Chapter 6 #2
Loud. Laughing too much. Already drinking like he’s celebrating something he didn’t earn. He’s standing near the bar, surrounded by two other Italians and a woman who looks bored out of her mind.
He’s exactly where he should be. And I’m exactly where I want to be. Time to make him talk.
My steps are slow. Controlled. Not lazy, not rushed—just… deliberate. Like the room is a chessboard, and every move I make forces the pieces to shift.
The glass of champagne hangs light in my hand. My other stays close to my side, fingers brushing the edge of my dress near the hidden slit.
Every few steps, someone turns to look. A man lifts his gaze from his drink. A woman glances sideways and leans into her husband’s arm. But I don’t break my stride.
Because I’m not here to be watched. I’m here to watch back.
And my target?
Is already smiling.
Alessio is halfway into his third drink. I can tell by the flush rising to his throat, the slight drag in his eyelids, the louder laugh he gives to something that wasn’t funny.
He’s leaning against the bar, posture lazy, like he owns the air around him. He doesn’t notice me until I’m ten feet away.
Then?
He does a double take.
I don’t smile yet. Let him look. Let him stare. I want him to want me curious first, unattainable second, and dangerous last.
It works every time.
By the time I reach the small circle of three men and one woman, his attention is mine. The woman is watching me like she already knows she’s been replaced. One of the men gives a small smirk. The other pretends not to care.
“Well,” Alessio says, pushing off the bar with a grin, “I know I would’ve remembered you if we’d met before.”
I tilt my head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “That depends on how much you’d already had to drink.”
The man beside him chuckles.
“She’s got you there, Romano.”
The third one raises his glass in lazy approval. “Finally, someone who doesn’t blush when he speaks.”
Alessio lets out a laugh, brushing his fingers through his dark, too-gelled hair. “Touché,” he says. “And what’s your name, mystery woman?”
“Natasha.”
It slides off my tongue like honey. No hesitation. No crack in the lie.
“Russian?” one of the others asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Half. Depends who’s asking.”
The woman beside them huffs softly, says nothing, and turns on her heel. Her heels click away into the hum of the gathering.
Good. Less noise. More room.
Alessio doesn’t even notice she’s gone.
“Well, Natasha,” he says, stepping slightly closer, “what brings you to a place like this?”
I sip my champagne. “Curiosity. And a very boring date who disappeared ten minutes after we arrived.”
“Idiot,” one of the men mutters.
“His loss,” the other adds, eyes dragging down the line of my body like I’m an auction item. I glance at him once—cool and uninterested—and then turn back to Alessio.
“I heard a lot of people come to these events for business,” I say, lowering my voice slightly. “But I’m starting to wonder if anyone really says anything of value.”
Alessio grins.
“Depends who you’re talking to.”
“And you?”
“Oh,” he leans in just enough to lower his voice. “I know plenty of valuable things. But it costs extra to hear them.”
I smile again—smaller this time, sharper. “Then maybe you should sit with me for a drink. Let’s see what I can afford.”
His grin stretches.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Alessio offers his arm like he thinks this is a date.
I don’t take it. Instead, I turn toward the far end of the room, where a small corner table sits just close enough to the main crowd to be seen—but far enough to whisper without being heard.
He follows, eager, cocky, two steps behind me like he’s already convinced himself he’s won something.
But I don’t move like a prize. I move like a weapon wrapped in black silk.
As we pass through the crowd, I cast a quick glance toward Rafael.
He hasn’t moved. Still surrounded by Bratva power and carefully curated alliances, but I feel it—the awareness that prickles between us, invisible and hot like static.
He’s watching. Even if he won’t admit it.
His jaw ticks slightly when I look away. Good.
We reach the table. I sit first, cross one leg over the other slowly, letting the slit in my dress slide just enough to hint—but not show. The dagger is still there. Still pressing into my thigh. My reminder.
Alessio sits across from me, leaning back like he owns the space. “You always pick the dark corners of the room?”
I tilt my head. “Only when I want to hear the truth.”
He chuckles, signaling to a nearby server. “Two of your best,” he says. “Whatever it is.”
I keep my eyes on him, sipping the last of my champagne.
Time to start peeling.
“So, Alessio,” I say, voice soft, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “What’s a man like you looking for at a gathering like this?”
“Opportunity,” he answers without missing a beat. “And maybe a little fun, if I’m lucky.”
“And what does opportunity look like for you? A seat at the table? A name no one forgets?”
