Chapter 6 Smoke and Mirrors

Isabella Vitale

The hum of Inferno wrapped around me like a living thing-low bass pulsing through my bones, murmurs curling like smoke in the dim light. The bar gleamed under the flicker of gold chandeliers, every surface polished to a lethal shine. I wiped down the counter for the third time, not because it needed it, but because I needed something-anything-to do with my hands.

Tonight felt different. Heavier.

Alessandro Gerardo was in the building.

He hadn't shown up the night before, which had left a coil of unease in my chest. It had unraveled the moment I saw him walk in earlier, dark and deliberate, like a goddamn storm wearing Armani. And yet, he hadn't spoken to me. Not once.

I hated that I noticed. I hated more that it bothered me.

"Thinking about him?" Luca's voice was too close. Again. His cologne was warm spice and clean linen-disarming and far too familiar.

I didn't flinch. "Thinking about how I'm going to stab the next man who breathes on me."

He laughed. God, always laughing. "Feisty. Don't worry, bella, if you ever feel overwhelmed, I volunteer as tribute."

I gave him a side glance. "You're always volunteering."

"And one day, you'll say yes."

"Don't hold your breath."

He leaned on the bar, watching me, a gleam of something sharper than playfulness in his eyes. For a second, I wondered if he saw me-really saw me. But then he winked and tossed a lemon peel at me.

"Relax, Bella. You're too tense. Even for Naples."

"Maybe I'm not from Naples."

His smile didn't falter. "No. You're not."

Before I could ask what that meant, the air changed.

It always did when Alessandro entered the room.

I felt him before I saw him. Felt the slow hush ripple outward, like every wall and window leaned toward him. Even the music seemed to bow. I turned slowly, heart doing that traitorous little stutter.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was speaking to someone by the VIP booth, jaw tight, voice low. Clean black suit, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to break rules. His fingers moved with precision, like even gestures were weapons.

It wasn't attraction, I told myself.

It was recognition.

The kind you felt in your bones before a storm, when instincts screamed danger ahead and you smiled anyway.

He finally looked over. Right at me.

I didn't look away.

For a moment, it was just that. A stare. Quiet. Devouring.

And then he started walking toward me.

My skin went electric.

Keep it cool, Vitale. You're not here to feel.

"Busy tonight," Alessandro said, voice a velvet blade. "How's your shift?"

I straightened. "Depends. Am I being graded?"

He tilted his head. "Always."

I poured a whiskey and slid it toward him without breaking eye contact. "On the house."

"Generous."

"I like knowing what I'm dealing with."

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something more dangerous. "And what am I?"

"Still figuring that out."

A pause. A breath.

"I like that you don't pretend," he said.

I shrugged. "I don't like liars."

"Then you're in the wrong line of work."

His eyes were too clear. Too knowing. I looked away first.

"Excuse me," I said, already walking past him. I didn't need to see his expression to know I'd lost that round.

Later, in the alley behind Inferno, I lit a cigarette with shaking hands I didn't want to admit were shaking.

This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.

I was supposed to hate these people. Him. Every one of them.

But Alessandro Gerardo made it hard to remember where the mask ended and I began.

"Smoking's bad for you," came a voice from the shadows.

I turned sharply.

Dante Gerardo.

Colder than Alessandro, and somehow even harder to read. The family's face in public but, rumor had it, the one who pulled strings in silence.

I dropped the cigarette. "Didn't know you cared."

"I don't," he said. "But my brother might."

"Which one?"

A flicker of a smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He disappeared back inside without another word.

And I stood there in the dark, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.