A night she'll never forget

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.”

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