Page 26

ALESSIO

I wipe down the bar in steady passes, the motion hypnotic, almost meditative.

The beat of the club pulses low and heavy in my chest, vibrating through my ribs like a second heartbeat. Neon lights flicker over the marble counter, casting a wash of red and blue across my hands.

It’s not the chaos I used to crave, the rooftop parties, the scandal, the press. This is quieter. Simpler.

Mine.

I never thought slinging cocktails behind a bar could feel like a kind of power. But tonight, it does.

Until hollow temptation walks in, long legs, glossy lips, and hunger in eyes that used to be my fuel. A group of them cluster near the end of the bar, laughing too loud, sipping overpriced cocktails, and shooting looks my way like I’m still the guy who might bite.

Boyfriends shift beside them, stiff with jealousy, but the women don’t care. They lean forward, licking salt from their rims, tossing out flirty questions like, “So, do you come with the drink menu?”

A few months ago, I might’ve entertained it. Played the game.

Now?

They don’t hold a candle to Sophie.

And that’s the most dangerous shift of all.

As the last stragglers have stumbled out, laughter echoes off the brick walls as the front door shuts behind them. The bass has dulled to a low hum, barely more than a vibration beneath the floorboards.

I flip the bar towel over my shoulder and pour myself a bourbon. Just one.

Nikolai’s already perched at the corner of the bar, a glass of something darker in his hand. I take a seat beside him.

“Not bad for a Wednesday.” He swirls the liquid with a lazy flick of his wrist.

I grunt, leaning back against the counter. “I didn’t screw up any orders or start a fight. That’s a win.”

He chuckles. “Low bar, Marchetti.”

We’re mid-laugh when the door creaks open again.

My eyes snap toward the entrance.

The last two girls I was with before this whole thing changed my life for the better.

They are silhouetted in the glow of the exit sign, sauntering toward us like they never left. Tight dresses. Dangerous smiles.

Here we go.

“Alessio,” one of them sings behind me. Cassie? Cara?

I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t care. Never did. Not until Sophie.

They press against me like we have done this wild night after wild night.

Jenna, Jessica, or whatever her name is, hooks her fingers into my belt like it’s hers to tug. Her breath burns against my throat. “No more hiding from us, baby.”

The other woman trails her manicured nails over my shoulder.

“We miss how you taste.”

Cassie, let’s go with that for her name, grins as she presses a kiss just behind my ear. Her eyes flick to Nikolai, who watches with an unreadable expression. “Join us. We’ll make it a party.”

For a second, just one, it hits me. That old instinct. The ego. The heat. The memory of tangled limbs, sweat, and zero consequences.

This used to be my life.

This used to be enough.

And then I think of Sophie.

How her mouth tastes in the morning, how she curls into my side like she belongs there, how just the sight of her in one of my T-shirts can ruin me.

Yeah.

This? It’s not even close.

I don’t play along.

I don’t even smirk.

Instead, I gently take Jenna’s hand, or whatever her name is, from my chest and lower it.

“Not tonight. Not anymore.”

They blink. Once. Twice.

The irritation sets in fast.

“Seriously?” Cassie scoffs, her voice dripping with mockery. “What, you’re in love now? That your new thing?”

“Something like that.”

They huff, roll their eyes, and storm off with all the drama of girls who aren’t used to being told no.

Nikolai lifts his glass in a mock toast. “You’ve changed.”

I exhale through my nose, leaning back against the bar again.

“I used to think that was a bad thing.”

But now?

Now I know better.

Nikolai tops off his glass and leans forward, his gaze sharper now. “So, you really are in love with this girl?”

There’s no hesitation. “Yeah. Sophie’s… she’s everything. Smart, fiery. She sees right through my bullshit and still gives me a chance. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

Nikolai raises a brow. “So, why do you look like someone just cut your brakes?”

I let out a slow breath, the weight of it pressing against my ribs. “Because I can still lose her. Because maybe, no, most probably, I’ll fuck it up. Because I’ve never wanted something this much that wasn’t about money or pleasure, and that makes it feel like it could disappear just as fast.”

For a beat, we sit in silence. Then Nikolai clinks his glass to mine.

“Then don’t fuck it up.”

The night has thinned into silence by the time I leave the club, the chill of early morning curling around my collar.

Streetlights buzz overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement.

The city’s still awake in that half-alive way, distant sirens, a car passing now and then, the occasional shuffle of footsteps behind closed windows, the faint smell of wet pavement rising from the concrete.

I walk with Sophie’s almond croissant tucked under my arm in its little, white box. It smells like her, like comfort and early mornings and everything I didn’t know I needed until I had it.

I’m halfway to the car when I catch a

flash of white beneath the windshield wiper.

My body stills.

The box shifts slightly under my arm as I step closer, the paper crisp and deliberate, untouched by wind or rain.

My fingers close around it.

Five words.

You can’t protect her forever.

It’s not just the words. It’s the way they’re written.

The same sharp slant. The same narrow spacing.

I haven’t seen this handwriting in months, but I’d know it anywhere.

My vision narrows. My breath turns shallow.

This is no prank.

This is a message.

I glance up, scanning the streets, windows, alleyways, the rooftop above the opposite building.

Nothing.

No one.

But I can feel it. That electric buzz under my skin. The awareness of being watched.

I crush the note in my fist, the sharp crinkle of paper loud in the silence, jaw locking tight.

I thought the past had buried itself. I thought whatever shadows I left behind in Tuscany had stayed there.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I grip the croissant tighter, suddenly absurd in my hand.

I haven’t felt fear in a long time, not real fear.

But now?

With Sophie in the picture?

It settles deep in my chest like a storm cloud, low and threatening.

And for the first time in weeks, I realize

I’m scared. And not for me.

For her.