He smirks, like the idea excites him. “Maybe both.”
“Ambitious.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” I say, lowering my voice just slightly. “I’m just trying to figure out who you’re trying to impress.”
The server sets down two glasses—something amber and expensive. Alessio lifts his, clinks it gently against mine. “What makes you think I’m trying to impress anyone?”
“Because I’ve watched enough men to know when they’re lying.”
He laughs, genuinely this time. “Okay, Natasha. You got me. Maybe I do want to prove a little something. This life… it’s not for the weak.”
“No,” I say, leaning in slightly, “it’s not.”
His eyes flick to my mouth. “You sound like someone who knows more than she lets on.”
I just smile.
Hook.
“Tell me something, Alessio,” I murmur. “If you had something big, something that could make waves… would you tell anyone?”
He sits back, eyes narrowing just slightly, like the question caught him off guard. But his ego won’t let him play it safe.
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“Let’s pretend it’s just me,” I say. “And I don’t care about politics. I just like secrets.”
He lifts his glass again. Swallows. Watches me. “There’s talk,” he says slowly. “Things moving behind the curtain. Some shifting of hands.”
“Shifting?” I echo. “Like… new alliances?”
He shrugs, playing coy now. “All I know is that some names are losing favor, and others… well, they’re climbing. Fast.”
“And who’s climbing?”
“Can’t say.” His grin sharpens. “But let’s just say—someone’s playing all sides. And if they do it right… they’ll own them all.”
My heart stays steady. My face doesn’t move. But my mind sharpens.
Someone playing all sides? That’s not a nobody. That’s someone with reach. Someone like Rafael?
Or someone trying to pull him down?
“Sounds dangerous,” I murmur.
“That’s the best kind of game, sweetheart.”
“And what’s your role in it?”
“Maybe I’m a messenger. Maybe I’m a liability.” He winks. “Or maybe I’m just the drunk idiot with a beautiful woman in front of me.”
“We’ll see.”
We’re still sitting there. Still drinking. Still peeling each other back in layers. But I’m not here for him. I’m here for the truth hiding beneath his arrogance. And I’m going to drag it out, one poisoned word at a time.
The glass in front of me is nearly empty. So is Alessio’s. I raise my hand slowly, catching the eye of a nearby server. No words—just a simple gesture. A tilt of my chin. A smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
He understands. Another round.
Alessio leans forward slightly, eyes hazy, breath already sweet with whatever top-shelf garbage they’re pouring into him tonight. But he’s not drunk enough to slur. Not yet. Which means he’s still got secrets buried somewhere behind those teeth.
I just need to dig a little deeper. Or sharper.
“So you were saying,” I murmur, voice soft as smoke, “someone’s pulling strings behind the scenes.”
“Mmhmm.” He takes a slow sip from his nearly empty glass. “All kinds of strings. Russians. Italians. Albanians. It’s like a chessboard out here.”
“And who’s the king?”
He laughs again, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Everyone thinks they’re the king. But it’s always the ones sitting quiet that turn out to be the real monsters.”
I lean in slightly. Let my shoulder brush his. “And you know who that is?”
He watches me. Really watches me. Like he’s deciding if I’m worth the leak.
“I know someone’s dealing under the table. Trying to pit two families against each other while they walk away with the prize.”
“What prize?”
“Territory. Power. Names.” He shrugs. “It’s always the same prize, sweetheart.”
“But you know who’s doing it,” I press, tone casual, almost bored.
He hesitates. Just enough for me to know I’m close. But not close enough.
So I shift. I let my hand drop under the table. And then— slowly —I rest it on his thigh.
He stiffens slightly, then relaxes as my fingers trail upward, light as air, dragging heat behind them like a promise.
I feel the inhale. Sharp. Shaky. He turns toward me, voice lower now.
“You really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
His eyes darken, greed licking behind them like flame. “There’s talk that someone inside the Bratva is setting up the Italians. Making it look like the Romanovs are about to break their peace with them.”
My stomach twists— hard —but I don’t show it. I smile.
“Why?”
“Because if war breaks out, someone else takes the territory while everyone else’s too busy bleeding to stop them.”
“And who benefits most from that?”
He lowers his voice again. “There’s a rumor… someone from inside Romanov’s circle is working both ends. They’re feeding names to both sides. Making it look like betrayal.”
“You have a name?”
“I might.” He leans closer. “But that kind of information’s expensive.”
“So am I,” I whisper.
His grin stretches wide. And then his hand moves. Under the table.