Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Alexa

I glided, red lipstick a bold slash of defiance. Each step was measured, my posture poised as I balanced the tray of smoky bourbon glasses with practiced ease. But beneath that veneer of calm professionalism, my pulse thrummed erratically. Dominic Gambino's gaze seared into my back like a phantom touch, its intensity palpable even without direct eye contact.

I approached, movements fluid and deliberate, yet my mind was a tempestuous sea of doubts and yearnings. The weight of his stare, dark and penetrating, tracing the contours of my body was electrifying. It whispered promises of danger and desire, wrapping around my senses, an invisible tether pulling me toward him despite myself.

My hands remained steady as I distributed the drinks, but inside, my heart waged a silent war. The 'good girl' from a small town, whose dreams were tinged with innocence, now danced on the edge of an abyss that beckoned with velvet darkness. Dominic was the embodiment of that abyss—the powerful, enigmatic man who could unravel me with a mere glance. What could he possibly see in me? I was an open book of earnest smiles and hopeful whispers in a world where such things were currency for the foolish.

As I set down the last glass, my eyes dared to meet his for a fleeting moment. In those dark pools, I searched for a sign, something that might betray his thoughts. But there was only the inscrutable mask of the mafia prince, his lips curved in a faint, knowing smirk that offered no answers, only deepened the mystery.

Retreating from the table, my breath caught in my throat. I felt the draw of him, magnetic and undeniable, yet feared what surrendering to that pull might mean. I was a moth to his flame—captivated, consumed, compelled—and it terrified me just as much as it thrilled me. Would being engulfed by his fire leave me reborn or reduced to ashes? I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

"Over here, sweetheart," the man beckoned with a crooked finger, his voice a coarse demand wrapped in faux charm.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, steeling myself against the discomfort that crawled beneath my skin. With each step toward the table, I fortified the walls around my gentle nature, reminding myself that this was just another test of my resolve. My red lipstick—a bold contrast to the vulnerability I felt—remained undisturbed as I approached, a silent armor against the unsettling attention.

"Can I get you anything else?" My words came out steady, though inside, the tremors of unease threatened to betray my composure.

"Actually, yes." The man's hand shot out like a viper, seizing my wrist with a bruising grip that belied his casual tone. Before I could react, he yanked me forward, pulling me down onto his lap. The contact sent a jolt of alarm through my body, and my heart hammered against my rib cage like a bird desperate for escape.

"Isn't this cozy?" he jeered, his hot breath fanning across my ear, reeking of alcohol and entitlement.

Fear knotted in my stomach, but I couldn't afford to let it consume me. Not here, not now. I focused on the cool touch of the glass I still held in my other hand, a lifeline to the role I had to play. With every fiber of strength I possessed, I fought to maintain the calm exterior of the poised waitress, while inside, my inner turmoil churned like a stormy sea.

"Please, let go," I whispered, conflicting with the assertiveness I aimed to project. My plea went unnoticed—or perhaps ignored—as the man tightened his hold, a clear message that he wasn't finished with me yet.

I was like an unwilling marionette, strings pulled by the insidious hands of power and lust that gripped my wrist with iron resolve. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of musk and alcohol, and it pressed down on me with the weight of the uncomfortable silence.

The heat radiating from the man's body made my skin crawl. His breath was a whisper of danger at the nape of my neck. Each beat of the muffled bass that vibrated through the club's floorboards seemed to echo the erratic tempo of my heart—a staccato rhythm that cried out for release from the threatening embrace.

With a deep breath that I hoped would steel my nerves, I summoned every ounce of professionalism I had left. My movements were deliberate, calculated to fulfill the request without inviting further intimacy. I shifted slightly, feeling the coarse fabric of the man's trousers against my thighs, reminding myself this was just another part of the job. A performance.

My body swayed to the music, a dance of necessity rather than desire. I kept my eyes fixed on a point over the man's shoulder, detached from the reality of his gaze tracing the contour of my form. I moved with a grace that belied my inner turmoil, as he took the clip out of my hair and let my soft waves brush against his cheek, feigning a confidence I did not feel.

Each gyration was a reluctant concession, a silent plea for the song to end. I was a prisoner within my own flesh, caught in the dichotomy of needing to appease yet yearning to flee. The paradox of my circumstance played out in the fluidity with which I navigated the ordeal, the resilience of my spirit clashing with the fragility of the moment.

I continued my forced performance. Dark eyes, clouded with lust and liquor, followed every dip and sway of my body. I could feel their gazes upon me like the touch of unwelcome hands, clawing at the edges of my soul.

