The Belladonna Game

Aliyah's p.o.v

I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders as the winter breeze slithered through the tiny gap between the restaurant's glass doors, prickling my skin. The expensive place looked warm enough from the outside, but inside, the draft still found ways to crawl under clothes and into bones.

I should have been at home,curled up in bed, maybe with something hot to eat but peace of mind wasn't going to come to me there. Not tonight. Not when I needed to be here.

"Miss, are you ready to order?" The blonde waitress appeared again, her tone polite but her smile paper-thin. It was the fifth time she'd asked, and I could almost hear the unspoken warning in her voice: Order something or leave.

I forced a small smile and nodded. "Yes. A glass of dry gin."

Something to dull the ache in my chest, to quiet the restless pounding in my veins.

She returned quickly, setting the drink in front of me along with the bill,already printed. Her brittle smile didn't reach her eyes as she lingered a second too long beside my table. I picked up the glass, the clear liquid trembling just slightly in my grip.

I knew exactly what this was. She'd already decided someone dressed like me couldn't possibly afford to sit here, let alone pay the inflated price for a drink.

If it weren't for the need to keep my composure and the satisfaction of not letting her believe she'd rattled me.I might have spat the gin back into the glass and told her exactly what I thought.

Instead, I let a small, sarcastic chuckle slip. "No biggie," I muttered under my breath, even as my savings winced in protest. She nodded, satisfied, and drifted back to the bar.

"Bitch," I whispered to myself.

The glass door slid open again, letting in a fresh burst of icy air along with the sound of expensive heels and the faint clink of jewelry. From the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress transformed practically sprinting toward the newcomers, her smile suddenly radiant.

Designer coats. Polished shoes. A bag that probably cost more than my rent.

The Marinos.

Othello Marino, with his sharp, calculating eyes. His wife Sabri, dripping in understated wealth. Allegra, their perfectly groomed daughter with a viper's smile. And Brown Marino, Othello's brother...just as polished, just as dangerous.

They were ushered to a table directly beside mine, the waitress nearly bowing in reverence as she took their orders.

I swallowed a mouthful of gin, feeling it scorch a path down my throat, the heat clashing with the cold in my veins. My pulse was racing, but I forced myself to settle. To listen.

I couldn't afford to let anger cloud me, not when I'd waited two months for this chance.

Two months of watching. Waiting. Following the trail of whispers and shadows that surrounded them.

The Marinos were murderers. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. Michaelo wasn't their first victim, and I doubted he would be their last.

Tonight, I just needed proof. Any incriminating words could do just that for me.

The long tortuous minutes of waiting for them to settle in, finish their meal and start talking business seemed not worth as their talk only revolved around;

"Brown, have you got a bride yet?" the voice I assume to be Othello's questioned. I heard someone snicker as Brown took his time to answer.

I tilted my glass to their direction, enjoying the clear reflection it gave. As I could see them now.

Brown picked a glass of drink and sipped, wiping his lips with a handkerchief, he replied "A Mafia princess Yes?"

Othello and Sabri nodded hastily. " Then you are going to hold on for just a little while, If I would be cajoled into that sick institution called marriage, then I have to do that with a perfect ass and tits," he ended with his vulgar words and then let out a chuckle.

"Do it your way, but you better make it fast, my retirement time is ticking," Othello muttered.

...They went on to scold Allegra for spending too much money,something about a new diamond set she'd "simply had to have"but it was all surface noise. Nothing useful. Then chairs scraped against the polished floor, coats were pulled on, and the Marinos began to leave.

Now was the time for me.

I rose smoothly, forcing my heartbeat to slow, and locked eyes with the waitress. I pulled a wad of cash from my bag, raised it briefly in her line of sight, and let it fall onto the table. Her gaze flicked to the money, then back to me, her expression neutral but her eyes calculating.

My phone was already in my hand, my thumb swiping to the contact I needed. I lifted it to my ear and began to walk, angling my steps to intercept the Marinos at the door.

This had to look accidental. A clumsy collision. An apology. Just enough contact to slip a little something into a coat pocket or catch a snippet of conversation up close.

But I didn't make it that far.

A hand clamped over my mouth, smothering my startled gasp. My phone nearly slipped from my grip.

