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But the second I attempt to cut him the slightest bit of slack, he dares to lean in close and place his slimy palm on my thigh. "It'sonedrink, come on.” His gaze turns from soft to hardened, like a darker version of this man could appear at any moment.
“Remove your hand from my leg,” I say through gritted teeth, my stare focused on him, my hand slowly creeping toward my clutch on the bar, where a knife is tucked inside.
Stabbing a random dude in this upscale bar wasn't my idea of how this night would go, but if I've learned anything in all my years, it's that sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. Another day, another bar, another innocent girl won't have the chance to stand up for herself, and when that day comes, I want this fucking creep to remember the fierce redhead that shoved a knife into his thigh. I want to be the reason he questions ever laying a hand on someone else ever again.
But before I can react, a large figure latches onto Colton’s throat, picking him up from his seat and slamming him into the bar.
With their hand still tightly around Colton’s neck, they look over at me. “Are you okay?”
“Y-y-yeah.” I stare up at the man’s face, in awe at seeing it so up close and personal.
A scar trails his forehead, across his eye, and down to his cheek. Dark, brown eyes, the color deep enough to be mistaken for black. A five-o-clock shadow speckled with salt and pepper shades. He's more beautiful than I imagined he'd be, and that alone sends my heart rate through the roof.
“Do you know this man?” the gorgeous older man asks me.
“No,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He turns his attention to Colton, who has his hands wrapped around this guy’s forearm, desperate to pry himself free of his hold.
My gaze flits around the room, noticing how no one pays us a significant amount of attention. Even the barkeep goes about her business and fills a customer’s mug with draft beer.
Shouldn’t someone do something? Clearly, Colton is being assaulted, but not a single person comes to his defense.
The man grips Colton’s neck tighter and leans in. “You do not touch what is not yours. You do not step foot in this bar, this hotel, on this fucking side of town, ever again. And if you ever lay a finger on another woman without her consent, I will fucking hunt you down and gut you like the pig you are. Do you fucking hear me?”
My eyes go wide, my heart pattering harder and harder.
Colton nods despite being pinned into place, tears trickling down both of his cheeks.
The man shoves Colton to the side and straightens his own jacket. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”
Colton scurries off, tripping over chairs and customers as he frantically tries to get away as quickly as possible.
Finally, like a fucking eternity later, the man turns around to face me. “Are you okay?” His voice is thick and gravely, but with a sort of strange smoothness to it.
I blink, once, then twice. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
“Are you here with someone?” he asks when I don’t say anything.
Slowly, I shake my head back and forth.
He points to my martini. “Is that yours?”
Even slower, I bob my head up and down. Is this what I’ve diminished to—non-verbal communication?
“Rosita,” he raises his voice to call out to the barkeep. “Put that on my tab.” He latches onto my drink, holding it with a bizarre gentleness despite his recent exchange with Colton. “Come with me.”
Against my better judgment, I stand, following him away from the bar and into a little corner booth that's tucked away from prying eyes, but gives him the perfect view of everyone in this place. It’s no wonder I hadn’t noticed him yet, he was in my blind spot. But to him, he must have witnessed my every move from the second I stepped foot in here.
“Have you eaten?” He motions for me to sit, then slides into the spot across from me. “Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.” He extends his hand, the same one that was wrapped around Colton’s throat only moments prior. “Savini. Lorenzo Savini.”
A laugh bubbles up and out of my chest. “I’m sorry.” I clasp my palm over my mouth but then remove it to place it in his. “The way you said it, it reminded me of ‘Bond, James Bond.’” I enunciate the words like I’m imitating a man’s voice. How did I go from not saying a word to mocking him? Not exactly the best way to start this interaction. But I guess him almost murdering a man for touching me isn’t ideal either.
Nor was it expected. Savini is the man that killed my brother, but now he's also the man that defended my honor and saved me from having to stab a dude in public. The outcome of the latter no doubt causing much more trouble than what he had done. The people in this place seem to collectively fear Savini, which only confirms what I already suspected of him.
He’s a bad man. A killer. A criminal. Him coming to my aid doesn’t change that.
“A few similarities maybe, but I’d like to think I dress better.” Savini adjusts his cufflinks.
