Alessia's POV
Mulch and Dante had left a few hours ago but that doesn't mean my day wasn't already ruined.
I don't know what pissed me off more, Dante showing up unannounced, acting so nice with me or the fact that he cut my damn shift short. It wasn't like I had the luxury of skipping work, and I needed to make rent. Sleep-deprived and running on nothing but irritation, I locked my door and groaned.
Elena peeked her head out from her room. "Are you okay?"
"No," I snapped. "But I don't have the energy to talk about it."
She sighed. "That bad?"
I grabbed my bag. "Mulch knows Dante. Like—knows him."
Elena's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"
I shook my head. "I don't even want to think about it right now."
With that, I left, making my way to INFERNO.
….
The moment I stepped into the club, the atmosphere changed as usual—loud music, flashing lights, and the scent of expensive cologne mixed with alcohol and sweat.
INFERNO wasn't just a club. It was a playground for the elite, a meeting ground for powerful men who ran the city in ways the law would never understand.
And Thursday nights? They were the best nights for business.
I pushed past the crowd, ignoring the glances and lingering stares as I made my way behind the bar. The tips were always good when the underworld's finest decided to grace us with their presence. Mafia men, dons, and men whose pockets ran deeper than morality itself.
It was a game. They paid for exclusivity, and we pretended not to see what went on in the shadows.
I went straight to work, pouring drinks, exchanging flirtatious banter when necessary, and pocketing the nice bills they slipped my way. The exhaustion in my bones was replaced by adrenaline, the constant movement keeping me from overthinking.
But then I saw him. A man sitting at the high table near the back, alone.
The dim lighting didn't do much to hide him from me. His posture was relaxed but sharp, as if he was watching everything without needing to look. He had a drink in one hand, fingers idly tracing the rim of the glass.
Marco?
I blinked, making sure I wasn't imagining things. He wore glasses, a poor attempt at blending in, but I knew better. And so did some women in the club.
The moment they noticed him, they moved closer, some dancing, some laughing too loudly, some pretending to be lost just to catch his attention.
He didn't even spare them a glance.
I scoffed under my breath. Thirsty bitches.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed an empty bottle and headed toward the warehouse to restock. I had better things to do than stand around staring.
...
The stockroom was quiet, the pounding bass muffled behind the thick walls. I ran my fingers along the shelves, searching for the top-shelf whiskey a customer had ordered.
Then—Gunfire. The sharp crack of a bullet split through the air. Screams erupted from the bar. Glass shattered.
Chaos.
My body reacted before my mind could process it, I dropped to the ground, pressing myself behind a stack of crates. My heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out the noise.
Elena. Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to stay still. She could handle herself…..I knew that. But still, my gut twisted with worry.
The gunshots continued, each one making my pulse jump. I clenched my fists. Why the hell didn't I bring my damn gun?
I had nothing. No weapon. No backup. Then, a shadow moved near me.
I barely had time to react before a hand grabbed me, strong, firm—and yanked me into the darkness.
I was pinned against something solid, my breath hitching as the familiar scent of cologne and cigarette smoke wrapped around me.
"Shhh." Marco hushed.
His voice was low, steady, like he wasn't fazed by the gunfire still rattling outside.
I looked up at him, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"What the hell—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Stay quiet." His grip on my wrist tightened, not painfully, but enough to remind me that he wasn't letting go anytime soon.
My body was tense, but not just from the danger outside. Marco was close—too close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that I could see the way his lips curved in amusement despite the chaos.
"Are you always this reckless?" he murmured.
I scowled. "Let go, I can't breathe."
He didn't. Instead, his fingers brushed against my side, gentle, steady.
"You were shaking."
I opened my mouth to argue, but my breath hitched when his thumb traced an absentminded circle against my hip.
"I wasn't," I said, but my voice betrayed me.
Marco smirked. Before I could snap back, the tension increased. Heavy footsteps. A presence that made my stomach drop.
Then I heard something.
"He is the target"
The words sent ice through my veins. Marco's entire demeanor changed. The lazy amusement vanished, replaced by something lethal. I barely had time to register what was happening before another gunshot rang out, from behind us.
Marco moved fast….faster than I thought was possible. One second, he was in front of me, and the next, he had me behind him, shielding me completely.
Another shot, a grunt. Then silence.
I held my breath, waiting, listening. My pulse pounded in my ears. When Marco finally turned back to me, there was a streak of blood on his cheek. Not his.
He exhaled, then looked at me. His glasses were slightly moved, revealing sharp eyes that pinned me in place.
"You're coming with me."
It wasn't a question. Before I could even protest, he grabbed my wrist again, this time leading me away from the store. I didn't know if I should stop him or follow.