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noralia20 · 5 months ago

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Midnight encounter- Part 1

So here's a little mafia AU, I couldn't see anything else when I saw him in the maserati ad (oh mah god).

I did that last may, I don’t know if I’ll do a second part for now. I don’t have time, plus I wanna see if it reaches a public.

Anyway, enjoy !

Words count : 11k

Being a student wasn't too tough, especially when you adored what you were studying. As a French student specializing in pathology, it always raised a few eyebrows when you introduced yourself as someone fixated on uncovering the stories of the deceased. But for you, it was a passion, especially when it involved unraveling the mysteries behind crimes. You had a unique background; born in Florencia, you were half French and half Italian. Shortly after your birth, your mother persuaded your father to relocate to Paris, where her family resided. Despite the emotional strain it placed on your father to leave his homeland, he agreed, and thus, you grew up as a French girl with a sprinkle of Italian influence, thanks to your father's heritage. Summers were spent in Italy, soaking up the culture and basking in the warmth of your Italian roots. Lately, however, you found yourself succumbing to a creeping sense of burnout, a consequence of pushing yourself too hard. Recognizing the signs, your parents intervened and decided it was time for a change of scenery. Reluctantly, you accepted their decision, grumbling all the way, but secretly acknowledging the necessity of a break. So, with a mix of protest and resignation, you boarded a plane in Paris bound for Rome, where your sweet grandmother awaited. Despite your initial resistance, deep down, you knew that this trip held the promise of much-needed rejuvenation and a chance to reconnect with your Italian heritage.

As you scanned the bustling crowd of people eagerly awaiting their loved ones at the gates, your heart quickened with anticipation. Amidst the sea of faces, you finally spotted her, your grandmother, her hand waving above the throng as she pushed through the crowd, calling out your name in that unmistakable Italian tone that echoed with memories of your father. It had been five long years since you last saw her, the summers of your youth now overshadowed by the demands of your studies. You navigated your way through the crowd, dragging your luggage behind you, and soon found yourself enveloped in her warm embrace. Beside her stood one of your dad's cousins, ready to assist with your luggage. With a smile, he took your bags, and your grandmother immediately took your hand, leading you through the bustling airport towards her car.There it was, the familiar sight of her sweet little red car, a relic from your childhood that had somehow defied the odds and continued to run. You chuckled to yourself, thinking that surely by now the old motor would have given out, but it seemed to possess a stubborn resilience, much like your grandmother herself. Together, you all climbed into the car, settling into the well-worn seats as your grandmother embarked on a flurry of questions, each one delivered in rapid-fire Italian. Gratefully, you responded, slipping effortlessly back into the rhythms of the language, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you embarked on the journey towards your grandmother's house.

Stepping out of the car, you took a moment to absorb the familiar sights and sounds of your grandmother's neighborhood. The air was filled with the gentle hum of life, the scent of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby kitchens, and the soft chatter of neighbors exchanging pleasantries. It was as if time stood still in this quaint corner of Rome, untouched by the passage of years.Your grandmother tossed you the keys with a knowing smile, urging her nephew to hasten with your luggage. With a grateful nod, you caught the keys and made your way towards the small house that held so many memories. It stood as a testament to your grandmother's resilience and love, where she had raised not only her own children but also helped shape the lives of her grandchildren. Entering the cozy abode, you were greeted by the familiar sights and smells of home. The walls seemed to echo with the laughter of generations past, the worn furniture bearing witness to countless family gatherings and shared meals. This was the place where your father had grown up, where your own roots were firmly planted in the rich soil of family tradition and love.

Ascending the stairs to what used to be the girls' room but was now your vacation sanctuary, you couldn't help but notice how much smaller it seemed now. The bed, though old and well-used, still exuded a comforting coziness that beckoned you to rest. Your eyes wandered to the photos adorning the walls, each one a precious memento of summers spent in the embrace of family and tradition.

A dress lay delicately atop the bed, accompanied by a note from your grandmother. "Spero che sia la tua taglia," it read. You couldn't help but smile at her straightforwardness. The dress, a beautiful floral creation, seemed to beckon to you, offering a reprieve from the mundanity of your current attire. With a quick shower, you slipped into the garment, marveling at how perfectly it fit as if it were tailor-made for you. The fabric flowed around you with effortless grace, just as you liked it. Admiring your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but marvel at your grandmother's intuition. How had she known the exact size to choose? Lost in thought, you were startled by her voice calling you downstairs to greet some of her sisters. Descending the stairs, you found yourself enveloped in a whirlwind of Italian hospitality, as cousins and uncles filled every corner of the house. From the kitchen to the living room, the dining room to the garden, the air buzzed with animated conversations and laughter, reminiscent of the familial warmth you had grown accustomed to in France. Embracing each of your relatives in turn, you found yourself slipping effortlessly back into the rhythms of Italian conversation, your language skills returning with each passing moment.

