"I came for one drink. I left with the devil's attention."
*********
The last class of the day had been the most exciting part and not in a good way. Alessia couldn't wait for it to end. It felt like she'd spent the entire day in school because time was dragging, and she hated that.
The moment the bell rang, she sprang from her seat and made her way to the teacher's room. She'd been called in, and she had a pretty good idea why.
After attending the school's disciplinary committee twice already, Alessia knew the next time might be the final straw. She wasn't looking to cause more trouble, at least, not if she wanted to graduate. Her plan was simple: get decent grades, graduate, work for a while, and then maybe go to college.
Her homeroom teacher had requested to see her before she left, so she had no choice but to go there first.
As she approached the door, she caught a glimpse of the nameplate being installed and couldn't help but wonder when she'd be like that—like them.
Yes, she wanted to be a teacher.
The vice principal once joked that she'd be a "gangster teacher," but she had every intention of proving him wrong. That meant being a good student. No more nonsense.
She slid the door open and headed straight for her homeroom teacher's desk, avoiding everyone else in the room. Mr. Brandon's face was already twisted with fury. Without a word, he slammed a paper onto the desk in front of her.
It was her midterm test result and it was bad.
That was her reality. Alessia had never been the smartest student in the class, but she still dreamed of becoming a teacher.
"You need to work on these," Mr. Brandon barked, pointing at the paper. "If not, you might not graduate with the rest of your friends."
The smell of old books filled her nostrils as she stood there, trying to absorb what he'd just said. A lump formed in her throat.
But her mind was already drifting. She needed to meet Champagne before heading to her part-time job. Without another word, she turned and rushed toward the school gate, ignoring her teacher's shouts behind her.
Champagne, her best friend was one of the top students in class. She loved studying and even hosted study groups. But the groups didn't last long. She'd been bullied by students who didn't care for studying. Every time she tried, they beat her until Alessia stepped in.
That was how their friendship began.
Alessia ran as fast as her legs could carry her, hoping to catch Champagne before she left, but it seemed she was already gone. Slowing to a walk, she pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. A new message popped up:
"Don't forget tonight's party. I will be early to pick you up. So wear something pretty."
Alessia stared at her phone for a moment, then blew out a breath. She's only interested in the party.
She slammed the restaurant door shut with a loud bang. It was almost 9 p.m., and the chicken shop had finally closed for the day. Her feet ached, and she was exhausted. The scent of fried grease still clung to her clothes. Pulling her hoodie tighter, she tried to block out the night air. Her brightly coloured hair peeked out beneath the hood.
"Hey, Allie!"
She turned. Champagne bounced toward her, all grins and energy, like someone who hadn't just spent hours on her feet. She was dressed for the night—tight black jeans, smoky eye makeup, and her hair done in a perfect bun. As always, she looked stunning.
"Don't even start," Alessia warned, already knowing what was coming.
"Come on! Just one night. You promised."
"I promised I'd think about it," she muttered.
"And you have thought about it," Champagne shot back with a smirk. "Now it's time to put on some makeup and change into something sexy. Club Cocktail Collective just reopened. Exclusive night. Free drinks for the girls. Please, Allie."
Alessia hesitated. She had been trying to avoid anything that might mess up school, her job, or worse delay her plan to pay off her father's debt. But Champagne's hopeful expression was hard to resist.
She exhaled, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Fine. One hour. Then I'm gone."
********
The club was packed. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and cologne. Lights strobed across the dance floor, making everything look surreal. Waitresses wove through the crowd in tiny dresses, balancing trays of drinks.
It was chaotic. It was loud. It shimmered like a nightmare.
Alessia grabbed a too-sweet drink from a passing waitress and tossed it back. The burn down her throat didn't even faze her. The cold glass felt slick in her hands. This was what she needed. Another shot followed. And another. She and Champagne danced and drank like they didn't have a care in the world.
Until a scream sliced through the music.
A shout followed. Alessia turned, and at the back of the club, a man had another pinned against the wall. Blood dripped down the pinned man's face. The larger one, covered in tattoos that climbed up his neck, held him with terrifying ease.
The lights flashed across his face, making him look otherworldly.
"Is that...?" Champagne whispered, grabbing Alessia's arm. "That's Enrico Rossetti."
"Who?" Alessia asked, eyes narrowing.
"Enrico. The dangerous mafia guy. He's called 'Untouchable.' No one messes with him and comes back the same. Rumor says he's the devil himself no emotions."
Alessia smirked. "Maybe he'll find one tonight."
Before Champagne could stop her, Alessia stalked forward, shoving through the stunned crowd. The music dulled in her ears as she approached him. Just as he raised his hand to strike again, she grabbed his wrist.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouted, loud enough to be heard over the pounding bass.
Everything froze. Phones were out. People were recording.
Enrico turned slowly, removing her hand from his wrist with deliberate force. His eyes studied her, cold and amused.
"Excuse me?"
The man he had pinned stumbled away, coughing and clutching his throat.
"This isn't your turf," Alessia said, standing firm. "You don't get to play king here."
He stepped closer. She could smell the smoke and spice in his cologne.
"And who exactly do you think you're talking to?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
She tilted her chin up. "Someone who thinks you need to learn boundaries."
The club held its breath.
Then he laughed.
It was a deep, genuine sound that did something strange to her stomach.
"You're either very brave," he said, "or very stupid."
"I've been called worse," she shot back. "By better people."
They stared at each other. Then he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"I'll remember you, love."