Chapter Six

Elena

The city felt blurry, hazy, like I was watching it all through a fogged-up window. Skyscrapers zipped by, streets full of life, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. My mind wasn’t here. It was with him. With the unknown.

When I asked Diego to show me his world, I didn’t know what I was inviting in or what I was asking for. I thought I was ready. But as we drove through the heart of New York City in his sleek black BMW, the excitement twisting in my stomach began to mix with something sharper….. fear.

He hadn’t told me where we were going. Just said, “Get dressed, wear something that makes you feel powerful.”

I did as he asked without any question, even though a part of me wanted to crawl under a blanket and disappear. But if I was going to survive this, whatever this was….. I needed to understand the rules.

We finally pulled up in front of a warehouse on the edge of Brooklyn. It looked abandoned - gray, rusting, windowless. The kind of place you cross the street to avoid.

I turned to him, my brows lifted slightly. “Seriously?”

Diego just smirked, that maddening curl of his lips full of cocky assurance. “Come on,” he said, reaching across to take my hand. His fingers were warm, steady. Comforting, even if everything around us felt anything but that. 

We walked past a set of thick metal doors, guarded by two bulky men in black. One of them nodded at Diego and opened the entrance like he was royalty.

I glanced at Diego. “Is this safe?” I asked quietly.

He leaned in close, his breath a whisper on my skin. “Only with me.”

Inside, the silence shattered. Music thundered from hidden speakers, bass vibrating up through my heels. Lights flickered in neon reds and purples. A club. Hidden behind decay. People danced like they had no past and no future, just this moment.

I looked at him. “This is yours?”

He didn’t respond, just squeezed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. No one questioned him. People moved aside, nodded respectfully, like he was someone important - untouchable.

We took a turn into a dim hallway, away from the music and lights. The walls here were lined with graffiti, the air tinged with smoke and sweat. A man stepped into our path—lean, sharp eyes, arms covered in tattoos. He said something to Diego in Spanish. I didn’t understand, but Diego’s posture relaxed. He introduced me as his fiancée.

The man nodded respectfully at me. Before leading us inside a room. 

Diego didn’t look at me, just kept walking. “Let’s sit inside.”

We entered a private lounge at the back. Low lights. Velvet booths. A bar with bottles of expensive liquor lined like trophies. It was quieter here, calmer. But I still felt on edge.

A waitress brought drinks, nodding at Diego like he was someone you didn’t cross. Everyone called him boss.

He leaned back in his seat, watching me over the rim of his glass. “I bought this place when I was twenty,” he said. “Before that, it was just a hollow shell.”

I stared at him. “Why a club?”

He shrugged. “Control. Influence. It opens doors. You can learn a lot about people when they think the world’s too loud to be heard.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was impressed. Another part felt like I was drifting further from the world I knew.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked.

I hesitated. I’d already had two drinks and my nerves were buzzing, not from alcohol but from him. Still, the music called to something in me. A need to feel free. To forget.

“Sure.”

I left him on the couch and walked into the crowd. The rhythm took over. I moved with it, eyes half-closed, trying to unwind and I could feel Diego's eyes on me, watching, teasing, and I could feel his smirk even from the distance. 

Then I felt hands on my waist. Unfamiliar. Rough.

I turned to see a drunk guy was swaying behind me, too close, words slurring from his mouth. I stepped back, alarmed, but he followed, laughing like it was a game.

I glanced around. Then I saw Diego.

He was on his feet, eyes locked on me. His face was unreadable, but there was something in the way he moved—slow, controlled, like a predator closing in.

Before I could say a word, he was between us. He grabbed the man by the collar, then slammed him against a pillar so hard the guy’s head jerked back. Diego’s voice was low and sharp, Spanish again, and filled with venom.

One of his men appeared almost out of nowhere. Diego didn’t say much - just a quiet command - and the man nodded, dragging the drunk toward a door at the end of the hallway.

I stared after them, pulse hammering. “Diego,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “what are they going to do to him?”

He turned to me, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize him. His face had gone cold. Still. Dangerous.

“He touched what’s mine,” he said.

I shook my head, backing up a little. “You didn’t have to—”

“He disrespected you,” Diego cut in. He stepped closer, his voice softening just slightly. “I’m sorry I let him get near you. That won’t happen again.”

My heart was racing. “Diego, you can’t just… hurt people like that.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached for my hand again. “Let’s get you home.”

The drive was quiet. I stared out the window, trying to calm the storm in my chest. I should’ve been grateful. He protected me. But it was the way he did it that left my stomach knotted.

When we pulled up to my apartment, I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave things like this - didn’t want to go inside and wonder all night what would happen to that man.

I reached for Diego’s arm. “Please,” I said softly. “Don’t kill him.”

He finally looked at me. His eyes—usually warm when they met mine—were dark tonight. Distant and torn.

He leaned in, brushed a kiss against my forehead. “Goodnight, doll,” he said.

Then he drove off, dialing Eli on his car screen.  

I stood there under the porch light, watching his taillights fade into the night, my heart caught in a place between fear… and longing.

What had I stepped into?

And why, even now, did I still want to follow?