The club pulsed with music, neon lights flickering across the sea of bodies moving in rhythm. The heavy bass reverberated through the walls, mixing with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and expensive cologne. Alessia Romano wasn’t here to dance or drink. She wasn’t here to forget her problems. No—she was here for one reason.

To find her brother.

Her fingers tightened around the cold glass in front of her, its contents untouched. This wasn’t her scene—loud, chaotic, and filled with men who thought a woman alone was an invitation. But she didn’t care about any of that. Marco had been missing for three days. No calls. No texts. Nothing. And that wasn’t like him.

The club was the last place he had been seen. And the only clue he had left behind? A crumpled napkin in his apartment, with a single name scrawled across it.

“Stay away from Valenciaga.”

The name sent a chill down her spine. Damian Valenciaga. A man whose reputation was spoken of in hushed whispers. Ruthless, powerful, and dangerous. He ran half the city from the shadows, and anyone who crossed him never walked away unscathed.

Alessia had spent all day debating whether this was a terrible idea.

But there was no alternative. If Marco was in trouble, she had to find out why.

She took a slow, steadying breath and scanned the club. The VIP section was easy to spot, tucked behind thick velvet ropes, guarded by two men in sharp black suits. She could barely make out the figures lounging inside, but she didn’t need to see them to know who was in charge.

Damian Valenciaga would be there.

She had two choices—wait for an opportunity or create one.

A waiter passed, balancing a tray of whiskey glasses. Alessia saw her chance. With a calculated step, she "accidentally" bumped into him, knocking the tray from his hands. Glass shattered against the floor, the sound sharp against the pounding music.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” she gasped.

The guards turned toward the commotion, momentarily distracted. That was all she needed. In one fluid motion, she slipped past the ropes.

Inside, the world shifted. The deafening music became a dull hum. The air was thick with cigar smoke and something heavier—authority.

And then she saw him.

Damian Valenciaga.

He lounged on a black leather couch, long legs stretched out in a way that exuded confidence. A crystal glass of whiskey rested between his fingers, the amber liquid catching the dim light. His gaze lifted the second she entered, locking onto her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

The moment their eyes met, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

He was dangerously handsome—sharp jawline, dark tousled hair, piercing blue eyes that held an unmistakable warning. There was something about the way he looked at her—calm, unreadable, but in control. Like he already knew why she was here.

Silence stretched between them. The air grew heavy with something unspoken.

One of his men leaned in. “Boss?”

Damian didn’t look away. He didn’t need to.

Finally, he smirked. Slow. Calculated. Like a predator who had just cornered his prey.

“You have ten seconds to explain why you’re here, sweetheart.”

Alessia’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Ten seconds.

Damian Valenciaga’s eyes never left hers, his expression unreadable. The weight of his presence alone made the air feel thinner, pressing against her like an unseen force.

Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders. She had come this far—she wouldn’t back down now.

“My brother,” she said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. “Marco Romano. He’s missing.”

Damian took a slow sip of his whiskey, his movements deliberate, almost lazy. “And?”

Alessia’s nails dug into her palms. “And I found a note with your name on it.”

Silence.

Then, he chuckled—a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Sweetheart, if I had your brother, you wouldn’t need a note to know.”

Her stomach twisted. “Then where is he?”

Damian exhaled, setting his glass down on the table beside him. Then, in a flash, he was on his feet, closing the space between them. Too close. Too fast.

Alessia instinctively took a step back, but the back of her knees hit the leather couch, leaving her trapped. He leaned in, one hand braced on the armrest beside her, caging her in.

The scent of expensive cologne and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the faintest trace of something darker—gunpowder.

“I don’t appreciate people barging into my business,” he murmured, voice low and edged with danger. “And I certainly don’t take kindly to being accused of something I didn’t do.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m not accusing you. I just need answers.”

For a moment, his piercing blue eyes searched hers, as if peeling back the layers of her defiance. Then, something flickered in them—a mix of intrigue, amusement, and something darker.

He straightened, his smirk returning. “You’re brave. Or reckless. Maybe both.”

Alessia swallowed hard. “Will you help me or not?”

Damian tilted his head slightly, considering her. Then, he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small, sleek phone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the couch beside her.

“Call that number tomorrow. I’ll see what I can find.”

She stared at the phone. “That’s it?”

His smirk deepened. “That’s me being generous.”

Something about the way he said it sent a warning through her veins. She knew better than to trust men like him. Powerful. Calculating. Dangerous.

Still, she hesitated.

“Why?” she asked, her voice softer this time. “Why help me at all?”

Damian exhaled slowly, studying her. Then, as if deciding something, he took another step back, giving her space for the first time.

“Because I don’t like unanswered questions.” His voice was smooth, but there was something else in it—something unreadable. “And now, thanks to you, I have one.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she had no intention of staying longer to find out.

Alessia grabbed the phone and turned toward the exit. As she walked away, she could still feel his gaze burning into her back, the weight of it lingering long after she left.

What had she just gotten herself into?

Alessia stared at the phone on her nightstand, its sleek black screen reflecting the dim light of her apartment. It had been sitting there for hours, untouched, like a loaded gun she was too afraid to fire.

She had barely slept since leaving the club. Damian Valenciaga’s words haunted her.

"Call that number tomorrow."

Tomorrow had come. And now, she had a choice.

Every logical part of her screamed to stay away. Damian was dangerous. A man with power that stretched far beyond anything she understood. Getting involved with him—even for something as important as finding Marco—could lead to consequences she wasn’t prepared for.

And yet… she had no other leads.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone and dialed the number.

The line rang once.

Twice.

On the third ring, a deep, smooth voice answered.

"I was beginning to think you lost your nerve."

A shiver ran down her spine. She gripped the phone tighter. "I don’t scare easily."

Damian chuckled, the sound richer over the phone. It was dangerous, this game they were playing. He knew it. She knew it.

"Good," he murmured. "That’ll make this easier."

Alessia clenched her jaw. "Did you find anything?"

There was a pause, and she could almost picture him leaning back in some luxurious office, calculating his next words.

"Your brother was last seen near the docks two nights ago," he said finally. "That’s where his trail goes cold."

The docks. The thought sent a wave of dread through her. That part of the city wasn’t just dangerous—it was a known hotspot for criminal dealings.

Alessia swallowed hard. "Do you think he was taken?"

Damian’s voice was calm, unreadable. "I think someone wanted him to disappear."

Her heart pounded. That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

"Do you know who?" she pressed.

A long pause. Then, "Not yet."

Not yet. Which meant he was still looking.

Alessia exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "I need to go there. To the docks."

There was a sharp, cold silence. Then, Damian spoke, his voice laced with something that almost sounded like… warning.

"No, you don’t."

Her breath caught. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, sweetheart. You don’t step foot near the docks unless you want to end up just as missing as your brother."

Heat flared in her chest. "You don’t get to tell me what to do."

A low chuckle. Not amused—more… intrigued.

"I don’t," he agreed, voice silky smooth. "But I do get to warn you. And if you ignore me, you’ll regret it."

Alessia gritted her teeth. "I can take care of myself."

Another chuckle, but this time, there was something darker beneath it.

"We’ll see about that," Damian murmured. "Because if you do anything reckless, sweetheart… I’ll be the one cleaning up the mess."

The call ended with a soft click.

Alessia lowered the phone, her heart hammering.

She had the information she needed. But what unnerved her more than anything…

Was the feeling that she had just stepped into something she wouldn’t be able to escape.