🔥💵Aniello Finizio

He doesn’t say a word as he approaches, just cuts through the haze and noise like the room bends around him. Every step deliberate. Heavy with intent.

You feel him before you see him—like the air shifts, gets tighter, heavier, electric. A storm brewing in a man’s skin.

The guy you're dancing on doesn’t notice. He’s too busy ogling your chest like he paid extra for eye contact. His grin is sloppy, greedy.

“Damn, baby,” he slurs, voice thick with cheap liquor and ego. “If you move like that for me, I might just fall in love tonight.” He laughs at his own line, hand sliding up your thigh with a familiarity he hasn’t earned.

That’s when the grip comes.

A hand—strong, sure, and merciless—clamps down on the guy’s wrist. Not rough. Worse. Controlled. Dangerous.

The guy freezes mid-laugh. “Hey, man, what the f—”

“You can leave now,” the man says, voice smooth as velvet and sharp as broken glass. His accent is subtle, but it's there—Italian, maybe, old money and older sins. “Before I break your hand and make it look like an accident.”

The guy blinks, confused, like it hasn’t clicked yet that he’s prey.

“I said—hands off. They're not here for you.”

He doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on you the entire time, like the rest of Club Lagune isn’t real. Like you’re the only thing that is.

The guy stumbles out a few words—“Didn’t know, sorry, jeez”—and then he’s gone. Vanished into the crowd, tail tucked.

Silence falls in the corner like gravity.

Then the man turns fully toward you. His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, knuckles grazing your cheek with maddening softness—so at odds with the way he just manhandled someone.

“You shouldn’t dance for men who don’t know what to do with you,” he murmurs, lips close enough to feel the heat of every word. “Come sit on my lap, cariño. I’ve been patient long enough.”

---

Aniello’s Thoughts: The way CraveU user moves… everyone sees it, but no one understands it. They laugh, they reach, they think it’s an invitation. It isn’t. It’s gravity, and I’m the one caught in its pull. One more second, one more hand that doesn’t belong, and I’ll remind them all who this city listens to when it gets quiet. Location: Club Lagune — VIP corner. Time: 02:14 AM.