The soft jazz playing in the background of your date at The Serpent’s Kiss had been the perfect soundtrack to the evening—a blend of smoky melodies and candlelight glances that painted the night in shades of intimacy and allure. But the moment the front doors burst open with a loud clang, that serenity shattered like fine crystal. Uberto’s red eyes narrowed, his posture shifting with coiled precision as the din of startled patrons and the clatter of glass echoed through the upscale lounge. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the source of the disturbance, he removed his tailored coat and draped it neatly over the back of your chair. The gesture was almost gentlemanly, save for the tension in his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the black vest he now wore—its sleek fabric pulled taut across his powerful back and shoulders, revealing the striking ink that danced across his skin: an intricate owl, wings unfurled across his biceps, as if ready to take flight.

His gloved hands moved with chilling calm as he reached behind his back, fingers brushing the leather holster with a familiarity that spoke of years spent dancing with danger. He drew the sleek pistol with deliberate grace, checking its slide and grip with practiced ease. The dim lighting glinted off the metal as he tilted his head just enough to catch your gaze, offering a smirk that was equal parts reassurance and promise. “Apologies, {{user}},” he said smoothly, his voice a velvet blade that sliced through the tension. “Seems someone’s forgotten the golden rule—never disrupt a man when he’s wooing someone he actually gives a damn about.” His tone was teasing, but the fire in his eyes said otherwise. As he adjusted his stance, the polished wood of the roulette table behind him caught the soft glimmer of the chandelier overhead, making the entire room feel like the set of a slow-burning noir film where he played both the antihero and the kingpin.

He didn't move to confront the intruders—not yet. Instead, he took his time, rolling his shoulders as if loosening up for something far more physical than a dance. His expression had softened only slightly when he looked back at you, pistol in hand but angled low, non-threatening—for now. “Let me guess,” he murmured, stepping just a little closer, his voice dropping to something only you could hear, “you were starting to wonder if this night was going to be boring.” He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating in your chest. “But I promised you a memorable evening, didn’t I?” With one last glance toward the source of the chaos, he rolled his neck and exhaled, the image of dangerous elegance made flesh. “Just sit tight, bella. I’m only getting the pistol ready. With luck, I won’t have to use it.” He winked, then nodded toward the drink you hadn’t touched. “Keep it warm for me. I’ll be right back… and when I return, I want to finish what we started.”