The sharp click of her heels echoed down the dim corridor as Eva made her way to the back exit of the club. Her shift was done. The suffocating weight of Dante Salvatore's attention had loosened just slightly, enough to let her breathe—but not enough to forget he was still watching. Always watching.
The hum of music behind her faded as she pushed through the heavy steel door into the alley. Cool midnight air hit her face, a fleeting relief from the heavy heat inside. She exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
She was almost free for the night.
But her instincts—honed from years of living on the edge—screamed at her a second too late.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness.
"Leaving so soon?"
The voice was low, slick with something oily and amused.
She froze.
Two men stepped into the pale pool of light from the flickering streetlamp. Both unfamiliar. Both dangerous.
Their suits were sharp, but their smiles sharper. Eyes like glass—cold, calculating.
Her pulse spiked, but outwardly she stayed composed.
"Can I help you?" Her voice was steady, almost bored.
The taller one—dark hair, narrow face—smiled wider and took a step closer.
"Eva, is it? You've been getting close to Salvatore. That's risky business."
Her jaw tensed. She didn't know these men, but she knew their kind.
Enemies of Dante. Rivals. Or worse — men who had heard whispers about her past.
"I'm just a bartender," she replied coolly. "If you're looking for a drink, the bar's closed."
The shorter man chuckled darkly.
"Come now. Don't insult our intelligence. We know you've been sitting in Dante's office. Sharing words. Sharing… other things, maybe?" His tone dripped with insinuation.
Eva's fingers curled tightly around her bag strap.
She calculated quickly: the alley was too narrow. Too dark. Her apartment was six blocks away. Calling Dante would raise questions she couldn't afford. But doing nothing would be worse.
"I don't know what you've heard," she said, her voice dropping a shade colder. "But you're wasting your time."
The taller man clicked his tongue, amused but not fooled.
"No, I think our timing is perfect. See—Salvatore has a habit of letting pretty things get close. And sometimes… those pretty things know things they shouldn't."
He took another step toward her.
Her breath slowed, her muscles coiling tight beneath her jacket.
Then—
A car engine roared at the end of the alley.
Blinding headlights flooded the space. The screech of tires cut through the night, and a sleek black Maserati slid to a stop just feet away.
The passenger door flew open.
Dante.
He stepped out with lethal grace, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning like smoldering coals. He didn't shout. Didn't flinch.
He simply looked at the two men. And the air seemed to crack under the weight of it.
The taller man paled, just slightly.
"Salvatore. Didn't expect you to come so quickly."
"You should have." Dante's voice was a low growl, dark and deadly. He adjusted the cuffs of his black dress shirt, slow and deliberate. "If you lay even a finger on her, I'll make sure your families don't recognize your faces when I'm done."
The shorter man stiffened, but wisely stepped back.
The taller one lifted both hands in mock surrender.
"No harm, no foul. We were just having a little chat."
Dante's smile was thin and vicious.
"Then the conversation is over."
Without breaking eye contact, he extended his hand toward Eva.
"Come here."
Her breath caught. Part of her wanted to run the other direction—to avoid this entanglement spiraling tighter around her.
But reason screamed louder.
Staying near Dante meant survival.
She crossed the distance and slipped into the passenger seat without a word.
Dante slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.
The Maserati peeled away with a screech, leaving the two men swallowed by the darkness.
Inside the car, silence pulsed thick between them. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel, his jaw locked tight.
Finally, without looking at her, he spoke. His voice was deadly soft.
"Who are you really, Eva?"
She stiffened.
"I told you. I'm a bartender."
His gaze flicked toward her sharply.
"You're not just a bartender if they know your name." His tone was hard, clipped.
"You think you can play this game without me knowing? You think you can stand between my enemies and me and walk away clean?"
Her heart hammered, but her mask stayed firm.
"I didn't ask to be part of your world."
"You stepped into it the moment you stepped behind my bar." His voice was pure steel now.
"And whether you like it or not, you've drawn blood. That makes you mine to protect—or destroy."
Eva swallowed hard.
The game had changed. The stakes had just soared higher than she ever intended.
And walking away… wasn't an option anymore.
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