I was yanked backwards into the shadow between two tall wine racks, my spine colliding with a hard chest. The air around me reeked faintly of leather and smoke.

Then cold metal. A gun, pressing just under my ribs.

"Easy, là viperà" a rough voice rasped in my ear, low enough that no one else could hear.

The pressure of the weapon was steady, not trembling. Whoever this was, he wasn't bluffing.

"I got no problem pulling the trigger," he added, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone, "and trust me,no one in here will hear a thing."

Aliyah's p.o.v

"To the parking lot, woman," his voice tickled my ear, low but sharp, as I squirmed against his grip.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I hissed, my voice cracking under the pressure of his arm. My feet scraped against the polished floor, desperate for leverage. The space felt darker now, shadows swallowing us whole.

"Shut up," he growled, not loud, but deep enough to still my next breath.

In one fluid movement, he spun me around and slammed me against the side of a car. My palms smacked against the cold metal, my breath scattering in white puffs into the night air.

The deepest shade of brown eyes bore into me,eyes so fierce they made my stomach knot. His rough, gravelly voice didn't match the almost cruel beauty of his face.

Fuck.

He would've been handsome, devastatingly so, if not for the taunting fury twisting his features.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" he demanded, his breath ghosting over my cheek.

"Nothing," I spat back, my voice thinner than I wanted.

The corners of his mouth curved into something almost cruel. "You were spying on the Marinos."

My gut lurched. "I wasn't..."

"Not everyone stares at the reflection of a family through their glass like that," he cut me off, leaning in closer, his eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved.

Oh no.

I tried to keep my face blank, to hide the fact that his words had gutted me, but my pulse was screaming my guilt.

"Let me go," I demanded, shoving at his chest, but his grip only tightened.

His smirk deepened, slow and deliberate. "You've got guts. I'll give you that."

Before I could think of another denial, a blur of movement caught my eye.

Eva.

She was the one I had dialed in the restaurant. She'd been camping outside all this time,neither of us could afford to be inside together.

Without hesitation, she swung something heavy, maybe a brick, maybe her bag straight into his shoulder.

He grunted, stumbling just enough for me to drive my knee hard into his groin.

His gasp was sharp, his body folding slightly as I slipped free.

"Asshole!" I snarled, cursing under my breath as Eva grabbed my hand.

We bolted, the sound of his choked swearing chasing us into the cold night.

****

"What the hell happened back there Aliyah," Eva asked immediately we got into the house, slamming the door and securing the double locks. The ride back home was quiet and her outburst is expected.

My pulse was still racing, despite it being close to an hour after the altercation, I still couldn't fathom the fact that I had failed, my first move and I failed.

"Hellooooo," she drawled, waving her fingers in my face as I jolted out of my thoughts and marched towards the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of water and after taking gulps of it, I was ready to explain.

"I'm a failure," I stated blankly, staring into space. I threw off the shawl which I had tried to firmly secure around me to cover dreadful memories.

Eva, the less emotional one of our pair, leaned against the wall and crossed her hand. "Are you ready to cut the bullshit and tell me what that mother fucker wanted?" She sounded disinterested but there's an edge of interest in her tone. Or rather anger.

"He saw me, he saw me spying on the Marinos,he knows." I chanted, trying to swallow the bile that was beginning to announce itself in my throat. "He... he said he saw me watching them,"

"Calm down girl, don't go all panicked with me now. Calm down." She said, pushing off from the wall and offering me another bottle of water which I took.

I gulped it down, this time slowly, I felt my breathing slow down. I had had to deal with panic attacks since the night I was told of Michaelo's murder.

A young vibrant fiancé of mine, who had gone to drop his friends over at the club, was brought back in nothing but his lifeless body. "Liya say something, how did it go with the Marinos,"

"I didn't get anything reasonable from them," I muttered finally, rubbing my forehead. "Apart from Brown spewing crap about looking for a bride with... perfect tits and ass." I scoffed. "That's it. That's all I got after two months of watching those snakes."

I let my head fall back against the couch. "I can't keep doing this, Eva. It's dangerous. I almost got caught tonight."

Silence.

Too much silence.

When I looked back at her, Eva was grinning at me like a cat who'd just cornered a mouse.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes.

