The Amber Drink On The White Plate Left Untouched As The Hand Gripped My Wrist...

The amber liquid in the glass beside my untouched steak seemed to catch every harsh angle of the restaurant's overhead lighting. My skin burned where Liam’s fingers had locked around my wrist, tightening until the bones felt ground together. I pulled back, my shoulder blades pressing hard against the leather booth, but he didn't budge. His black button-down shirt was creased at the collar, framing a face twisted into that familiar, terrifying mask of entitled fury.

"You're going to sit down and listen because you owe me that," Liam hissed, leaning so far across the white tablecloth that the silverware rattled against the porcelain plate.

"Let go of me," I whispered back, my voice shaking despite every effort to keep it steady. The restaurant around us was dim, filled with the murmur of upscale diners and the clinking of crystal, yet our small corner felt sealed inside a vacuum of suffocating pressure. My black purse strap slipped off my shoulder, pooling in my lap like dead weight. I stared at his knuckles, white and bulging with strain, feeling the humiliation burn hotter than the fear.

A shadow fell over the table. The geometric patterns of the ceiling lights shifted as a tall figure stopped beside our booth.

Liam snapped his head back, his jaw clenching as he looked up at the intruder. "Do you mind? We're having a private conversation."

The man standing there was impeccably dressed in a light grey suit jacket thrown over a black shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal the dark, intricate edge of a chest tattoo creeping up his collarbone. It was Victor Russo. His expression wasn't angry; it was entirely devoid of warmth, carved from ice and absolute authority. He looked down at Liam's hand clamped around my wrist with a gaze so cold it made the air in the room drop ten degrees.

"Remove your hand from her wrist. Now," Victor said. His voice was low, rhythmic, and carried an undeniable finality that cut straight through Liam's bluster.

Liam hesitated, his fingers twitching against my skin as his eyes darted from Victor's calm face to the heavy gold ring on Victor's right hand. Slowly, contemptuously, Liam loosened his grip and shoved my arm back against the table.

"This doesn't concern you," Liam muttered, though he straightened up, suddenly aware of the eyes turning toward our booth from neighboring tables.

Victor didn't blink. He reached into his grey suit jacket, withdrew a small, dark card, and slid it smoothly across the pristine tablecloth, right past my wine glass. Without breaking eye contact with Liam, Victor spoke without raising his voice an inch. "She said let go. Walk away before I make it permanent."

Liam sneered, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the booth, and muttered an obscenity before turning on his heel and stalking toward the exit. I sat frozen, my chest heaving, staring down at the card resting beside my plate. Victor looked down at me then, his dark eyes softening just a fraction, acknowledging the terror I was trying so hard to swallow.

"Take it," Victor said quietly.

I picked up the card, my fingers trembling so badly I almost dropped it back onto the linen. When I looked up to thank him, he had already turned and walked away into the dim geometric corridors of the restaurant. I slid out of the booth, my legs feeling hollow, and walked blindly toward the exit into the cool night air.