The room tilts.
I’ve been here before with Eric. The same rage, the same need to control, the same way he treated me like I wasn’t even human.
Panic floods my system, but underneath it, something fiercer rises. I’m not that helpless woman anymore.
I start to struggle against him with everything I have, shoving at his chest and kicking out with my legs. His hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my air completely.
My pulse pounds in my ears. I reach for his face, thinking his eyes are the weak spot I need to go for. I can barely see through the tears, but I make contact, scratching along his cheek with my nails until I feel the skin tear.
“Bitch!” He releases my throat as he stumbles back, letting out a roar of anger.
I gasp for air, my hands shaking as I yank my bra back up. He swipes at the blood on his cheek, and when he looks at his fingers, his expression turns murderous.
I know that look. I’ve seen it before. He’s going to hurt me badly now.
When he starts to stalk toward me again, I let out a terrified shriek.
Almost immediately, the door explodes inward. But it’s not the bouncer who storms through.
It’s Alessio.
His gaze cuts across the room, taking in my trembling form by the couch and the bloodied customer moving toward me. He’s on the man in seconds, spinning him around and landing a vicious punch to his face.
The customer’s head snaps back, and he crumples. Alessio wrenches him up and hammers him with steady, punishing blows, rage sharpening every strike until blood spatters the floor.
I watch, transfixed by the brutal efficiency of it. This is the darkness I’ve always sensed in Alessio—controlled violence unleashed with surgical precision. When he stomps on the man’s hands, the sound of breaking bones makes me flinch.
“Get this worthless fuck out of here,” Alessio tells the bouncer who’s appeared in the doorway. “He’s banned.”
As they drag my attacker away, leaving a trail of blood, Alessio turns to me. His chest heaves with each breath, tension radiating from every line of his body.
For a moment, seeing that violence in his eyes, I flinch. It’s not fair. He just saved me. But my body is flooded with adrenaline and memories of another man’s hands on my throat.
Alessio notices my reaction and goes very still. Then, just like that night in the alley seven years ago, he holds out his hand. Patient. Giving me the choice.
The gesture breaks through my panic. This isn’t Eric. This is the man who asked permission before kissing me, who saw I was in trouble and acted.
I place my hand in his.
He leads me through the club without a word, past curious stares and whispered questions. In the dressing room, he guides me to my station while the other girls watch in silence.
“Get dressed, Nina. I’m driving you home.”
An hour ago, I would have refused. Now, I can barely keep my hands steady enough to pull on my clothes.
“Are you okay?” His hands run up and down my arms, and I close my eyes at the gentle contact.
“I don’t know.”
There’s something about Alessio that makes me want to tell the truth, even when it makes me vulnerable.
“I’ll be okay,” I say, testing the words.
He nods and leaves me to change. I pull on my sweats without looking in the mirror. I don’t want to see the bruises forming around my neck or the fear still lingering in my eyes.
When I emerge, Alessio’s waiting with a glass containing an inch of amber liquid.
“Don’t wrinkle your nose,” he says as I approach. “That’s expensive scotch.”
