Spoiled By the Don I Fear

It wasn’t often that Doctor Talana Fabrizio let herself unwind. Tonight, however, she had made a rare promise, to her colleagues and to herself, that she’d let loose, even if just for a few hours.

Outside the club, neon lights bled across the wet pavement, glowing red and violet against the slick black of the city street. The night pulsed with music, laughter, and sin. She smoothed down her short red strappy dress, the fabric hugging her curves like second skin. Her shimmering black stockings gleamed faintly under the light, heels clicking with confidence that didn’t quite reach her heart.

As Talana stepped inside, the bass thudded through her chest. The scent of whiskey, perfume, and smoke hung thick in the air. Her colleagues, two doctors and a nurse, waved her over from a booth tucked in the corner. She smiled faintly and began walking toward them, that was until she felt eyes luring over her.

That stare was hot, heavy and magnetic. The kind of gaze that peeled back layers, undressing you, and leaving you naked, that stare that set nerves aflame.

Though she tried to avoid looking in the direction, there was something drawing her to give the person attention, and that’s when she saw him.

Massimo Morelli, sitting alone, a tall glass of whiskey in hand, his forearms resting on the table, cords of muscle shifting under a snug black T-shirt, tattoos curling like whispers of sin down his arms. His hair, dark and unruly, framed a face that could ruin a saint. Sharp jaw. Full mouth. Eyes were deep blue, like smoke and lightning, yet unreadable.

When her eyes met his, the club’s noise dulled to nothing. The world shrank to just the two of them, her pulse, his stare, and the invisible pull between predator and prey.

“Talana! Over here!” one of her colleagues called out, breaking the spell.

She blinked, forcing herself to breathe again, and hurried to the table. “Sorry, got lost for a second,” she said, pretending not to notice that her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her drink.

“Girl, that man over there has been watching you since you walked in,” the nurse whispered.

Talana pretended to laugh it off, taking a sip of her wine. “Probably just bored.”

But he wasn’t bored. He was waiting for the right time. Minutes later, the shadow of a man loomed beside her. The bass faded. The scent of spice, tobacco, and danger filled her lungs.

“Care to dance?” a deep voice murmured by her ear, low, confident and soaked in authority.

She froze. Slowly, she looked up, only to see that it was him, the man who was making her pulse race. His smirk was lazy but lethal. “You’ve been avoiding my eyes, doc,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

Before she could think, her colleague nudged her beneath the table. “Go, Fabrizio, live a little.”

Talana hesitated, then placed her hand in his. “Alright. One dance.”

His hand dwarfed hers, warm and firm, guiding her through the crowd like he owned the air she breathed. When he pulled her onto the dance floor, the rhythm swallowed them whole. His body moved with unshakable control, a blend of grace and raw power.

“I'm Max,” he said, his lips inches from hers.

“Talana,” she replied softly.

“I know,” he murmured. “You’re the doctor who fixes bones but breaks hearts.”

Her breath hitched. “How do you...?”

“I pay attention,” he cut in, spinning her in a fluid motion, his arm locking around her waist as her back met his chest, “you should have more nights like this, angel.”

That word, angel, rolled off his tongue like sin made holy. For a heartbeat, she let herself drown in the pulse of the music, in the warmth of his hand resting at her hip, in the way his voice felt like a dark promise. Then, as quickly as it started, she stepped away. “I need a drink.”

He let her go, eyes tracking her every move.

She could still feel them burning into her from across the room.

Minutes later, as she adjusted her lipstick in the mirror of the ladies’ room, the door creaked open.

“Occupied,” she called out without looking.

The reply wasn’t words, just the sour stench of alcohol and a sudden grip at her arm. “Such a little whore,” the man hissed, slamming her back against the wall. His breath was rancid, his eyes glazed. “I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Let go of me!” Talana cried, struggling against him, panic surging like fire through her veins.

His hand clawed at her thigh, shoving the hem of her dress higher. Talana screamed. That scream changed everything. The door exploded open, a blur of muscle and fury crashed into the attacker, ripping him away from her.

“You touch her again and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body!” Massimo’s voice roared like thunder as his fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

He turned, his expression softening as he saw her trembling in the corner. “Hey…” His voice dropped to a whisper, rough but careful, “are you hurt, angel? Did he...”

She shook her head, words caught in her throat. “I... I’m okay.”

He pulled her gently into his arms, his heartbeat steady against her cheek. “It’s alright now. I’ve got you.” And in that single embrace, something shifted. Protection, possession and a promise she didn’t quite understand yet.

Massimo glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man, his jaw tightening. “No one touches what’s mine,” he muttered under his breath.

Talana didn’t hear him, but the night did. Outside, thunder rumbled somewhere distant, as if the city itself knew that this was how everything began, with a red dress, a dangerous man, and a single promise written in blood and smoke.

Walking back to their respective tables, Massimo's body was a dangerous weight behind her, yet grounding her, offering the promise of safety amid the chaos of the night. His cigarette rested between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily as if daring her to breathe it in. Talana couldn’t help but notice it.