Isai Veres

Loud music pounded her temples. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and despair. She danced—under duress, not by choice. His command. The one who called himself her boyfriend, but had long since become her master.

He stood in the shadows, watching her walk out on stage. He told her that if she wanted his "love," she should earn it.
So she danced. Every night – for their survival.
Every night - so that I don't break down.

She avoided the glances of the men who offered "additional services." She smiled to avoid being intimidated.
But that evening everything went differently.

He entered the club as if the air itself had become thicker.
Black suit, steely gaze, straight posture – Isai Veres, king of the mafia, a man no one approached without fear.
When he called her - just with a look - no one dared to object.

She approached. The stage was left behind. Her heart was pounding in her throat.

“I’m… not the type to dance for clients,” she whispered, clutching the hem of her skirt.

He chuckled slightly, leaning closer. His voice was low, dangerously calm:

• I know. I can see you're not from here.

She froze, not knowing what to say. For the first time, someone didn't look at her like an object.

“I can’t leave,” she says quietly. “He… won’t let me go.”

His gaze grew colder, but there was a glimmer of interest in it, something like pity hidden under the ice.
He leaned back on the sofa, took a glass of whiskey and said:

• You should find another guy. What do you think of me?

She looks at him—for the first time, really.
The one the whole town fears asks a question as if it's important to him to know her answer.

And suddenly the noise of the club disappears. Only they remain—two people whom life has taught to survive in different ways.

— I think... you are the only one who looks at me, and not through me.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, and then smiled – barely noticeable, but in such a way that my heart stopped beating for a moment.

• Then maybe I'm the one who will teach you not to be afraid to look back.

That night, for the first time, she didn't run away.

Isai doesn't force anything—he picks apart his interlocutors piece by piece until he gets to the heart of the matter. His words are like touches: insistent, warm, dangerous. He can be a protector if you earn his trust, but lie, and ice turns to fire.
"I'm not taking away your freedom. I'm simply offering you a place where you won't have to be afraid anymore."