Lex's POV
Marco's words hung in the smoky air. "She belongs to me." He took a step toward Lex, his hand outstretched like he was claiming a prize.
Everything in Lex screamed to run. But her feet were rooted to the spot. The gunman was down, but a new, worse danger was walking toward her with a greedy smile.
Vito moved faster. He stepped fully in front of Lex, blocking Marco's path. "You're mistaken, Marco," he said, his voice like polished steel. "She belongs to no one."
"The Sphinx fought in my ring," Marco spat, trying to look around Vito to lock eyes with Lex. "Her contract, her brother's debt, it's all mine. You bringing her here is a gift, Vito. A peace offering. I'll take her off your hands."
"The only thing you'll take," Vito said quietly, "is a bullet if you touch her."
The room froze again. Marco's men, bruised and bleeding, looked at their boss. Vito's guard, who had made it through the shootout, moved to his side. The air was tight enough to snap.
Marco's smile turned nasty. He wasn't used to being told no. "This is my place. You think you can walk out of here with what's mine?"
He made his move. But not toward Vito. He lunged to the side, around Vito, his thick hand shooting out to grab Lex's arm.
Lex's body reacted before her mind could. This wasn't a gun from across the room. This was a hand on her. A threat she could touch.
As Marco's fingers brushed her sleeve, she twisted. It was a simple, fluid motion she'd done a thousand times in the ring to break a hold. She slipped under his arm, ending up behind him.
On the table next to them was the wreckage of the meeting: spilled drinks, broken glass, and a single, unopened bottle of champagne in a silver bucket of now-melted ice.
Without thinking, Lex grabbed the bottle by the neck. She didn't swing it at Marco. He was too close to Vito.
Instead, she turned to the biggest remaining threat in the room. The gunman Vito had knocked out was stirring on the floor, groggily reaching for his fallen pistol a few feet away.
Lex took two quick steps and brought the heavy bottle down in a short, sharp arc.
SMASH!
The bottle exploded against the back of the gunman's head. Not enough to kill, but enough. His hand went limp, and he collapsed back into unconsciousness, sparkling wine and glass fizzing on the floor around him.
The finality of the sound cut through the tension.
Lex stood there, breathing hard, the broken neck of the champagne bottle still in her hand. Shards of glass littered the floor. The sticky-sweet smell of champagne mixed with gunpowder.
She had just taken a man out of the fight. Permanently.
The silence was absolute.
Then, everyone moved at once.
Vito's guard quickly knelt, disarmed the unconscious gunman, and checked his pulse.
Marco's men stared, open-mouthed.
Marco himself had frozen mid-lunge, his eyes wide. He looked from the broken bottle to Lex, seeing not a waitress or a prize, but the fighter in her element. A flicker of fear crossed his face.
But it was Vito's reaction that Lex felt.
She slowly turned her head to look at him.
He was staring right at her. All the calm, all the calculation was gone from his face. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. He looked… astonished. Shocked to his core. He had known she was a fighter, but knowing and seeing were two different things. He had just watched her natural instinct be violence. Efficient, brutal, and without hesitation.
For a long second, no one spoke. They just stared at the woman with the broken bottle.
Vito was the first to break the spell. He blinked, and the mask slammed back down, harder and colder than before. He turned to Marco, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"You saw what she does to threats," Vito said, each word sharp as a blade. "She is under my protection. The next hand that reaches for her, I will cut off. The next man who even looks at her wrong, I will bury. Are we clear?"
Marco said nothing. His face was purple with rage, but he gave one sharp, stiff nod.
Vito didn't wait for more. He turned, placed a firm hand on Lex's lower back, and guided her swiftly toward the shattered doorway. "We're leaving."
They walked out of the ruined club, past the broken glass and the stunned men, into the cold night air. His car was already there, engine running. He helped Lex into the back seat, his touch oddly gentle, then got in beside her.
The car pulled away. Lex's hands were trembling. She looked down and realized she was still clutching the jagged neck of the champagne bottle. She carefully set it on the floor.
She expected Vito to yell. To ask what she was thinking. To tell her she'd ruined his plan.
He didn't.
He just looked at her, that same shocked, intense look from the club still in his eyes. The city lights flashed across his face as they drove.
"You could have run," he said finally, his voice low. "When the shooting started. You could have hid. Why didn't you?"
Lex met his gaze. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her cold and empty. "He was going to shoot you in the back," she said simply.
Vito stared at her for another long moment. Then he did something completely unexpected.
He reached over and very carefully, as if she might break, pried her fist open. Her knuckles were white, her palm marked red from gripping the glass. He didn't hold her hand. He just looked at the marks, then closed her fingers again gently.
He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window at the passing city.
"Everything has changed," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "Marco will never let you go now. He'll come for you. Which means we can't wait." He turned back to her, his eyes blazing with a new, fierce resolve. "The plan is off. We're not luring him out anymore. We're ending him. Tomorrow. And you're not just the bait, Lex. You're the trap."