Time seemed to stretch and contort around me, each second bloated with the weight of hungry stares. The men at the table were a silent jury, their verdicts unspoken yet palpable in the charged atmosphere. Their anticipation was a tangible thing, thick and suffocating; it was the air before a storm, laden with the promise of unleashed desires.

My mind clawed for detachment, desperate to erect a barrier between my spirit and the role I was compelled to play. I envisioned myself elsewhere—anywhere—as my hips continued to move. With each undulation, I retreated further into the sanctuary of my thoughts, clinging to the fragments of my integrity that seemed so at odds with the persona I projected.

Memories of my small-town innocence flashed before my eyes. I imagined the warm embrace of my mother, the comforting scent of home-cooked meals, anything to anchor me to the person I truly was beneath the makeup and the facade.

"Good girl," one of the men murmured, his voice a dark ribbon winding through the smoky air.

My stomach clenched, but I gave no outward sign of the revulsion that clawed up my throat. As the song crawled to its end, I allowed the final notes to carry away the last vestiges of the moment. I stepped back, movements automatic, as if I were a marionette whose strings had been cut. My escape was a quiet rebellion, a silent assertion that they could claim my time and my service, but never my essence.

"Hey, sweetheart," the man who had ensnared me moments ago called out, his words slithering through the air with a possessive edge. "That was quite the show you put on. Worth every damn penny."

His companions erupted in a chorus of snickers and approving nods. The crude satisfaction in their faces twisted my stomach into knots. I forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach my eyes, trained to maintain the veneer of hospitality no matter the cost.

"Can I get you anything else?" My voice held a professional lilt, betraying none of the revulsion that clawed at my insides.

"Another round for us," he replied, waving an empty glass in the air. "And keep the change—you've earned it."

As I nodded and turned to fulfill the order, the weight of his lingering gaze was a tangible reminder of the line I'd been compelled to cross. My pulse thrummed, each beat a reminder of my vulnerability in this place where power was currency, and I was little more than a commodity.

I slipped into the narrow alleyway between velvet curtains, a secluded nook where the thumping bass of music softened to a dull thrum. Here, in this sliver of solitude, the club receded just enough for me to catch my breath, to feel the tremors that shook my hands now freed from prying eyes.

I leaned against the cool wall, the rough texture grounding me as I closed my eyes. A single tear traced its way down my cheek, an unbidden trespasser that marked the silent struggle raging within. I wiped it away with a fierceness that belied my calm exterior, my nails digging crescents into my palms as if to anchor myself to reality.

In the semidarkness, my breaths came slow and measured, an attempt to still the storm that swirled in my chest. The quiet corner became my confessional, where fears could be whispered and doubts laid bare. With each exhale, I let go of the lingering touches, the leering gazes, the whispers that clung to my skin like a shroud. This was a world of predators and prey, and I could not afford to be the latter.

Keep moving. One step at a time.

With one last glance the curtain fell behind me, the uneasy truth settled in my bones—the night was far from over, and the darkness was hungry. But I was not yet consumed, until his hand grabbed me.

My lungs screamed for air, each gasp cut short by the crushing pressure on my throat. The world blurred at the edges, closing in as I clawed at the ironlike fingers encircling my neck. My nails raked against unyielding skin, my efforts to loosen his grip proving futile.

Where the fuck are the bouncers? Where is Dominic?

"Please," I rasped as terror pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over. "You're hurting me."

The man's face hovered above me, a mask of indifference to my plight. My heart pounded against my rib cage, each beat a drum of panic echoing through my hollow chest. My thoughts raced, grappling with between my kindhearted nature and the cruelty that now held me captive.

I could feel the darkness of the room seeping into my bones, a reminder of the city's hidden underbelly that I'd stumbled into. Yet even as the shadows threatened to consume me, I felt the fire of resistance, refusing to succumb to the nightmare that gripped me.

The man's grip slackened, a final shudder passing through his frame before he crumpled to the ground. I stumbled backward, my breaths coming in harsh, ragged pulls. My hands were slick, smeared with a warmth that brought a chilling realization—blood, a crimson stain spreading across my skin. I stood frozen, mind grappling with the sudden stillness that replaced the violent struggle. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the echo of my own heavy breathing. Confusion clouded my thoughts, my gaze locked on the lifeless figure at my feet, trying to comprehend the abrupt end to what felt like an eternity of terror.

