Isabella's POV:

Giovanni and I were yanked from the SUV, the men's rough grips leaving no room for resistance. I didn't know where we were, but it was clear we had crossed onto the other side of Niccolo's world that he usually kept hidden from me. Giovanni walked ahead of me, his shoulders tight with tension. He spat curses in Italian at our captors, but they ignored him, dragging him toward the back entrance of a building. I decided to follow silently. If Giovanni couldn't change our fate, I certainly couldn't either.

The streets around us looked like they belonged in a post-apocalyptic movie. Crumbling buildings loomed on either side, their facades streaked with grime and neglect. The people shuffling through the area wore expressions of weariness, as though they were surviving on scraps of hope. I shivered, the reality of this place chilling me to my core. How did they afford to run a nightclub here? Or was this neighbourhood simply a front, the surrounding apartments housing Mazzini's workers and the girls?

The back door creaked as it opened, revealing a dimly lit corridor that reeked of mildew and stale air. The air buzzed with tension, thick and suffocating, pressing down on my chest. Flickering lightbulbs cast uneven shadows, their harsh light exaggerating the grime and peeling paint on the walls. Broken furniture and discarded items cluttered the space, relics of a past no one cared to clean up or claim. The faint sound of dripping water echoed in the distance, amplifying the eerie stillness. 

As we moved deeper inside, Giovanni's defiance grew louder, his curses sharp and biting, until one of the men silenced him with a hard blow to the face. The sound of the impact made me flinch, and I gasped, instinctively stepping forward, only to be yanked back by strong hands. Pain shot through my wrist, sharp and immediate, promising a bruise by morning. The metallic taste of fear filled my mouth as I bit back a cry, knowing that any resistance would only make things worse. I knew I'd have a bruise there by morning.

I stayed quiet, letting the men pull me along. Any attempt to fight back would only escalate the violence. I hated violence. I couldn't picture it. I was getting afraid I would soon have a picture of it bright in my head. One I wouldn't be able to forget for a long time. My heart raced as I tried to block out the images forming in my mind—scenarios too terrible to dwell on. The door ahead of us opened, and my eyes were immediately drawn to Niccolo.

He was seated at the far end of the room. Somehow, he was always the first person I saw in every room I entered. His eyes locked onto mine and burned holes through me. His brown eyes shifted from me to the wrist I had clasped behind me and the man who was holding me. I saw how the usually tender gaze that was reserved for me turned into a hard wooden stare that was directed at my captor. If I didn't listen to my beating heart, then maybe I could hear a sudden intake of breath behind me. 

Niccolo's gaze, which was now turned at my captor, showed me just who exactly his opponents were up to. Nothing calm or warm could be seen in his now dark and intense eyes. His whole face turned into sharp lines and edges, his whole body prepared for combat. His hands at his sides turning into fists, he clenched and unclenched them. The man behind me loosened his hold. I shifted on my feet, signalling to Niccolo that I was okay. He didn't relax; his body didn't hold back. But his eyes did land on me again. 'Maybe he wouldn't act irrationally.' A thought ran through my mind. 

The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, and the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air. Women lounged on couches lining the walls, their scanty clothing leaving little to the imagination. I instantly knew this wasn't a place where I wanted to see Niccolo. I didn't want to see him with another woman, being paid or not. A hot flash of jealousy surprised me. It was irrational, given the undefined nature of our relationship, but the feeling was there nonetheless.

I wasn't a person who caught feelings easily. But somehow, Niccolo crawled under my skin and carved a place for himself in my heart without my permission. Somewhere that was closed to the public was now being open for him. The realization struck me harder than the fear coursing through my veins. 

Niccolo's seating figure was demanding and strict. He was here on business, not for pleasure or rescuing. That much even I could see as I laid eyes on him again. My bolt of jealousy slowly faded away. He didn't even flinch when one of the girls at the back was taken to another room. He was long from the protector I had pictured him in my mind. I hoped he was better. 

But then another voice woke me up from my disapproving of Niccolo. "Bella Isabella, glad you could make it." The voice belonged to Mazzini, the beaver-like man. His smirk revealed yellowed teeth.  At that moment, I knew that Niccolo didn't have much power in this game of poker. He was a sitting duck, maybe more similar to the girls on the couches than I previously thought.

"Come here." He gestured for me to come closer, shoving a girl off his lap to make room. The man behind me released my wrist, leaving the decision in my hands. My pulse quickened, and the adrenaline and fear were masking my disdain as I calculated the implications of my next move.

