The clink of glass, low thud of music, and scent of cheap cologne filled the air like smoke at The Moonlight Bar—a small, lively dive at the edge of a restless city. Outside, a red neon sign blinked like a lazy heartbeat, casting a bloody glow over the sidewalk.
Behind the counter stood Rose—twenty-three, breathtaking, broke.
Her name was soft, but she was anything but.
She had the kind of beauty that didn't just turn heads—it silenced rooms. Almond-shaped eyes like roasted coffee, full lips that curved like secrets, and skin sun-kissed to a golden bronze. A waterfall of dark curls framed her tired, defiant face.
But it wasn't her beauty that kept her alive here. It was her mind.
She remembered every drink, every lie, every story poured into a whiskey glass.
She didn't trust easily, but she understood people—how to charm them, read them, survive them.
"Another round, Rose?" slurred a businessman, wobbling on his stool.
She smiled, smooth and professional. "Neat or on the rocks?"
"Just like you. Neat... and dangerous."
Rose smirked as she poured his drink, ignoring the crawl of his eyes down her blouse. Same story, different face. They looked, but none of them really saw her. Not the way she needed.
---
By midnight, the crowd had thinned. The bar had exhaled.
She untied her apron, rolled her shoulders, and stepped into the quiet night.
The air was crisp. The city lights flickered like broken stars.
She crossed the road without thinking.
Then—
Headlights.
Too close.
Too fast.
A screech.
A scream.
Impact.
The world twisted.
Then black.
---
Rose woke to soft light and the antiseptic smell of a hospital.
Pain hugged her ribs like a vice. Her limbs felt weighted.
She blinked against the brightness.
"Easy," said a voice—smooth, low, and deadly calm.
She turned her head—and froze.
A man stood at her bedside.
Not just a man—a god of danger.
Black tailored suit, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
A scar cutting through one brow. Icy blue eyes that could slice through steel.
He looked at her like he wasn't sure whether to apologize... or devour her.
"I didn't mean to hit you," he said. "You ran into the road. But... I brought you here. Paid for everything. You'll live."
She stared, dazed.
"Who are you?" she rasped.
He paused. Then, calmly: "Luca Moretti."
Her breath hitched.
The name. The Moretti name.
She'd heard whispers. Mafia. Underground. Untouchable.
"I'm Rose," she said, her voice a thread.
He nodded once. "Fitting."
A silence bloomed between them.
"What do you want from me?" she asked quietly.
His expression didn't shift. But his eyes lingered on her lips... too long.
"Nothing," he said. "You're just a bar girl who crossed my path. That's all this is."
But it wasn't.
She saw it in his eyes.
And felt it in hers.
This wasn't nothing.
This was the beginning.
Of something dangerous.
Of something irreversible.
Of something that might just break them both.
---
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