NAPLES, Italy.
Private Velliano Estate
10:30 pm
The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting golden shadows along the mahogany walls. Rain tapped against the windows in a rhythm as soft as whispered secrets.
Nicolette Velliano sat with her legs crossed, her black heels gleaming beneath the low light. The stem of a wine glass twirled between her fingers, the deep red liquid inside catching the flames like blood.
Across from her sat Alonzo Rizzani,an old ally of her father. Or so he claimed.
He raised his glass with an oily smile. "To your father," he said, sipping slowly. "He ruled with elegance. But you… you terrify people, Nicolette. That's new."
Nicolette gave a soft chuckle. "Terror is just another form of respect, Alonzo. Some men need fear to remember who's in charge."
He smirked, swirling his drink again. "And who's in charge now, Nicolette?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "I think you already know the answer."
She lifted her glass, the two clinking gently. Alonzo downed the rest in one long gulp.
And then it happened.
A flicker in his throat. A shift in his eyes. His lips parted, but no sound came. His hand trembled as the glass slipped from his fingers and shattered against the marble floor.
He grabbed his neck. Stumbled forward. Then dropped face first—onto the Persian rug.
Dead.
Nicolette didn't flinch.
She set her glass down gently. Reached for a silk napkin. Dabbed the corner of her mouth.
"Next time," she murmured to the silence, "don't try to sell me out before dessert."
The door creaked open behind her. Rhea stepped in, glancing once at the body.
"Alonzo?" she asked, arching a brow.
"Poisoned," Nicolette replied coolly. "Fast-acting. Tasted like cherries."
Rhea sighed. "I told you he was leaking information to the Mancinis."
"And now he's not," Nicolette said.
Gianna's voice echoed from the hallway. "Do we bury him or burn him?"
Nicolette stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from her suit.
"Neither," she said. "Send him to his wife. Let her know who poured the wine."
Gianna looked at Nicolette with a grin. " What vintage was that? Death by Merlot?"
"This is not a game, Gianna," Rhea said, unamused as always.
Gianna chuckled. "No, but it's starting to feel like a really twisted dinner party."
~~~An hour later~~~~~
Gianna walked in, dusting of her palms like she'd just finished rearranging furniture, not delivering a corpse to a wife.
She looked over at Nicolette and Rhea.
"Well," she said, stretching with a dramatic yawn, "that was fun. Poison, politics and family drama. All before midnight."
Rhea didn't look up.
"Where are you going?"
Gianna was already halfway down the hall, boots tapping with lazy confidence.
"To my room. Gotta clean up before I hit the club. You know, decompress."
Nicolette finally glanced up from her phone, her voice low but firm. "Gianna."
Gianna hand paused on the banister
Nicolette's eyes narrowed. "Don't draw attention. And don't get sloppy."
Gianna smirked. "When have I ever been sloppy?"
Neither sister answered.
She turned and started up the stairs, calling over her shoulder. "Relax….I'll be good. Just eyeliner, heels and maybe a knife in my purse. "
"Anche una ragazza tosta deve sentirsi bella e al sicuro." — [ Even a tough girl's gotta feel pretty and protected.]
As she reached the landing, she muttered a crooked smile, " Besides, it's not anyone is stupid enough to mess with a Velliano tonight…"
She disappeared into the sim hallway, humming under her breath, already thinking of smoky lights, loud bass, and the thrill of being bad in a city that knew her name.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~ Club Rosa Nera~~~~
1:45 am
The bass rattled the floor like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights blinked over a sea of bodies, and the air smelled like expensive perfumes, sweat, and bad intentions.
Gianna leaned against the back wall of the VIP section, sipping something strong and burning. She was dressed in all black, as usual, leather jacket sling over her shoulders, sharp eyeliner smudged just enough to look dangerous.
The last few hours had been a blur of fire and passion. Now she just needed noise. Movement.A reason to breathe that doesn't involve blood or bullets.
She scanned the crowd lazily. Drunken regulars, clout-chasers. Nothing interested.
Until her gaze landed on her.
A woman dancing alone near the center of the floor. Head tilted back,arms in the air, hips moving to the rhythm of the music like it was written just for her. She didn't look at anyone, didn't care who was watching.
And that made Gianna watch harder.
The woman's dress shimmered in the low light,deep red, clinging to curves like a second skin.Hair dark, skin glowing, eyes half-lidded with freedom.
Something about her was wild.
Untamed.
Dangerous.
Gianna blinked, and for the first time all night, her smirk faltered.
She downed the rest of her drink and muttered under her breath, "Una ragazza deve sentirsi bella e al sicuro…..[A girl's gotta feel pretty and safe] but damn, that one feels like trouble."
The woman turned slightly,and their eyes locked.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to pull the breath right out of Gianna's chest.
Enough to make the music sound like it had slowed just for them.
Gianna straightened, tossing her empty glass to a passing server. Her fingers twitched—half from curiosity, half from instinct.
The woman had fire in her eyes.
And Gianna was ready to burn.
Gianna never chased.
People came to her. Flirted with her. Fell for her.
That's just how it worked.
But this woman?
This woman danced like she didn't need anyone. Like the whole damn world was background noise and she was the only thing in focus.
And Gianna liked that too much to ignore it.
She stepped off the VIP platform, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd grown up walking through chaos. The music pulsed around her, but her attention never wavered. The woman in red still danced alone,shoulders rolling to the beat, lips parted slightly, lost in her own rhythm.
Gianna stopped just a few feet away, not saying anything yet. Just watching.
Letting herself be pulled in.
Then the woman turned. Their eyes locked again,closer this time.
Still no smile. Still no fear.
Just curiosity. Bold and quiet.
Gianna leaned in slightly, her voice low, words brushing the woman's ear like a secret
"Sei pericolosa… [Are you dangerous]" or do you just dance like you've got nothing to lose?"
The woman finally smiled. Slow. Sharp.
"Depends," she said in English, her voice smooth and smoky. "You watching me or warning me?"
Gianna grinned, head tilting. "Little bit of both."
They stood close now,too close for the club to feel crowded. The lights danced across their faces in brief flashes, outlining tattoos, curves, and sharp edges.
"I'm Gianna," she said, offering her hand. "I bite, but only if provoked."
The woman took her hand without hesitation.
"Lina."
A name with no weight, but her grip said otherwise.
Confident. Controlled. Too steady to be harmless.
Gianna held on a second longer than necessary. "Pleasure."
And she meant it.
The music shifted into something slower, darker. People kept dancing, but Gianna and Lina just stood there,reading each other without saying a word.
In the back of Gianna's mind, the Velliano name whispered warnings.
She ignored them.
Because Lina didn't just look like danger.
She looked like a damn good distraction.