Heir To Silence. Book 1 The Pact of Blood Series

5.

The club is alive in a way the house never is.

Bass pounds through my chest. Lights strobe across bodies packed too close together. Heat, sweat, perfume. Everything moves. Everyone wants something.

Alessia pulls me onto the dance floor and I let go.

I dance because it feels good to be anonymous. To be wanted without explanation. To move without being watched by men who know my last name.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

Halfway through the second song, Alessia goes still.

I turn, smiling, ready to tease her.

She isn’t looking at me.

She’s looking up.

“Lucia,” she says quietly, close to my ear. “Don’t look yet.”

I look anyway.

Above the crowd, tucked into a raised section of the club, he sits like he owns the air around him.

Leather seating. Low light. Men flanking him, relaxed but alert. He’s leaning back, one arm draped along the back of the seat, dark shirt open at the collar. Tattoos visible where his sleeves are rolled.

His gaze is locked on me.

Not casual. Not curious.

Intent.

The crowd parts for him without anyone realizing they’re doing it. Drinks arrive without being ordered. The club bends subtly around his presence.

I swallow.

I don’t stop dancing.

If anything, I move more deliberately. Slower. Deeper into the rhythm. I lift my arms, roll my hips, let the music pull through me like I don’t feel him watching every step.

Alessia grabs my wrist. “You’re insane.”

“I know,” I say, breathless.

A man dances up behind me. His hands hover, then settle at my waist. I let him. I feel the attention sharpen instantly, like pressure dropping in a room.

I glance up again.

His jaw tightens.

Good.

I dance through two more songs before I feel it change.

Not him moving.

The world around me shifting.

The man behind me is gone. Alessia is suddenly pressed closer to my side. The exit looks farther away than it did before.

I turn.

He’s there.

Not touching me yet. Standing close enough that I feel the heat of him, the gravity of his presence pulling everything inward.

“Come,” he says.

It isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

“I’m not finished,” I snap.

He doesn’t argue.

He reaches for me.

I try to pull back, but he’s already lifting me, one arm hooked under my legs, the other braced across my back. The world tilts suddenly.

“Put me down,” I protest, arms crossing tight over my chest as soon as my feet hit the ground outside.

He doesn’t respond.

He carries me through the club like I weigh nothing. People stare. No one stops him. No one even tries.

Outside, night air hits my skin.

He sets me down beside a black car that looks expensive enough to be obscene.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I say sharply.

“You weren’t leaving with him.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

I plant my feet. “No.”

He studies me for a moment. Then sighs, low and controlled, like patience wearing thin.

The next second, I’m airborne again.

“This is kidnapping,” I snap as he drops me into the seat.

“This is restraint,” he replies calmly, shutting the door.

The engine roars to life.

The car surges forward, fast enough to steal my breath. Streetlights blur. The city bends around speed and precision.

I cross my arms tighter, staring out the window.

“I hate you,” I mutter.

He doesn’t look at me.

He drives like it’s an extension of himself. Smooth. Aggressive. In control.

We don’t speak.

The house appears too soon.

He pulls up, kills the engine, and gets out. Opens my door.

I climb out without looking at him.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say stiffly.

“It means everything,” he replies.

I spin toward him. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment.

Then he steps back.

“Go inside,” he says quietly.

I hesitate.

Then I turn and walk toward the door without looking back.

The engine starts behind me.

By the time I reach the steps, the car is gone.