The neon lights bled across the club, pulsing with the beat, but the atmosphere had turned suffocating. The music cut, silence swallowing the room as all eyes locked on the chaos—and the young owner walking through it like he owned the night.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fucker?" Elliot's voice was calm yet venomous, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.
The thug pressed his knife forward, arrogance masking the tremor in his hand. "Do you… know who I am?"
Elliot smirked. "Enlighten me."
"I am Vikir Andrason! Son of the North gang leader. My father controls the north side—the clubs, the alcohol, the streets. His name alone carries power!"
The crowd erupted in whispers. Andrason's son. The name struck fear in most hearts.
But Elliot's face remained blank. "And who the fuck is that supposed to impress?"
Lindsey's chest tightened. He doesn't know him? She gripped Anna's arm, panicked. But Anna stayed cool, her expression unreadable.
"Why are you so calm?" Lindsey hissed.
"You'll find out in a few minutes," Anna replied evenly.
One of Elliot's men leaned close, whispering quickly into his ear. Elliot's smile returned, slow and mocking.
"Ohhh… William's boy. That's why you're running around with daddy's name like a badge."
Vikir's grin widened. "Then you know exactly who my father is. Which means you know you're in serious fucking trouble."
Elliot flicked his cigarette, crushing it under his boot. His voice sharpened, cutting through the air.
"No. You're the one in trouble, bitch."
Before anyone could react, Elliot pulled Ella firmly into his chest and drove his boot into Vikir's groin. The gangster collapsed with a cry, his knife clattering to the floor.
"Take him and his crew," Elliot ordered coldly. "Lock them up. And make sure William gets the message about what just happened here."
His men moved instantly, dragging Vikir and his friends away like garbage.
Ella's pulse thundered against Elliot's chest. The danger, the strength in his grip, the heat radiating from him—every girl watching burned with envy.
Elliot raised his voice above the crowd. "Everyone else—keep partying. Drinks are still free."
The club roared back to life.
Inside the VIP lounge, silence replaced chaos. Elliot set Ella down on the sofa, his gaze softer now.
"You alright?" he asked, lighting another cigarette.
"Yes," Ella whispered, still shaken, the water glass trembling in her hands.
"What the hell was that about?" Lindsey demanded, her voice breaking with panic.
Elliot exhaled smoke, calm as stone. "For starters, I own this club. And William? He's nothing more than family business."
"Family business?" Lindsey's voice cracked. "Why the fuck are you saying Don William's name like it means nothing?"
Anna's gaze met hers, steady and cold. "Because Elliot's father… is Don Salvador."
The words dropped like thunder. Lindsey froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Don Salvador Galician. The King of Crime. The man who ruled not just the streets, but the city itself. Politicians, cops, judges—he owned them all like pieces on a chessboard. Ruthless. Untouchable.
Even Don William bent the knee to him.
And Elliot—this man with the cigarette and unshakable calm—was his son.