Without warning, the air shifted, a new presence filling the void left by the fallen man. Dominic emerged from the shadows, a specter of power and dark allure. His eyes found mine in the chaos, piercing through the confusion with an intensity that rooted me to the spot.

"Alexa," he rasped, his voice carrying the weight of command as he reached for me. His touch was firm, insistent, pulling me away from the haunting image that threatened to sear itself into my memory. I could feel the strength in his grasp, a silent promise of protection laced with an undercurrent of danger. "Are you okay? I had to take a phone call… I had no idea they would…"

My legs moved of their own accord, following his lead. Each step away from the scene felt like a descent deeper into the unknown. The air around us was thick with unspoken tension, the reality of the situation pressing down on me with an oppressive force.

Dominic's presence was both a balm and a blade, soothing in its assurance yet sharp with unasked questions. My senses were heightened, the subtle brush of his coat against my arm, the scent of his cologne mingling with the metallic tang of blood, all etching themselves into my consciousness.

The acrid scent of gunpowder hung heavy in the stale air, a testament to the violence that had just blossomed with deadly efficiency. In my peripheral vision, the slumped, lifeless bodies came into sharp focus—two men, their features frozen.

Blood, dark and viscous, pooled beneath them, seeping into the intricate weave of the carpet—a stark contrast against the opulent backdrop of the Gambino stronghold. I could feel Dominic's presence beside me, an unyielding force amid the tempest of emotions. His silence was as commanding as his voice, a palpable entity that held back the tide of panic threatening to engulf me.

The glint of polished steel caught my eye, remnants of the violent symphony orchestrated mere moments before. As I cast a wary glance at the remaining figures, shadows cloaked their expressions, rendering them unreadable. Were they loyal to Dominic or simply pawns awaiting their turn in this lethal game? My mind raced, grappling with the notion that these men, whose gazes were now fixed upon me with unnerving intensity, might just as readily turn their weapons in my direction.

Yet they remained still, statues in the court of the fallen, their loyalty an enigma wrapped in the silence that filled the room. My thoughts tangled with the fear and uncertainty that laced every breath. Dominic's proximity was the only anchor in the tumultuous sea of dread that sought to claim me, the only certainty in a world where violence unfolded with swift precision.

My eyes flickered between the unmoving bodies and the living statues that surrounded us. The good girl from the small town was far from home now, standing at the precipice of a dark abyss that yawned open before me, beckoning with a call as seductive as it was terrifying.

Dominic's fingers clamped around my arm, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled me away. The sudden force of his hold jolted me from my frozen state, dragging me through the maze of overturned chairs and shattered glass.

I stumbled in his wake, my mind a tempest of disbelief and terror, each step a battle against the chaos that threatened to drown my senses. His presence loomed behind me—a solid, relentless force propelling me forward, away from the nightmare that sprawled behind us.

The cold air of the corridor outside the room lashed against my skin, but it was the ice in Dominic's touch that sent shivers down my spine. His expression was a mask, unreadable, save for the sharp glint of urgency in his eyes that pierced through the dimly lit space.

"Keep moving," his voice cut through the haze enveloping my thoughts, low and urgent, a command that brokered no argument.

I tried to piece together the fragments of what had just transpired. My gaze darted to Dominic's profile, searching for something—anything—that might offer a semblance of comfort or explanation.

But there was none to be found. Only the hard set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders as he maneuvered me through with a swift determination.

As we descended a narrow staircase, the shadows seemed to cling to Dominic, accentuating the dark aura that surrounded him. My breaths came in short gasps, my lungs struggling against the weight of dread that settled like a cloak upon my shoulders.

Where was he taking me? What would become of me in this world where death was but a whisper away and loyalty was a currency I did not yet understand? Fear clenched at my throat, a silent scream that lodged itself between the beats of my pulse.

"Stay with me," Dominic murmured, the edge in his voice betraying the urgency of the escape. His words, meant to reassure, only served to tighten the knot of panic in my stomach.

The cold steel of Dominic's pistol glinted dully as he holstered it with practiced ease, a silent testament to the violence he wielded as deftly as breath. The sight should have repelled me, yet somewhere in the twisted corridors of my heart, I whispered a silent thanks that he had been there, that his darkness had been my salvation in this moment of chaos.

Our gazes locked, and in the chasm of Dominic's eyes, I glimpsed an inferno that threatened to consume all in its path. Yet in their depths, there was something else. His pupils were dark pools pulling me in, wordlessly vowing protection.

A bond was forged—one that was as undeniable as the blood on Dominic's hands.