"On the contrary," Massimiliano responded calmly, maintaining the joint lock despite blood dripping from his lip. "It establishes clarity about several important points."


    The barely controlled fury in his voice carried across the now-silent space, commanding attention from everyone present, including Tatiana who was still staring at the bloody scene that had unfolded before her. She found herself momentarily transfixed and amused by his seamless transformation from businessman to mafia boss.


    "First," Massimiliano continued, applying more pressure on his joint, making Augusto grimace in pain. "Nocturne remains De Luca territory, regardless of whatever misinformation you''ve received recently. Second, disrespect has consequences—immediate and painful ones. Third," he leaned closer to Augusto’s ear, "Tatiana is off limits. To everyone. Including you."


    He released the hold with a final warning twist that sent Augusto stumbling backward, clutching his injured shoulder while attempting to maintain dignity despite his blood-soaked clothing.


    "This isn''t finished," Augusto warned, struggling to stop the bleeding from his nose.


    "It can be," Massimiliano offered reasonably, rolling down his sleeves. "Return to your territory. Explain to your father that his son made a miscalculation. Maintain the arrangements that have kept peace for a decade. Or..." his voice hardened, "you can choose to escalate. Force my hand. See how that ends for the Bianchi’s interests in Manhattan."


    The underlying threat hung in the air as Augusto calculated his options. His pride warring with self-preservation as he hesitated for a brief moment.


    Self-preservation eventually won. With a final glare that promised future consequences, Augusto gestured to his remaining companions. They departed without additional commentary, leaving behind scattered furniture, bloodstained marble, and the lingering tension of violence that was temporarily contained rather than resolved.


    As security personnel escorted remaining patrons to private exits, Massimiliano retrieved his jacket from the wide-eyed server. He shrugged it on despite the blood spatter, somehow managing to maintain his composed appearance despite his bloodied lip and emerging bruises.


    He stepped to the bar where Tatiana remained. Her expression remained neutral despite the adrenaline coursing through her system.


    Massimiliano ran his tongue over his split lip.


    Tatiana’s eyes flickered to the movement. Irritation sparked in her chest as she pressed her thighs together at the sight of his bloody, dishevelled state—absolutely hating how her body betrayed her.


    "You okay?" he asked casually as though the eruption of violence had been a minor inconvenience rather than a potential gang war catalyst.


    "I told you," she responded sharply, masking unwelcome reactions with anger, "I can handle myself. That display was unnecessary and dangerous."


    "Handling yourself against typical drunk patrons is different from handling Augusto Bianchi, Tatiana" he countered, accepting the bar towel she unconsciously extended toward his bleeding lip. "Different category of threat entirely."


    "And declaring me ''your woman''?" Her words came out with disdain. "Was that necessary for security purposes too?"


    He blinked at her question, momentarily silenced, as he pressed the towel against his lip. He held her gaze for a second longer before shrugging, "It solved the immediate problem, didn’t it?"


    "It created a new one, De Luca," she corrected sharply. "First, I''m not your possession, Massimiliano. Not your woman, not your property, not your anything. If you think otherwise, you''re delusional. Secondly, do you have any idea what you just did? You might as well have painted a target on your back—and mine. That was so irresponsibly dangerous!” She threw her hands up in frustration, barely resisting the urge to scream.


    He nodded with a smirk, as his eyes scanned the blood-covered marble of his establishment. “Right. Dangerous.” He leaned in slightly, just enough to make her heart race. "If they dare to target you, I’ll protect you. But if I’m the target, that’s my problem to deal with. Unless…” His eyes held hers, his voice carrying just enough amusement to irritate her. “You’re concerned about me?”


    “The only thing I’m concerned about is keeping my job. And that’s a little hard to do if my boss gets himself prematurely assassinated,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.


    “Right. But it doesn’t explain why you’re looking at me like that,” he said with a smirk.


    “Like what?”


    “Like you’re impressed. Like you want me like that..but in bed,” his smirk turned into a mischievous smile.


    She blinked in surprise at his audacity. "If you think throwing a few punches gets you into my bed, you''re even more delusional than I thought. Your actions tonight wasn’t impressive, Massimiliano. Like I said, it was dangerous and—" She maintained eye contact despite the unwelcome heat spreading through her body.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "If that display wasn''t impressive," he challenged, leaning closer despite the bar between them, "then why have you been staring at my lips?"


    The observation was disturbingly accurate. She forced her gaze upward, eyes narrowed as she glared at him, “Us?” She gestured with her hands between them. “Never going to happen. In your dreams Massimiliano.”


