Forbidden Claim: A Mafia King’s Obsession

Chapter 44: Drunk defiance

Nadia’s POV

The guard does a good job locating a bustling and crowded bar. The sharp scent of cheap bourbon and stale smoke fills the air. The neon lights flickering overhead casts red and blue shadows across the crowded floor — a sharp contrast to Lorenzo’s clinical world, and exactly what I need.

I sit on a high barstool on the dark wood counter, leaning heavily against the surface. The guards stand a few feet behind me, their bulky frame completely out of place amongst the hipsters and late night party goers, their dark gaze scanning the room like hawks.

"Another pour," I say to the bartender, sliding my empty glass forward.

"You’ve taken too much already, that’s your fourth whiskey," the bartender hesitates, scanning the dark circles under my eyes, and the expensive dress clinging to my frame.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion," I slur slightly, tapping my hand on the table. "Pour the drink."

He sighs numbly before filling the crystal tumbler to the brim with amber liquid.

I lift the glass to my lips, swallowing the burn in one gulp. The alcohol hit deep in my bloodstream like liquid fire, blurring the sharp edges of my thoughts, successfully dulling the haunting memories of the previous night.

This is the first time I’ve drank so much alcohol. Despite working in a bar for a long time, I never indulged myself in drinking. But it is all I need tonight.

I want to go numb.

I want to forget the smell of cinnamon and vanilla.

I want to forget the icy blue eyes of the devil who owns me.

"Well… hello there, gorgeous."

I turn my head sluggishly toward the direction of the voice. A tall guy with sleek black hair, wearing an unbuttoned shirt slides onto the barstool next to me. He flashes his teeth in a lazy, predatory smile, leaning in too close.

"You look so worked up. Having a terrible night?" he asks, resting his elbow on the counter. "A beauty like you shouldn’t be all alone, drinking in a place like this."

"Go away," I mutter, turning my back to him and staring into my empty glass.

“Beauty, come on, don’t be like that,” he chuckles, his disgusting breathe fanning across my face as he grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Let me buy you a real drink. We can go to somewhere much better—"

"Take your filthy hands off me!"

My chest boils with pure, undiluted rage. I don’t see the pervert in front of me anymore. I see Lorenzo. I see the men who take whatever they want without asking.

Before the man can utter any other words, I violently grab the heavy crystal tumbler off the counter. With every ounce of strength left in my weak, trembling body, I bring the heavy glass crashing down against the side of his head.

CRACK!

The glass shatter into a dozen pieces. The man let’s out a loud shriek, stumbling over his stool and crashing heavily onto the floor, clutching his bleeding temple.

The chaos that follows is expected. The rest of the people in the bar step away from the scene. Before the bartender can react, the two husky bodyguards rushes forward, shoving bystanders out of the way.

One grabs the bleeding man by his collar, pinning him to the floor with a dark warning, while the other one steps in front of me, shoving his hand into his pocket and bringing out his phone — to call Lorenzo, I guess.

"Don, there’s a situation at the Blur Lounge," he pauses and looks at me. "Mrs Romano caused a terrible scene."

A mock chuckle escapes my lips. I don’t even flinch. The alcohol is doing a very good job. I sit right back down on the stool, brushing a stray shard of glass off my dress before signaling to the terrified bartender.

"Hey," I call out, my voice slurred and loud over the deafening music. "Another round."

Fifteen minutes pass in a chaotic haze. The bar management is already terrified of of my two armed bodyguards so they can’t kick me out. I just sit there, sipping raw bourbon straight from a fresh glass, surrounded by broken crystal and dark blood dripping on the floor.

I am entirely, hopelessly drunk.

The ambient noise in the bar dies down all of a sudden.

The front doors crashes open, the heavy atmosphere shifts so violently that even the intoxicated patrons fall quite.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me who’s aura is capable of bringing powerful men to their knees. Lorenzo has arrived.

I turn around slowly to fix him a stern stare. He isn’t wearing his suit jacket — just his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, rolled up at the elbows, revealing the dark ink sprawling across his forearms. His face is a terrifying, lifeless mask of cold granite.

His aura is so lethal that people instinctively back away from him, opening a path straight to the counter. The two bodyguards bow their heads, stepping back in absolute silence.

Lucian’s deadly, dark gaze sweeps across the room. He looks at the bleeding man groaning on the floor, the broken crystal scattered around the barstools and finally, his gaze locks onto me.

I remain seated on the stool, my glass on my lips, smiling up at him with drunken defiance.

"Well… well," I slur, setting the glass down with a heavy thud. "The devil finally leaves his throne in hell."

Lorenzo doesn’t utter a word. He simply takes long strides toward me, his massive frame blotting out the neon lights above . Without warning, he reaches out, his firm hand locking around my arm, and yanks me off the stool.

"Let go! Let me go!" I scream, thrashing against his grip as my unstable legs stumble beneath me.

Lorenzo ignores me, dragging me out of the bar like a rag doll, throwing open the passenger door of his Maybach and shoves me inside. Before I can run to the other side, he climbs in beside me, slamming the door shut with a deafening crash.

"Drive," he orders the chauffeur in a low, commanding growl.

The drive back to the mansion is a silent war of its own. I slap his chest, claw at his arms, screaming every profanity I know, but Lorenzo doesn’t even move a muscle. He just sits there, his grip around my wrists tightening as he stares ahead with a promise of lethal destruction.

When the Maybach stops in front of the mansion, he pulls me out, dragging me up the grand staircase. He kicks open the heavy oak doors of the master suite and shoves me roughly inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

"Are you insane?!" Lorenzo roars, his voice shattering the heavy silence in the room like a thunderstorm. "You threatened my men! You ran off to a filthy dive bar! You struck a man in public!"

"He tried to touch me! He deserved it!" I scream back , tears spilling down my cheeks as I stumble against the foot of the bed. "I hate you, Lorenzo! You are a monster! You deserve nothing good in life. Nothing!"

Lorenzo we stalks forward, his face contorted in raw rage, his chest heaving. "You disobey me, piccola. I gave an order, and you went against it. Do you know what would have happened if the enemies lurking around found you and attacked you?!"

"It’s not like you give a f**k about me!" I shriek, swinging my fist at his chest. "I want to be free from you! I want to leave!"

My swings are useless as Lorenzo dodges them effortlessly. He closes the distance between us and grabs both of my wrist, pinning them behind my back and pulling my front flush against him.

"You belong to me, Nadia. You are never leaving me, not until I’m done destroying you" he growls into my face, his breath hot against my lips. "Never."

"Let me go, you blood sucking demon!" I thrash violently, screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to bite his shoulder, completely driven by drunken hysteria and overwhelming terror. "Let me—"

Before I can finish my words, a sharp pain at the side of my neck shuts me up instantly, the same feeling that day on the plane. Lorenzo strikes me again with the edge of his palm — a swift, controlled blow to my carotid artery.

Everything around me suddenly turns black.

The room spins with violence. My legs give out entirely, strength drains from my body in a fraction of a second.

As I finally collapse, the last thing I feel is Lorenzo’s strong, muscled arm catching me before I hit the cold floor, pulling my limp body against his chest.