She didn't answer right away, just kept smiling, her eyes running over me in that calculating way she gets when she's about to suggest something insane.

"No. No, no, no." I waved my fingers in front of her face, backing away. "Whatever you're thinking, forget it. It's not possible."

"Oh, it's possible," she said smoothly, tilting her head. "You have the perfect tits and ass Brown Marino might just be drooling for."

I froze. "Eva..."

"Think about it," she went on, stepping closer. "You wouldn't be marrying the jerk. You'd just be playing him. Flirt a little, keep him interested, get close enough to figure out which one of them killed Michaelo. Simple."

"Simple?" I almost laughed. "Brown's disrespect for women is on another level. I'd last five minutes before shoving his face into a wall."

Eva shrugged. "Then shove his face into a wall after you get what you need. Until then, you'll be the fantasy he can't stop chasing."

"He wants a Mafia princess," I pointed out.

"That we can arrange, give me few days and you will be given a suitable title." She winked at me.

"How the fuck do you plan on achieving that?"

"Watch me do my thing,"

I stared at her, torn between smacking her and hugging her.

"Eva," I said slowly, "you're insane."

"And you're desperate," she shot back with a grin. "Perfect combination."

I chuckled, buying into her idea. The plan isn't going to be easy, but it was way better than nothing, it wouldn't get to the point of marriage with Brown. I could just play my game fast and bolt.

"What do you think?" Eva nudged my shoulder as she wiggled her brow.

" I hate you," I muttered. "But how do we get plan B in motion?"

Aliyah's p.o.v

The bass thumped through the walls before we even stepped inside, the sound vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.

The moment the club doors opened, a haze of cigarette smoke and perfume wrapped around me. Colored lights swept across the room in lazy arcs, flashing over faces hungry, curious, dangerous.

I knew I was the center of attention the second we walked in.

The slit in my gown was obscene enough to turn heads, the deep plunge at the neckline doing the rest. My heels clicked in sync with the beat as if I'd been born to walk into rooms like this, commanding every glance without saying a word.

But I wasn't here to feed egos. I was here for Brown Marino.

Eva, dressed in a form-fitting dress she clearly hated, leaned closer to me as we slid through the crowd. Her eyes flicked left and right, cataloging exits and threats. "He always sits here when he comes," she murmured once we reached a corner draped in black velvet and dim lighting.

We slid into the VIP booth, the leather cool against my skin. I crossed one leg over the other slowly, deliberately, aware of the gazes still fixed on me. My mind was already running through every possibility what I'd say, how I'd smile, how I'd bait him just enough.

Eva tugged at her hem, her discomfort obvious. "I feel like I'm wearing a damn napkin," she muttered.

"You look fine," I said, scanning the room. "Uncomfortable, but fine."

A waiter appeared instantly, probably drawn by the scent of expensive perfume and trouble. I ordered a drink without really thinking about something sharp enough to burn away my nerves.

"He's not here yet," Eva noted, glancing toward the entrance. "When he does come, he'll make it known. Trust me."

I sipped my drink, the alcohol clawing down my throat, and kept my eyes on the crowd.

Eva was right when Brown Marino arrived, there was no mistaking it.

He strolled in like he owned the oxygen, two guards flanking him in dark suits. No flashy grand entrance, no need for it. The crowd seemed to shift naturally, parting to let him through as if drawn by an invisible force.

He slid into the booth opposite ours, not too far away, speaking briefly to one of his men before leaning back, relaxed but watchful.

I didn't give myself time to overthink. I rose from my seat, the slit of my gown parting with every step until I reached the edge of the dance floor. The bass hit harder here, pulsing through my veins. I let my hips sway, slow and deliberate, a teasing rhythm that matched the beat.

A few seconds in, I could feel that heavy, unblinking weight of a stare.

I risked a glance. Brown was watching.

His expression barely shifted as he leaned toward one of his guards, murmuring something. The bodyguard nodded once, his eyes never leaving me. Only then did I look at him properly.

Brown eyes. Familiar brown eyes.

My pulse tripped,delight at how devastating they looked up close, dread because I knew where I'd seen them before.

It was him. The man from the restaurant.

I stopped moving and returned to my seat, forcing my legs not to rush.

