Chapter 7 - Stranger In The Club

The deeper I walked into La Volpe Rossa, the more the air changed.

Perfume, cigar smoke, sex, and money all tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Girls in nothing but diamond-encrusted lingerie carried thousand-euro bottles on silver trays.

A man in a tux had a woman bent over a roulette table, her dress around her waist, and her moans swallowed by the music.

In one dark corner, two men played snooker while a third fucked a girl against the wall, slow and shameless, like it was part of the game.

My pulse was everywhere—my throat, wrists, between my legs.

“Lucia!”

We turned, and a tall man with soft brown curls and sharp cheekbones stepped out from a group near the stairs.

Lucia lit up in a way she hadn’t all night.

“Riccardo!”

He kissed her cheek—both sides—and then looked at me with curiosity.

“And who is this beautiful creature?”

“Bella,” Lucia said, looping her arm around my waist. “My best friend. Be nice.”

Riccardo smirked. “Always.”

He walked up to me, took my hand and kissed the back of my palm. “Hi.” He said.

“Oh, hi,” I replied nervously.

“If you don’t mind. I wanna…steal your friend for a bit. Lucia…can we have a minute?” He asked her.

Something in his eyes turned dark.

She turned to me, eyes sparkling.

“Give me five minutes. Have fun, okay?”

She disappeared into the crowd before I could answer.

And I was alone.

**********

The Mendoza mansion was far too quiet for the hour.

Too still. Too tense.

Alejandro Mendoza stormed across his study, the heel of his palm hitting the edge of the desk hard enough to rattle the glass table.

“She ran.” His voice cracked like a whip. “She ran

out of my house. How dare that child?”

“Calm down,” Bianca said. “You need to relax, this stress isn’t good for you.”

Rafael stood near the doorway, jaw tight. He’d been dragged out of bed the second Alejandro realised Bella wasn’t within his reach..

“You pushed her too far, Papa,” Rafael said carefully. “She just got home—”

“She owes this family loyalty!” Alejandro roared, pacing like a caged bull. “Romano will tear us apart if this marriage falls through. Do you understand that? Do you even begin to—”

“She’s not livestock,” Rafael snapped. “You can’t keep treating her like—”

“Shut your mouth.” Alejandro snapped.

“Can we not do this, not tonight?” Bianca chipped in.

The room went deathly silent.

Rafael swallowed and stepped back, hands raised slightly. “I’ll call her. Let me try.”

Alejandro’s jaw clenched so tight his temple twitched.

“Tell her to come home. Now. If she’s not through that door in thirty minutes, I swear—”

Rafael didn’t wait to hear the rest. He slipped out into the hallway, pulling out his phone as soon as he was out of his father’s line of fire.

He dialled Bella.

Once… twice… and finally she picked up.

“Where the hell are you?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Dad’s losing it. He’s—Bella, he’s out for blood.”

Her voice came through the speaker, muffled club music thumping behind her.

“I’m not coming home,” she said firmly. “Not tonight.”

“Bella, be serious—”

“No, Rafael. For once, I’m doing something for myself. I’ll come back when I want to.”

“Bella—”

The line went dead.

Rafael stared at his screen, exhaling shakily.

He already knew this was going to explode.

He just didn’t know how violently.

**********

I put my phone off as soon as I hung up the call with Raf. I could feel the weight of my father’s anger pressing down from all the way here, but I didn’t care. Not tonight. I’ll deal with his wrath later.

I wandered over to the pool table, my heels clicking on the floor, the silk of my dress brushed my legs. I picked up the cue, positioned it, and took a shot.

The ball rolled lazily, clacking against another and… nothing, I missed.

I let out a breath, repositioned, and tried once more—still nothing. My focus was shot, my hands trembling from the adrenaline and nerves.

“New at this?” a voice said behind me, low, smooth, and threaded with amusement.

I spun around. My breath hitched. Green eyes—piercing, dangerous, impossibly sharp—locked onto mine. The same man I’d seen outside, the one in white, the one whose presence had made the air thicken.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair slicked back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and a look that promised trouble at every angle. Handsomeness and danger wrapped into one lethal package.

“Yes… I am,” I admitted finally, my voice small.

“I could tell,” he said with a grin. “Here, let me show you.”

He stepped behind me. Close enough that I felt the heat of his body, not quite touching.

“Can I put my hands on you?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I nodded.

His palm settled on my waist—firm and possessive—then slid up slowly, guiding my torso into position. His other hand closed over mine on the cue, long fingers wrapping around mine completely.

“Breathe out,” he murmured against my ear. “Then push.”

I did.

The white ball cracked against the red in a perfect line, the ball dropping into the pocket with a soft thud.

I spun around, laughing like an idiot. “I did it!”

He clapped, a slow, approving smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nicely done.”

“One drink for the lady, please,” he called.

A waiter appeared instantly with two glasses of something dark and expensive.

“So,” he started. “What’s the name?”

“Only if you tell me yours first.” I smiled.

“I can bet a billion dollars that you already know my name.” He said, unsurprised.

He was right. I did. I had heard it from Lucia. And every other person who seemed to be interested in the talk of Italy’s most feared mafia lord.

But for some reason, I wanted to hear him say it.

“My name’s Bella,” I said softly. “Isabella.”

“Isabella.” He said slowly, as if trying to savour the name. “I’m not one to judge but you don’t look like you’re used to this.” He said gesturing to the surroundings.

“No. But I needed a night out, and my friend suggested.”

“Your friend must be…one of a kind.” He said as if he were wary.

“She can be a handful.” I giggled, downing my drink in one gulp. “Can I have another?” I asked the bartender.

Zayden raised his brows in surprise. “Rough night?”

“You can say that.” I sniffed.

He looked at me like a wounded puppy.

“I’ll tell you my name if you spill.” He smirked.

And so I did. I told him how I ran away for love three years ago, how I gave up my entire life because of someone who didn’t love me enough to keep his dick in his pants.

How I got betrayed by my father and how I’m made to marry someone I don’t know.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded like he could relate.

By the time I was done. He took in a deep breath.

“Well, that’s a lot Bella. I’m sorry.”

“It’s your turn,” I said. “Your name.”

“Okay. Okay. Since that is so important.” he paused. I’m Zayden. Zayden Rom—“

“Zayden!” A loud voice called out to him before he could complete it.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, lifting a finger.

He stepped away to meet a man briefly, their conversation short, clipped, business-like. Every word felt like it carried weight, like a storm hovering just out of sight. A few nods, a sharp smile, and just like that, he was back at my side.

“I’m sorry about that,” he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets. “The men are heading home soon.”

He looked around, like he was trying to decide whether or not to ask me something and then —“If you don’t mind—” He paused, gaze locking onto mine, piercing like a blade.

Something about the way he looked at me made my chest tighten. It was more than curiosity. It was a claim, a weight I couldn’t ignore.

Then he leaned closer, thumb brushing the bare skin of my lower back through the thin satin of my dress. The heat of him pressed into me, and my breath hitched.

“Come home with me.”