    His smile widened. "Perhaps. But dreams can be quite vivid, Tatiana."


    Before she could retort, Franco appeared beside them. His eyebrows slightly raised, his expression oscillating between concern and intrigue as he darted his eyes between Massimiliano and Tatiana.


    "Mr. De Luca, the private exit is secured. Your car is waiting. And…" he hesitated, "perhaps medical attention would be advisable?"


    "It''s superficial," Massimiliano dismissed without looking away from Tatiana. "Close for the night, Franco. Compensate the staff generously for the disruption."


    "Yes, sir." Franco retreated, leaving them alone in the increasingly empty space.


    Tatiana turned to walk away. "I''m leaving. You should get your face looked at."


    "Concerned for my welfare?"


    "Concerned for the cleanup crew dealing with your blood all over the floor," she countered. "Goodnight, Massimiliano."


    As she entered her employee elevator, she could hear his smug chuckle. If he wasn’t already battered and bruised, she’d smack some sense into him herself.


    ––––––––––


    Inside her Chelsea apartment, Tatiana paced the length of her apartment with agitation. Her heels discarded by the door where she had hastily tossed them.


    "Goddamn it," she muttered, refilling her glass with vodka.


    She had spent the cab ride home constructing rational explanations for her body''s betrayal.


    Adrenaline from proximity to violence. Simple biology mistaking danger signals for attraction markers. Physical appeal of his competence in hand-to-hand combat. Physical appeal? Physical appeal?! Her own thoughts turned against her.


    She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly through her nose. I’m sick, she thought, pressing the cool rim of the glass against her temple. Sick! None of these explanations addressed the main issue: for a brief critical moment, her body had responded genuinely to Massimiliano De Luca. The man whose family had destroyed hers. The man whose father had executed hers. The man who represented everything she had spent years preparing to dismantle.


    She walked to the bathroom to splash water on her face. Maybe that would wake her up.


    "It''s hormonal. It has to be," she informed her reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyes challenging her own image.


    Grabbing her phone, she tapped into her period tracker. Ovulation phase. The words glared at her. Her eyes narrowed. I knew it. "Ovulation makes even Neanderthals with nice suits seem temporarily appealing. Basic biology. Nothing more." But the explanation felt hollow even as she tried to rationalise it. Her reaction hadn’t been to his looks, even though, objectively, he had no right looking that good covered in blood. It was something else. It was the way he fought, the effortless control in every movement, the kind of grace that made violence look natural. He was precise, powerful, completely in his element. And then there was the way he smirked while doing it, like he was enjoying himself.


    She exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the sink as her mind replayed the fight over and over again. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the thought away. Sick. She was sick. "No. He''s Lorenzo De Luca''s son," she reminded herself sharply. "His father murdered mine. Executed him in cold blood. Kidnapped my mother. Stole everything that belonged to my family. Destroyed our legacy. And he benefits from all of it. He''s been living in luxury built on my father''s blood."


    Her phone''s vibration provided a welcomed interruption from increasingly uncomfortable self-examination. Viktor''s name appeared on the screen, perfect timing for refocusing on their actual mission.


    "Report," she answered.


    "Preparations complete for tomorrow''s operation," Viktor confirmed, his Ukrainian accent more pronounced over the connection. "All personnel in position. Surveillance confirms standard security protocols for the shipment. No unexpected variables identified."


    "Transport routes?" she questioned.


    "Confirmed. We have triple-checked the primary extraction point, everything as it should be. Medical support on standby, though we don’t anticipate any engagement requiring it. Our men at the dock are in position."


    She listened to the detailed breakdown of their planned interception of the cocaine shipment arriving tomorrow.


    "As per planning, 90% destruction maintains optimal balance between financial damage and redirected suspicion," Viktor concluded. "The remaining 10% will be distributed to fund our operations. Do you want to adjust the parameters?"


    Tatiana hesitated, her mind briefly drifting back to Massimiliano’s bloodied lips.


    "Tatiana?" Viktor asked with concern over her silence. "Do you still want to proceed as planned?"


    "Yeah." She pushed herself away from the counter as she snapped out of her daydream. “The mission remains unchanged."


    "Perfect. The teams will be in position by 2100. We’ll maintain communication blackout during execution, we’ll reconnect once it’s done. We’ll carry out the standard contingency protocols if complications develop."


    "Good. Thanks, Viktor." She ended the call.


    Tomorrow’s operation would be the first crack in his empire. The attack would begin fracturing his empire from within, draining resources, destroying trust, exposing weaknesses she''d spent years mapping.