"That's the guy from the other night," I whispered to Eva.

She didn't so much as flinch. "Then act like you don't know him," she said smoothly. "If he remembers, we're in trouble. If he doesn't, we're golden."

But before I could respond, his lips curled in a way that told me exactly what I didn't want to hear. Recognition.

He stood, cutting through the space between us.

"He's coming," I breathed to Eva, my fingers gripping her knee. "He's coming."

When he reached our VIP corner, his scent hit first clean, sharp, and maddeningly male. The smirk was still there, carved into his mouth like it had been born with him.

"Brown Marino requests your presence," he said simply, no mention of that night, no acknowledgment of what we did to him.Just the message.

And somehow, that was worse.

Eva's elbow dug into my side. "Go," she whispered, her voice low but firm. "And for the love of God, Liya, don't fuck this up."

I gave her a dry look, but her expression didn't waver. She tilted her chin toward Brown, who was lounging in his seat, the picture of idle interest... except for the way his gaze clung to me.

Fine.

I stood, smoothing my gown like it was part of some slow ritual, and walked toward his booth. My heels clicked against the floor, my hips swayed just enough not cheap, not desperate. Controlled. Lethal.

I stopped at the edge of his table, tilting my head as if deciding whether or not to stay. "You sent for me?" I asked, one brow lifting.

His smirk deepened. "Would you rather I chased you?"

"Depends," I replied, sliding into the seat across from him. "Are you good at catching?"

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I don't chase unless I already know I'll win."

I let out a soft laugh, leaning back with mock laziness. "And here I thought you liked a challenge. Seems I might've overestimated you."

The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest flash of teeth showing through. "Careful, princess. Challenges are dangerous games to play... especially with men like me."

I met his stare, unflinching. "Then maybe you should pick safer women."

He let the silence stretch for a beat, studying me like I was both a puzzle and a dare. Then, finally, his voice dropped a notch.

"Name."

"Aliyah Santiago," I said smoothly, keeping my gaze locked on his.

From behind me came a low, almost mocking cough. My chest tightened. I didn't need to look to know it was the brown-eyed demon from the restaurant.

Brown's gaze flickered over my shoulder before returning to me, sharper now. "Aliyah Santiago," he repeated, letting the syllables roll lazily off his tongue. "Tell me... are you the famous outcast Spanish Mafia princess I've been hearing about?"

I straightened my shoulder, letting the lie roll off my tongue effortlessly."The one and the only,"

Brown's smirk returned, but it was sharper now, cutting.

"The rumors didn't do you justice," he said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "I thought you were an ugly little thing who fled home because no one could stand you." He let his eyes sweep over me, lingering deliberately. "But instead... I find myself wondering how Spain let something like you slip away."

The jab slid past me like water off glass. I tilted my head, a slow smile curving my lips.

"Beauty and bad decisions are often a package deal," I said. "Maybe they just couldn't afford me anymore."

His gaze narrowed slightly like he wasn't sure if I was being arrogant or honest but the intrigue was there. Without looking away from me, he lifted two fingers in a subtle signal toward the man behind me.

When the brown-eyed demon reappeared with a waitress in tow, he reached for Brown's tumbler of something dark, rich, and dangerous. He placed it in front of him, then reached for my glass.

Only he didn't just hand it over.

His fingers brushed mine as he held it halfway, his gaze locking on mine like we were the only two people in the room. My pulse betrayed me, kicking hard in my chest, but I didn't look away.

Then, just as I reached for it, the glass tilted. Cold liquid spilled over the bodice of my gown, sliding down my skin in a slow, sticky path.

I sucked in a breath, my hand curling into a fist.

"What the fuck, Ottavio," Brown's voice snapped, low but filled with disapproval. "Lead our guest to the restroom. Now."

"I can find my own way," I said tightly, dabbing at my dress, already preparing to stand.

"I insist," Brown cut in, his tone making it clear there was no room for argument.

That was the moment I realized two things:

One:he was sending me off intentionally.

Two:Ottavio was his chosen escort.

The brown-eyed devil stepped forward, the faintest ghost of a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he extended a hand toward me.

"Ottavio," I repeated under my breath, finally giving a name to the man whose gaze had been haunting me since the restaurant.

And now, I was about to be alone with him.