If I stayed by Giovanni, it would offend Mazzini. He was armed, and I doubted he'd hesitate to use his weapon. But walking toward him felt like a betrayal of Niccolo. What did I value more—my life or Niccolo's trust?

I took a hesitant step forward, my eyes darting to Niccolo for reassurance. As I passed Niccolo's seat, his hand shot out, gripping my arm, and stopping me from making the last step.

"She's out of the picture," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Relief washed over me, though I tried not to show it. Niccolo had drawn a line, and for once, someone acknowledged how wrong this situation was. Niccolo stepped in. My heart started beating in a more normal rhythm again. I didn't want to think what would this entail for my feelings towards him.

Mazzini chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Right, right. She's yours. And I know you don't share."

Niccolo didn't respond immediately. Instead, he pulled me onto his lap, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist as if shielding me from the very air in the room. The scent of him—woodsy, familiar, and intoxicating—grounded me, calming the storm of fear coursing through my veins. His other hand held a glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it. But his focus was entirely on Mazzini, his gaze sharp and unyielding, like a predator assessing its prey. His gaze reminded me just who was next to me, just who had my back.

I put my left hand around his neck so I could get better sitting on his legs. I started moving my fingers through the back of his hair, an instinctive move. I saw his breath hitch before he relaxed a little. That was before he looked in my lap and saw my wrist, which was probably covered in hues of blue. I heard his heart speed up. I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the not-so-steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I'm okay," I whispered, hoping to calm him. But his attention remained locked on Mazzini, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. He looked at him like he was picturing a dozen different ways of torturing him.

Mazzini's eyes glinted as a wicked smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Mazzini's slimy grin widened as he looked me up and down. "If you ever decide to share, I'll be the first in line."

My breathing hitched, not from his words but from the fear of what Niccolo might do. His reputation preceded him—a man who didn't tolerate disrespect.  I knew Niccolo didn't get his bruises by letting people beat him up. No, he got them because the people who managed to get near him were lucky and were soon left in a pile of their blood.

I might have come across as naive and soft, and I was. But I also knew how the world was; I just decided not to look at the bad parts. But now I was surrounded by nothing but the bad. Niccolo included. Because now he wasn't my Niccolo anymore. He wasn't the guy that showed me the best coffee spots in Milan, or that took me to the Duomo through the back. No, now he was a ruthless killer, just waiting to act on his revenge. 

I looked around to see if anybody else was seeing what I was feeling next to Niccolo. His quest for vengeance and thirst for blood. Around me were nothing but unmoving faces. They were probably used to this pissing contest of theirs. Or to the way that women were thrown around here just for their fulfilment.

"Business Mazzini. I came here to talk business, not to participate in your gamblings with money or women." I heard Niccolo finally speak from behind me. His voice was laced with anger and barely contained resentment. Each word was deliberate, a previously thought-out decision behind them clearly fueling him. 

My eyes landed on Mazzini again. His eyes were just two slits, barely containing the anger he felt. I was relieved his attention was now back on Niccolo and away from me. 

"Yes, business. Business. But I always like to spike my business with pleasure." Mazzini's amusement faded slightly, replaced by a calculating glint in his eyes.

Niccolo tensed underneath me. He didn't like the innuendos Mazzini kept throwing at him. His hand gripping my waist tightened. 

"I know you stand behind my clubs being raided. I know Lorenzo set it up. The boy's a loose cannon, and you know it. You might keep him out of a prison cell, but a psychiatric ward is waiting for him." Mazzini said. 

"Lorenzo's doing just fine," I heard myself say. Lorenzo had always been kind to me, and I wouldn't let Mazzini drag his name through the mud.

Mazzini's glare silenced me, but Niccolo's hand on my waist steadied me. I was afraid of the anger that was pouring through it. I could feel the shallow breaths he was taking behind me. Was I the only one standing in his way of murdering Mazzini? It looked like it. 

"Like I was saying, Lorenzo is out of control. So either you call back your dog, or I will have to make my answer clear."

"And how would you do that? You work for Lorenzo's father." Niccolo beside me spoke. 

"Lorenzo is out of the equation he won't bother you anymore," Giuseppe confirmed from the side. Niccolo didn't speak but his whole body tensed further. He wasn't happy about somebody talking instead of him. I could feel his heartbeat on my back. It was hammering.

"You're working for Lorenzo's father. I would like a meeting arranged with him." Niccolo said. 

