The night at the casino felt wrong from the moment I stepped inside.
Too many dangerous men.
Too many eyes watching everything.
I tried to focus on my job—setting the tables, arranging chips, keeping my head down—but my hands kept shaking. I prayed he wouldn't come tonight.
But deep down, I knew he would.
And he did.
The room shifted the moment he walked in.
Men straightened their backs.
Voices lowered.
Fear spread like cold wind.
Marco.
He didn't look around.
He didn't greet anyone.
His eyes locked on me like he had been searching from the moment he entered.
My breath caught in my throat. I turned quickly, pretending I didn't notice him, but my body felt his presence like heat pressing against my skin.
Romano was beside him whispering something, but Marco didn't answer. He kept staring at me—studying me like I was something he wasn't supposed to want but couldn't ignore.
I moved to the far side of the table, hoping to disappear.
Then—
A crash.
A shout.
A gun pulled.
"CHEATER!"
Before I could scream, the gun went off.
Everyone ducked—except him.
Someone grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down behind a tall marble pillar. My heart hammered against my ribs as I tried to breathe.
I looked up.
Marco was kneeling in front of me, one hand on my waist, shielding my whole body with his.
"Stay down," he murmured. His voice was calm—too calm.
Another shot fired, and I covered my ears.
Romano shouted for the guards, men rushed into the room, dragging the two shooters out. But Marco didn't move. He stayed in front of me until the chaos died.
Only then did he stand and look down at me.
"You're shaking," he said, voice low.
"I—I'm fine," I whispered, even though we both knew it was a lie.
He extended his hand.
I hesitated… then took it.
His grip was strong, warm, steady. It scared me more than the gunshot.
"You're leaving," he said.
"I still have work—"
"No."
That one word shut down every argument in my head.
He guided me out of the casino, ignoring everyone staring at us. Romano followed silently, confused but not daring to question his boss.
Outside, a black car waited. Marco opened the back door for me.
"Get in, Zara."
My name in his mouth did something to my stomach. Not butterflies—fear. A dangerous type of fear that felt too close to something else.
"I can walk home—"
"And if someone follows you?"
His eyes darkened.
"Get in."
I obeyed.
The drive was silent except for my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Marco didn't look at me, but I could feel his presence filling the whole car.
When we reached my house, he stepped out before I could touch the door.
He opened it for me.
"Come here," he said.
I froze.
Slowly, I stepped closer. He adjusted the jacket around my shoulders that I didn't even remember him putting on me.
"You're not safe out here anymore."
My chest tightened. "Because of the men from last night?"
"No," he said softly.
"Because I've taken interest in you. And that… makes you a target."
I stared at him, unable to form words.
His fingers brushed my cheek lightly—too lightly for someone like him.
"Go inside, Zara."
I turned, but before I reached the door—
"Zara."
I looked back.
His eyes were darker than the night.
"Next time you're in danger," he said quietly,
"You run to me. Not away."
My heart stopped.
He got back into the car and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me standing there with his jacket around my shoulders and a storm inside my chest.