A dangerous game

It was past midnight when Alessia finally locked the clinic doors.

The streets were nearly empty — a few stragglers, a cold wind howling between the buildings. She should’ve called a cab. She should’ve asked one of the nurses to wait with her.

But Alessia Moretti didn’t ask for help. Not from anyone.

She tucked her bag closer and started down the block, boots clicking against the cracked pavement. She didn’t notice the shadow trailing her — not at first.

Only when she turned the corner did she hear the footsteps.

Fast. Heavy.

Coming for her.

Alessia’s heart jumped into her throat.

She whirled around — too late.

A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back into the alleyway.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a second figure stepped out of the shadows — tall, broad-shouldered — and familiar.

Damon.

He slammed the attacker against the wall with a brutal efficiency that stole her breath.

“You okay?” he growled, glancing back at her, his chest heaving.

She nodded dumbly, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.

The man Damon pinned tried to squirm away, muttering something about “a message” and “her father.”

Alessia felt the blood drain from her face.

It was starting again — the threats, the warnings. No matter how far she ran, her family’s sins always caught up.

Damon twisted the guy’s arm hard enough to make him yelp, then shoved him down the alley where he stumbled and bolted into the night.

Only then did Damon turn fully to her.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, voice rough with anger.

“I can take care of myself,” she snapped, shaking off the lingering fear.

He took a step closer.

“Maybe. But you don’t have to.”

The raw, naked sincerity in his eyes made her breath catch.

They were standing too close again — a dangerous, burning closeness.

The adrenaline, the fear, the heat between them — it all tangled into something wild and reckless.

Before she could think, Damon’s hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

His fingers lingered against her cheek, warm and careful.

Alessia’s body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her lips parted on instinct.

The air between them snapped tight, vibrating.

Slowly — painfully slowly — Damon dipped his head, his breath mingling with hers, giving her every chance to pull away.

He smelled like clean soap and leather and danger.

His mouth was a whisper from hers.

Her heart was hammering.

All she had to do was close the gap.

She almost did.

Almost.

At the last second, Alessia turned her face away, breaking the spell.

“No,” she whispered, voice cracking. “This can’t happen.”

Damon’s hand fell away, but he didn’t move back.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alessia,” he said, voice low and rough. “You can fight me all you want. I’ll still find you.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he walked away — leaving her standing there, shivering, aching, and burning for something she was too scared to touch.

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