Into Lion's Den

Alessia didn’t listen.

She knew she should. Damian Valenciaga wasn’t a man who gave warnings lightly. If he told her to stay away from the docks, there was a reason.

But Marco was missing. And if there was even the slightest chance that she could find a clue on her own, she had to take it.

That’s how she found herself here—standing at the edge of the docks just past midnight, the scent of saltwater and gasoline heavy in the air.

The place was nearly deserted. Most of the warehouses were shut down for the night, their towering, rusted structures casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. The only sounds were the distant crash of waves against the pier and the occasional squeak of a rat scurrying through the darkness.

Alessia pulled her jacket tighter around her, shivering. Not just from the cold—but from the overwhelming sense that she was being watched.

She moved carefully, her boots making soft thuds against the wooden planks as she crept toward the last known location of her brother. The deeper she went, the more uneasy she felt. Something was wrong.

A flicker of movement to her left.

Her breath caught. A shadow detached itself from the darkness.

"You're either very brave or very stupid."

The voice was deep. Familiar. Damian.

She whirled around, heart slamming against her ribs. He stood a few feet away, half hidden in the shadows. The dim glow of a nearby streetlamp cast sharp angles over his face, highlighting the dangerous edge in his gaze.

He took a step forward, and the air around her seemed to thicken. Even in the dark, he was a commanding presence.

"I told you to stay away," he murmured, his voice calm. Too calm.

Alessia squared her shoulders. "And I told you—I don’t take orders from you."

Something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Annoyance? A mix of both?

"You really don’t know what you’re walking into, do you?" he said, stepping even closer.

She refused to back down, even as his scent—a mix of expensive cologne, whiskey, and something distinctly masculine—wrapped around her like a trap.

"I know my brother is missing," she shot back. "And I know no one else is looking for him. So I have to."

Damian exhaled, slow and measured, as if weighing his next move carefully.

"You don’t belong in this world, sweetheart," he said, voice softer this time. "Men here won’t hesitate to hurt you. And I won’t always be there to stop them."

Her stomach twisted at the implication. "Why do you even care?"

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes searched hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths. Then—before she could react—his fingers curled around her wrist.

Firm. Not painful. But unyielding

"Because whether you like it or not," he murmured, "you just became my problem."

Alessia’s breath hitched. Not from fear—but from the slow-burning intensity in his gaze.

She should pull away.

But she didn’t.

And that—more than anything else—terrified her.

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