re looking.

Especially the blonde at the corner, long legs, pouty mouth, tits practically spilling out of her halter.

A few months ago, I’d have had her number before the ice in her drink melted. Would’ve taken her back to some penthouse suite and never remembered her name.

But now?

She doesn’t even register. Not when Sophie’s here.

Sophie’s voice slices through the music, sharp and knowing. “You’re enjoying this.”

I arch a brow, fighting the smirk. “Enjoying watching you get territorial? Maybe a little.”

She scoffs, but her jaw tightens. Her eyes flick to the blonde, then back to me like she’s debating stabbing me with a cocktail stirrer.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

I lean in, close enough to catch the faint vanilla on her skin. “You know, if looks could kill, that girl would be in a body bag. You jealous, dolcezza ?”

“I don’t do jealous.”

“Right…” I brush a thumb over the back of her hand as I hand her a drink. “You just glare like you’re planning a homicide.”

Her glare deepens. But her fingers brush mine on the glass, and neither of us pulls away.

“For the record, you’re the only one I want watching me.”

***

We don’t make it five steps into the apartment before the tension follows us in, sticky and electric, crawling under my skin.

Sophie kicks off her heels and tosses her clutch on the kitchen island like she’s shedding the night’s chaos.

“You were in your element tonight.” She folds her arms. “Charming. Smirking. Getting phone numbers.”

I grin. “Jealous again?”

“Bored.” She turns toward the fridge. “You’re predictable.”

“Predictable?” I stalk up behind her, bracing one hand on the counter beside her hip. “You sure about that?”

She doesn’t look at me, but I catch the way her breath skips.

I pluck a bottle cap off the counter and spin it between my fingers. “Let’s play a game.”

She snorts. “If you say poker again, I swear—”

“Not poker.” I step closer. “Dare Me.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “We’re not sixteen.”

“No rules. No repeats. You dare, I do. I dare, you do. Only way out is to quit.”

She gives me a skeptical once-over, but there’s fire in her eyes now. “What’s in it for you?”

“Other than watching you squirm? Plenty.”

She spins and pokes a finger into my chest. “Fine. You first.”

I grin. “Take off your blazer.”

It slides off her shoulders with maddening grace. Underneath, she’s wearing a form-fitting camisole that hugs her like a second skin.

“Your turn,” I say, voice rougher now.

She leans in, the corner of her mouth curling. “Take off your pants and hand them to me like they’re something filthy.”

I slide off my pants and press them into her hands, eyes locked on hers. “You really want to play this game?”

“Your turn,” she says, smug.

I scan her face. “Unclip your hair. Let it fall.”

She raises a brow but obeys, tugging the pins free.

Her hair tumbles around her shoulders like a challenge.

“Still predictable.”

She crosses one leg over the other, smooth and deliberate. “Undo the top three buttons of your shirt.”

I do. Slowly.

Her eyes drop, just for a second.

“My turn.” I take a step closer. “Lift your dress and trace your pussy with your finger.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her fingertip finds her lace panties and traces the outline of her folds, a light stroke that burns hotter than it should.

Now it's her turn.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “Dare me to do something you can’t handle.”

My pulse spikes. “Kiss me. But not on the mouth.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her lips brush the underside of my jaw, slow, deliberate, a whisper of heat that lights every nerve on fire.

Her lips don’t stop at my jaw.

She trails lower, down my neck, across my chest, kissing, licking, tasting.

I groan, my head falling back as her mouth finds the center of my abdomen and pauses just above my waistband.

“You dared me.” Her fingers slide under the band of my briefs. “No backing out now.”

“I’m not stopping you,” I rasp.

She drops to her knees in front of me, all glossy eyes and wicked smirks, and when her mouth closes over the head of my cock, I forget my own name.

Her lips are hot and wet, tongue teasing me with slow, deliberate swirls that make my thighs tighten and my hands clench at my sides.

I can’t look away, can’t do anything but stand there and feel.

She moans low in her throat, and the vibration rips through me like lightning.

I reach down and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fuck, Soph…”

She takes me deeper, throat flexing, and my knees nearly buckle.

She’s in control, completely, and she knows it.

She eases back with a pop of suction and a filthy smile. “Ready to quit?”

“Hell no,” I grit, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her to her feet.

I crash my mouth to hers, tasting myself on her tongue, and it only makes me harder.

She gasps into the kiss, her fingers tangling in my shirt, tugging until buttons scatter to the floor.

I lift her in one smooth motion, wrapping her legs around my waist and carrying her to the kitchen counter.

Her back hits the granite with a soft thud, and I shove her panties aside, fingers slipping through slick heat that makes my brain short-circuit.

“God, you’re soaked.”

“You did that,” she pants. “Do something about it.”

I don’t need a second invitation.

I bury my face between her thighs, licking her like I’m starving, like this is the only thing that will make the world make sense.

Her moans are breathy and broken, hands threading into my hair as her hips grind against my mouth.

She’s wild like this. Untamed. Beautiful.

And when she comes, it’s with my name on her lips like a vow.

I don’t let her recover. I grab a condom from the drawer, roll it on with shaking hands, and line up at her entrance.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and hungry.

“Now. Please.”

I thrust in deep, and we both groan, the connection immediate, overwhelming.

The rhythm builds, fast and hard, then slow and deep, until we’re a mess of sweat, whispers, and desperate gasps.

I hold her like she’s mine. Like she’s always been mine.

She comes again, clenching around me with a cry that undoes me completely.

I follow with a shuddering groan, collapsing over her, every part of me unraveling in her arms.

***

The next evening, I show up early for my next shift, ready to lose myself in something simple, pour, mix, serve, repeat. But the moment I step through the back entrance of the club, something’s off.

I feel it before I see it.

One of the corner booths, usually reserved for VIPs, is occupied by a man I don’t recognize. Mid-forties, sharp suit, no drink in hand.

He’s not scrolling his phone. Not chatting anyone up. He’s watching the bar. Watching me.

I clock the tension in Nikolai’s jaw the second he sees the guy.

He steps up beside me, keeping his voice low.

“We’ve got eyes on you.”

My grip tightens on the edge of the bar. “Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. But I’ve got it handled. Just stay sharp.”

I nod, forcing a casual smile as I start lining up clean glasses like I don’t feel the weight of a loaded stare boring into my spine.

The music thumps. The crowd moves.

But the pulse behind my ribs? It’s steady and grim.

Whatever this is, it’s not over.

Not by a long shot.