Then, he leaned forward slightly, his voice cold, "I need to make a new deal with him. As you and your Boss already know, my father died, and so now new arrangements need to be discussed. I still don't have my port privileges confirmed by Mr Rossi. I would like that to be taken care of by the end of the month." 

Mazzini across from me chuckled, "So, that was your reason for agreeing to this meeting. You want your port privileges? Well, you can have them, once you keep Lorenzo out of trouble."

Niccolo's fist hit the table making the cards and tokens for poker bounce. Fast, quick, precise like cards in hands moments from throwing them on the table Niccolo breathed out, "You'll tell your Boss to invite me to one of his parties. And you'll tell him to come up with an arrangement by then. This has been going on for too long. Are we clear?"

The men around us shifted in position. Waiting for a sign from Mazzini to take us out. I could feel Niccolo's tension as his hand was gripping my hip. I didn't want to tell him that he was hurting me because he was restraining himself. 

Mazzini's smile vanished entirely, "You're here surrounded by my men. I could wipe you out this second. You and your posse. And then I would fuck her." He gestured towards me. I kept my cool. This wasn't a place to mess with people.

Niccolo didn't flinch as his calm voice came behind me. "Then why didn't you do that already?" It was a rhetorical question. One he answered himself. 

His voice was steady, carrying a lethal calm that sent chills down my spine. "Because you know that if you so much as move an inch of my hair, you're done. You might try to kill me. You might even succeed. But we both know that before nightfall, your corpse would be lying in some ditch, while mine would be laid to rest with thousands of people mourning me."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked onto Mazzini's, exuding an air of absolute confidence. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost forming a smirk, as though daring Mazzini to test his resolve. "So think again, Mazzini. You're a pawn while I'm a king. And you're going to act accordingly, or it will be off with your head."

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Men were uncomfortably shuffling on their seats, looking between Niccolo and Mazzini. Niccolo stood up, pulling me with him. We were almost to the door when a gunshot shattered the eerily silence we found each other in mere seconds ago. 

"Cazzo," Niccolo cursed behind me. "Run, run, start the car," He shouted, shoving me in the hallway. I ran through the back the same way we came in. My heart hammered while my thoughts were wrapped around what was happening in that back room. Niccolo's shoulder wasn't getting any better, and we were outnumbered. This was probably how I would die. So I ran, that was the only sport I was good at.

The bouncer blocked my path, but Giuseppe barreled into him, knocking the unmoving wall of muscles aside. As they were fighting, I bolted for the car, throwing myself into the backseat.  'This was poor thinking on their part, what if somebody put a bomb in?' My thoughts echoed.

Giovanni was the next one to run out, Niccolo was still nowhere to be seen. My heart was on the verge of shattering. Another man with a gun stumbled out, but Giovanni's movements were quick and precise as he fought him off. He did some sort of sidekick, landing his foot straight into the guy's face. He collapsed like a bag of bones. 

The gun landed near me. Without thinking, I jumped from my car seat and grabbed the discarded weapon near my feet. With me, it would at least be safe. Nobody could use it, my mind rationalised. I hated the feel of it in my hands, hated the pressure it put on me. I held somebody's life between my hands. I could end it or let it go on. 

Giovanni looked at me, my hands gripping the gun. Before he could say anything, Niccolo came rushing out, blood staining his shirt, and Giuseppe slumped over his shoulder. He shoved him into the car, barking orders to Giovanni, "Go, go into the car." 

Giovanni ran to the driver's side and started the car. Mazzini appeared in the doorway and started running towards Niccolo. 

I aimed the gun at him, my hands trembling as the weight of it settled into my grip. My pulse thundered in my ears, every instinct screaming at me to drop it, but I couldn't. 

Mazzini froze, his smirk faltering as his gaze shifted to the barrel of the gun. I felt the room closing in, every breath laboured as my vision tunnelled on him. My voice, shaking but determined, cut through the chaos. "Don't move," I said, the words escaping before I fully registered them. 

Niccolo's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Bellissima, get in the car."

"Don't move," I repeated, my voice trembling but steady enough to hold his attention. I had the upper hand. I had his life in between my palms.

Niccolo's voice cut through the chaos. "Bellissima, get in the fucking car."

I backed toward the vehicle, my hands still gripping the gun. Niccolo pulled me inside, slamming the door shut as Giovanni hit the gas. My heart raced as the adrenaline ebbed, leaving me shaking.

I looked down at the gun in my hands.

I was still holding a gun.