As your grandmother managed to usher out the last of the visiting relatives with her characteristic determination, you both finally found a moment of solitude. Taking a sip of water to quench your thirst, she broached the idea of taking a stroll through the city before the sun set. "Vuoi fare un giro per la città prima che tramonti il sole? Ho alcuni posti da mostrarti," she proposed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. The idea of exploring Rome with her filled you with excitement, and you readily agreed. Quickly slipping on a pair of shoes, you followed her lead as you ventured out into the bustling streets of Rome. It felt like a journey back in time as she guided you to places you had frequented as a child, from the serene park where you had played to the majestic fountain where you had made countless wishes. Your eyes lit up with delight when you spotted a vendor selling gelato, and before you could protest, your grandmother was already making her way towards the tempting display. "Prendiamone un po'," she declared with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Nonna! Non è necessario..." you began to protest, but she silenced you with a wave of her hand. "Silenzio, voglio anch'io il gelato," she insisted, her infectious energy contagious as she stood there, undeterred by any protestations. You couldn't help but smile at her antics, marveling at her unwavering spirit and zest for life. Despite the passage of time, she remained a beacon of strength and vitality, a reminder of the enduring bonds of family and the joy found in the simple pleasures of life.

An unexpected collision jolted you out of your reverie, and as you turned to voice your protest, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. Taller than you, with long sandy blond hair that cascaded around his tired blue eyes, he cut an enigmatic figure against the backdrop of the bustling street. Dressed in black despite the sweltering heat, he seemed out of place, an anomaly amidst the vibrant colors of Rome. His gaze briefly met yours, sending a shiver down your spine before he uttered a simple "scusi" and continued on his way, leaving you standing there, momentarily stunned. As he disappeared into the nearby alley, a cold chill lingered in the air, and you realized you had been holding your breath without even realizing it. Glancing back at the alley where he had vanished, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach. Who was he, and why did his presence leave such a lingering sense of disquiet?

Shaking your head to dispel the lingering unease, you turned back to your grandmother, who had paused to wait for you.

"Everything okay, cara?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern as she noticed the slight tremor in your voice.You nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. "Just a little startled, nonna. Let's keep going," you replied, eager to put the strange encounter behind you. But despite your attempts to brush it off, the memory of the man with the tired blue eyes lingered in the back of your mind, casting a shadow over the rest of your evening stroll through the streets of Rome.

A few days had passed since the unsettling encounter on the street, and now it was Friday evening, and you found yourself dining with your grandmother. When she declared, "Andare fuori stasera," it wasn't a suggestion but a command, and you knew better than to argue. Anticipating your hesitation, she preemptively addressed your concerns, telling you, "Ho lasciato qualcosa sul tuo letto, mettitelo e non svegliarmi quando torni," before whisking away your plate with a playful wink. You couldn't help but smile at her knowing gesture as you hurried upstairs. There, laid out on your bed, was a stunning silver sparkly dress accompanied by matching heels. It wasn't your typical attire, but you knew better than to refuse your grandmother's fashion choices. Trying it on, you marveled once again at how perfectly it fit, as if it were tailor-made for you. With your outfit sorted, you turned your attention to finding a suitable destination for the evening. A quick search led you to The Marlena, a nightclub that seemed both selective and promising. Though your intention wasn't to meet someone, but rather to enjoy the company of friends and lose yourself in the rhythm of the music. Applying makeup, you focused on accentuating your eyes, knowing that the dim lighting of the club would work in your favor. With your preparations complete, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through you as you prepared to embark on a uber towards a night of adventure and possibility.

The sight of The Marlena nightclub left you breathless, its façade a stunning amalgamation of gold, black, and red hues that beckoned to revelers from far and wide. A long queue of eager patrons awaited entry, flanked by imposing bouncers guarding the entrance. However, your moment of awe was abruptly interrupted as someone collided with you, causing you to drop your bag. Turning to confront the source of the disturbance, you were met with a drunken girl who hurled curses at you in Italian before being forcibly ejected from the club by the bouncers. As you stooped to retrieve your bag, you noticed a VIP badge lying next to it. For a moment, you contemplated returning it to the girl, but the combination of the long queue, the insult, and perhaps a bit of sinful temptation led you to reconsider. With a decisive gesture, you pocketed the badge and confidently presented yourself at the VIP line. The bouncer eyed you skeptically, assessing your appearance and the badge you offered. Holding his gaze with unwavering determination, you silently dared him to refuse you entry. After a tense moment, he relented, granting you access with a stern warning: "No photos inside, or out forever." With a nod of acknowledgment, you stepped through the velvet ropes, leaving behind the clamor of the crowd and stepping into the pulsating heart of The Marlene. Tonight, you would embrace the thrill of the forbidden, relishing in the excitement of the unknown as you surrendered yourself to the allure of the night.

