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Drake retracted the knife just as quickly as he pulled it out. He was well-trained and efficient with many weapons, though he was far from an expert guardsman. Inside, the beast purred with satisfaction as a bead of blood appeared on the man’s neck.
“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to find me. It would be an honor to assist you.” The doorman pulled a tissue from his pocket and held it to the tiny spot, and practically tripped over himself to open the door for them.
“How proficient are you with a knife?” Alessandra asked, pausing just inside the door.
“I can handle my own, bella. It will become dangerous inside if I don’t flex my muscles and show them who I am. I promise to protect you. Anyone who dares to lay their hands on you better be prepared to die.”
His words hung in the air between them. They hadn’t discussed Carlo’s death, but Alessandra had seen the news reports. He was thankful she didn’t judge him or shrink away from him anymore. In fact, their marriage seemed stronger than ever.
“Why a knife and not a gun? I saw one in your office?”
“A gun is too obvious, too bulky, and the first thing everyone reaches for. A knife is more subtle and easier to hide during a frisk. I’m proficient with both. I learned a lot in Italy.”
Before they could speak further, an attendant came to greet them. She was dressed in a green velvet cocktail gown and smiled as a perfect hostess. She was the glamor before setting eyes on the depravity within. Inside, the loft apartment building was transformed into a club.
“You brought me to another BDSM club?” Alessandra hissed.
Drake’s eyes darkened. “Enzo owns this club. His office is located here. It was the only place he was willing to meet.”
Drake led her to the bar. He signaled to the bartender and slipped the man a bill. The bartender stuck it in his pocket and returned to making drinks.
“What was that about?”
“You’ll see.”
* * *
Alessandra turned on her barstool to survey the club. The ceiling was painted red with a rosebud texture. Multicolored strip lighting outlined the floor, ceiling, bar, and stages. It lacked the intimacy and sensual atmosphere of Jerry’s club.
A raised dais was erected across from the bar. A suspension ring hung from a ceiling hook. Jacks, big bois, batons, dragon tongues, and studded whips lined the back wall. Alessandra shuddered as she imagined the damage any one of those could do in the wrong hands. Maybe that was the point?
She already bore scars from her sadistic father’s belt. Her husband enjoyed impact play using assorted crops or spanking with his hand. That was enough for her; whips were a hard limit.
High tables with barstools were arranged around the stage on its other two sides for an audience. A few small stages with stripper poles peppered the wall.
Randomly placed stand-up cages held captive subs. One male was dressed in a black latex bodysuit. The only bit of flesh exposed was through the zipper for his cock to hang out. He stroked it for a couple watching him with rapt attention. Another cage held a captive sub with a ball gag in her mouth and her hands cuffed to the bars. She was rigged with a vaginal and anal hook that appeared rather uncomfortable. Alessandra didn’t see a Dom or Domme near her and assumed it was a severe punishment straight from her nightmares.
Alessandra was not a fan of cage play. She had spent enough of her life being caged. She’d even felt caged with Drake when they first married. Now that there were no more secrets between them, Alessandra felt secure and protected in Drake’s collar. She was finally sprouting wings and preparing to thrive.
She overheard something that made her gasp in shock. A sub was humiliated and flogged while thanking the Dom delivering his punishment. Alessandra thought of the self-deprecating words she had called herself weeks ago in the mirror while she spiraled out of control. The words that were branded on her soul by her father. She was thankful her husband wouldn’t subject her to that unless she asked for it. They both knew that he would never degrade her in such a way, because that wasn’t love.
Alessandra didn’t feel comfortable as a sub in Enzo’s club. She wondered if Drake had been introduced to the lifestyle through him and what darker secrets he could still be hiding.
“Time for you to go,” a man said over her shoulder, grabbing her elbow.
“Remove your fucking hand from my wife’s arm now, Lorenzo. I’m not in the fucking mood. We’re here as Enzo’s guests.”
“Fucking Drago. When will you learn?” The man spoke with a heavy accent.
The guard that Drake had identified as Guido from his past wasn’t how she’d imagined him to look. He was a staunch, middle-aged man with a hooked nose, beady eyes, and a gold tooth.
“You brought the Russo putana in here?”
His breath stank of alcohol and stale cigarettes as he practically yelled in her face. She covered her mouth with her hand as her stomach rolled.
Lorenzo yanked hard on Alessandra’s arm, wrenching her shoulder. She shrieked as he jerked her off the bar stool. Upon seeing her distress, Drake punched the man as hard as he could in the blink of an eye. Blood seeped from the man’s nose, though he seemed oblivious to it.
“Take your filthy fucking hand off her. Do not make me tell you again, Guido. The next person who touches my wife or calls her a whore won’t be walking on two legs anymore.”
