Lily
"Mi sa che ti sei perso." (you seem to be lost baby)
The deep voice rolled over me like slow thunder. I froze, then turned toward the sound, my eyes immediately drowning in the man standing not too far from me.
He was tall, intimidatingly so, with broad shoulders and the lazy confidence of someone who had never been told no and had never needed to ask twice. He moved like the world bent just a little out of respect, like space itself parted for him without resistance. His hair was dark and thick, brushed back carelessly, as though his fingers had just run through it moments ago.
My gaze traveled upward without permission.
A straight Roman nose, sharp and commanding. A sculpted jaw perpetually dusted with evening shadow. Lips—dangerous lips—that curved into a knowing smile, one that promised trouble without ever asking for consent.
But it was his eyes that held me captive.
Deep espresso-brown. Slow. Assessing. Calm in a way that spoke of power, of control, of a man who did not chase because everything eventually came to him. They held me the way a predator studies its prey, not hungry, not rushed, just certain.
My eyes drifted lower.
A tailored Italian suit clung to him perfectly, expensive in a way that didn't scream for attention. When he stepped closer, I caught his scent, leather, spice, and something darker, something intoxicatingly expensive. Success. Danger. Control.
I sighed, irritation bubbling beneath my daze. I was not in the mood for whatever the hell he had just said.
He only smiled lazily and slid into the seat beside me, uninvited but unbothered.
"My name is Lorenzo Castellano," he said, his baritone voice smooth and unhurried as he sat far too close for comfort.
"My name is leave me the fuck alone," I whispered sharply.
I wasn't in the mood for boys, handsome or otherwise. They were all the same. Liars wrapped in pretty faces.
"Easy now, amore," (easy now love) he chuckled softly. "This is a club. Don't expect that nobody will talk to you. If not me, then somebody else will."
I glanced at him, and to my annoyance, I knew he was right. With a quiet exhale, I decided to let him stay. It was better a handsome man with an accent sat beside me than some loud, drunken idiot.
Worst case? I would ignore him.
On another note… I really needed someone to vent to.
"Italian," I muttered, turning my attention back to my drink.
"What gave it away?" he asked, amused.
"The sentence you opened with. Your accent. And your attire," I said, gesturing vaguely at him like I was stating the obvious.
He smiled, nodding once. Then he beckoned the bartender and ordered himself a drink.
"Bad day?" he asked casually.
"It should be classified as the worst," I replied bitterly. "Bad doesn't cut it."
"I see," he said, swirling his drink slowly, his eyes never leaving the glass. "Is it really that bad?"
My vision blurred again as I nodded.
"Why not tell me everything over drinks?" he offered. "Maybe your heart will loosen up."
I eyed him suspiciously. He chuckled, one side of his lips lifting.
"What do you have to lose? I'm a stranger. The chances of us meeting again are slim." He shrugged. "And a little birdie once told me a problem shared is half solved."
I studied him for a moment before nodding. He was right. I was already in a club, already drinking. And I definitely wasn't going to see him again after tonight.
"Shall we?" he asked, extending his hand.
I hesitated, then took it.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To the VIP section," he replied smoothly. "Away from prying eyes."
As he led me away, I noticed the stares. Too many of them. Curious. Cautious. Almost… reverent. Something flickered in their eyes, something I couldn't place.
"Pay them no mind," Lorenzo murmured.
My fingers tightened around his palm instinctively as he guided me forward.
The club itself was upscale, but the VIP section was pure luxury. Plush sofas shimmered beneath soft lights. The fabric beneath my fingers was smooth, decadent. A private wine cabinet stood to the side, stocked with bottles that looked more like art than alcohol.
Soft lighting bathed the space, making everything feel intimate. Dangerous.
"What would you like?" he asked.
"Anything strong," I repeated, the same order I had given earlier.
"First time drinking?" he asked, studying me.
I nodded.
"Then we start slow," he said, pouring two martinis. He handed me one, lifting his own. I clinked my glass against his and drank.
He watched me quietly, taking slow, measured sips of his own.
I glanced toward what should have been the dance floor and frowned. No one was dancing. Instead, bodies pressed together openly, couples making out without shame while sensual music played.
"What kind of club is this?" I asked.
"The kind you'd enjoy later," he replied calmly.
"Not today."
I nodded, choosing not to press.
We drank in silence. I poured myself more, trying my best to numb my pain. Soon, warmth spread through me, my thoughts hazy.
"You're handsome," I blurted suddenly.
"I know," he replied easily.
In my drunken haze, his smile looked delicious
"Too bad I'll never like a boy again," I slurred. "If not, I would've liked you."
"Is that so?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Why are you here, amore?" he asked softly. "You don't seem like someone who would enjoy this place."
That question broke me.
I burst into tears, words spilling out between sobs. I told him everything—slurring, rambling, pouring out my pain like poison I had been holding too long. He listened without interrupting, without judgment.
When I finished, he spoke quietly. "May I give you a hug? I think you need it."
I nodded.
I stepped closer, and before I realized it, he lifted me effortlessly onto his lap. I protested weakly, but he hushed me, one hand rubbing slow circles against my back.
"He's a fool," Lorenzo murmured. "A fool for not seeing what he lost."
Comfort wrapped around me in a way I hadn't expected.
Then a wild thought crossed my mind.
"You have beautiful lips," I giggled.
"Do I?" he asked.
"Can I kiss you?" I blurted, then hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—just that…"
He chuckled softly. "Just that what?"
"I've never really kissed before," I admitted. "And since my boyfriend cheated… why hold back?"
"Is that why you want to kiss me?" he asked suddenly.
I shook my head. "No. I just think your lips are beautiful. Teach me how to kiss, then we can say goodbye."
"Alright," he agreed.
Before I could think, he took control. His fingers lifted my chin, drawing me closer until his lips claimed mine.
"Close your eyes," he murmured.
I obeyed.
His lips were warm, slow at first. I tasted alcohol, danger, and something intoxicating. The kiss deepened, turning demanding. I gasped, and he slipped his tongue into my mouth, exploring until I started gasping for breath.
When he finally pulled away, I was gasping, dizzy, and utterly undone, not sure if he actually teached me or he just kissed me for himself