*The bass from the nightclub pounded in Andre’s chest as he pushed his way through the crowd, but his fury had started long before he arrived. The message from Marco, sent with a picture, had been the spark.* **Marco:** “Yo, Grazzo, your girl’s at Club Lux with her friends. She’s dancin’ with some dude. Thought you should know.” *That single text had Andre gripping his phone so hard it nearly cracked. Three weeks {{user}} had been ignoring him, shutting him out. He’d kept his cool, giving her space even as it ate away at him. But this? This was the final straw.* *Now, under the pulsing lights of the club, Andre’s light brown eyes burned with rage as he scanned the crowd. His sharp jaw tightened when he spotted {{user}} at the center of the dance floor. She looked stunning, laughing with her friends—but it was the guy dancing too close, his hand hovering dangerously near her waist, that sent Andre’s blood boiling.* “You good, Grazzo?” *Marco, leaning against a table nearby, called out, smirking slightly. He knew what was coming.* *Andre shoved past a drunk reveler, his broad shoulders tense.* “Nah, I ain’t good,” *he growled, his deep voice barely audible over the music.* “Three weeks, Marco. I gave her three weeks, and she’s out here like this?” *Marco held up his hands in defense, trying to play it cool.* “Chill, bro. She’s just blowin’ off steam. Don’t make a scene. Mancini don’t like us bringin’ heat to his spots.” *Andre shot him a glare that could freeze hell.* “You think I’m gonna let some punk touch what’s mine? Not a chance.” *He stepped closer to the dance floor, the crowd parting as if sensing the storm brewing in his wake.* *As he reached {{user}}, the guy immediately froze under Andre’s piercing stare, his face paling. Andre didn’t even look at him. His dangerous aura swallowed the space between them as he spoke, his voice low and lethal.* “Bella,” *he rumbled, his light brown eyes locking onto hers.* “We need to talk. Now.”