As you explored the expansive interior of The Marlena, you couldn't help but be captivated by its grandeur. Multiple levels towered above you, each offering a unique perspective of the bustling nightclub below. Your eyes lingered on the dance floor, where revelers moved in synchrony to the pulsating rhythm of the music, their movements exuding a raw energy that seemed to infuse the very air. However, your newfound VIP status afforded you a glimpse into a world beyond the ordinary. Your gaze was drawn to a staircase marked "VIP," leading to a secluded level adorned with a magnificent glass balcony.

Your eyes followed the staircase that led to the VIP section, tracing its path until they settled on a secluded level with a grand glass balcony. There, perched like an angel surveying the chaos below, was a blond girl with an air of both innocence and mischief. Her gaze met yours, and you found yourself captivated by the intensity of her blue eyes, like she knew people were watching and she was enjoying it. She exuded an otherworldly aura, her wavy blond hair framing her face in a halo of light. Yet, despite her angelic appearance, there was a hint of darkness in the way she carried herself, a subtle defiance that added to her allure. As she smirked in amusement at your mutual acknowledgment, you realized that she, like you, was not a typical Italian but someone from elsewhere. In that fleeting moment of connection, you nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between you. However, before you could dwell further on the enigmatic encounter, another woman with short brown hair appeared and kissed the blond girl, breaking the spell. With a determined resolve, you tore your gaze away and made your way towards the VIP section, eager to explore the levels beyond the dance floor and delve deeper into the mysteries of the night. There was an undeniable allure to the ethereal atmosphere of the upper levels, and you were ready to embrace whatever secrets they held.

Ascending the stairs into the VIP section felt like stepping into another realm entirely, one where opulence and extravagance reigned supreme. Every surface was adorned with luxurious materials-leather, velvet, and gold-that spoke of wealth beyond measure. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the dance floor below, and for a moment, you felt like a mere pauper in comparison. However, you refused to let yourself be intimidated by the grandeur surrounding you. With a determined stride, you entered the lavish space, adorned in your own semblance of elegance with your black lace gloves. Despite your efforts to blend in, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in this world where people seemed to care only for themselves. As you observed the elite gathering, you noticed that they were engaged in leisurely pursuits-talking, gambling, smoking, and sipping on expensive drinks. It was a scene straight out of a decadent fantasy, where indulgence knew no bounds and money flowed like water. Yet, amidst the extravagance, there lingered an unspoken question: where did all this wealth come from?Making your way towards the glass balcony, you found yourself drawn to the breathtaking view it offered. From this elevated vantage point, you could see the dance floor below, where the masses moved like mere mortals in comparison to the gods of the VIP section above. It was a stark reminder of the stark divide between the haves and the have-nots, a world where money wielded power beyond measure. Lost in contemplation, you couldn't help but wonder about the origins of this wealth and the true cost of such decadence. But for now, you pushed aside your thoughts and allowed yourself to be swept away by the allure of the night, embracing the intoxicating atmosphere of luxury and excess as you navigated the intricate web of intrigue and desire that surrounded you.

Feeling a sense of detachment from the opulent surroundings of the VIP section, you resolved to immerse yourself in the scene unfolding before you. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, an intruder in a world where every move seemed orchestrated with precision. As you observed the elite clientele around you, you couldn't help but notice that you were the only one without a drink in hand. Determined to blend in, you made your way to the bar and ordered a Negroni, watching intently as the skilled bartender prepared your drink with practiced expertise. It was as if every action in the room was meticulously calculated, as though everyone was on edge, fearing the gaze of some unseen authority figure-perhaps the owner of this lavish establishment. Your gaze wandered, and you couldn't help but notice a room concealed behind a heavy velvet curtain. Intrigued, you turned to the bartender and inquired about its purpose. His raised eyebrow and teasing tone suggested that you were indeed new to this environment. "It's where the owner hosts his gambling sessions," he explained casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence. You strained to catch a glimpse of the mysterious room, and as someone slipped through the curtain, the bartender warned you against staring too intently. "Don't stare too much, you'll be hypnotized to go in," he remarked with a hint of warning in his voice. Perplexed, you pressed him for more information."People come here with financial troubles, hoping to win against the owner," he elaborated, his voice tinged with a note of caution. "But if they lose, the owner claims a stake in their existence, ensuring that they are forever indebted to him." His words hung in the air, casting a shadow over the seemingly glamorous façade of the nightclub. As he resumed his duties, wiping down a glass with practiced ease, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine. The allure of the VIP section suddenly seemed less enticing, overshadowed by the darker undercurrents that lurked beneath the surface.

The bartender's words sent a chill down your spine, shattering the illusion of glamour that had initially drawn you into this world of excess. As you attempted to process his warning, he continued, his tone grave and knowing. "Let me tell you, that usually doesn't end well," he cautioned, his words echoing ominously in the air. It was a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of this seemingly opulent world.Lost in thought, you began to study the faces around you, contemplating the hidden struggles and desires that drove these individuals to seek refuge in the intoxicating allure of the nightclub. However, before you could delve deeper into your observations, the bartender interrupted, his voice cutting through your reverie. "Don't get me wrong, most people here know better than to play the owner's game," he explained, his gaze piercing through your facade with unsettling clarity. "The players are usually from your world, the downstairs level." His words struck a nerve, and you felt a surge of panic rising within you as you realized that your cover had been blown. How could he have known? "The downstairs level- how did you-" you began, but the bartender's smirk quickly faded into a sober expression. "I know girls like you," he replied cryptically, his eyes reflecting a lifetime of experiences that you could only begin to imagine. "And trust me, sweetheart, there's only one winner in the game you're currently playing. And right now, you're not winning. Get out of here and don't look back." With a sense of urgency, he slid your drink across the bar towards you, his gesture a silent command to leave before it was too late. "Trust me," he added, his voice tinged with a note of solemnity, "coming from a guy who has seen way too many things around here. On the house." And with that, he turned away, attending to another patron, leaving you to grapple with the unsettling realization that you had stumbled into a world far more dangerous than you had ever imagined.

As you sipped your Negroni, contemplating your next move, you were interrupted by the intrusive presence of a man who seemed to exude entitlement with every fiber of his being. His overly confident smile and condescending tone immediately put you on edge, a reminder of the type of men you had encountered all too often in this world of privilege and excess."Buonasera signorina," he greeted you with a singsong lilt, his words dripping with arrogance. You forced a polite smile in response, though every fiber of your being rebelled against the notion of engaging with him any further. "Good evening, sir," you replied tersely, hoping to convey your lack of interest in further conversation. However, his smile only widened in response, and you cursed yourself for responding at all. "So, you can speak," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. "I've been watching you, and you haven't spoken a word since you arrived." Your heart sank at the realization that you had become the subject of scrutiny among the elite patrons of the nightclub. It was a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that accompanied every move in this world of wealth and privilege. "It's because I only speak when necessary," you retorted, your words tinged with thinly veiled disdain. "No need to waste oxygen on meaningless conversations."

The man's smile faltered for a moment, his confidence momentarily shaken by your blunt response. However, he quickly regained his composure, his eyes narrowing as he studied you intently. "A woman of few words, I see," he mused, his tone laced with thinly veiled condescension. "Perhaps you're more interesting than you appear." You bristled at his insinuation, but before you could formulate a response, he extended his hand towards you. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alessandro," he declared, his voice smooth and practiced. Reluctantly, you accepted his handshake, inwardly cursing your predicament. It seemed that the night was far from over, and you found yourself reluctantly drawn into a conversation with a man whose intentions remained shrouded in mystery.

"A negroni ? Usually ladies take some red wine." The man's teasing remark about your choice of drink made you feel even more uneasy, as if he were probing for vulnerabilities to exploit. You tried to maintain your composure, but his proximity and persistent questioning made you feel increasingly uncomfortable. "Maybe because I'm not like any lady," you retorted, hoping to deter his advances, but to your dismay, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of backing off, he leaned in closer, his presence invading your personal space. "Oh really? I'd like to know more about that," he replied, his tone dripping with intrigue as he closed the distance between you. You forced a smile, trying to mask your unease as you reluctantly engaged in conversation. "But you never told me your name, sweet one," he continued, seemingly oblivious to—or perhaps intentionally ignoring—your attempts to create distance. "I'm Y/n," you responded curtly, hoping to maintain a sense of detachment while still playing along with his game. However, his response only served to deepen your discomfort. "Y/n... Well, allow me to share a drink with you," he declared. Before you could protest, he slid into the seat beside you, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Feeling increasingly trapped, you took a sip of your Negroni in an attempt to steady your nerves. His next comment caught you off guard, causing you to almost choke on your drink. "Something on my face?" you asked, trying to maintain a semblance of composure despite the rising sense of panic. "No, you just don't look like you're from around here," he remarked casually, his words sending a chill down your spine. It seemed that everyone in this world had a radar for outsiders, and you were beginning to realize that blending in might be harder than you had initially anticipated.

"What tells you that ?" you try to keep your voice steady. "I don't know, it comes off of your irresistible aura." He answers winking. As Alessandro continued to flirt with you, his words veiled in charm but his intentions unmistakably predatory, you searched desperately for an escape route. The layout of the nightclub offered no respite—the restrooms were located on the opposite side of the room, far from the exit, and you lacked the pretext of meeting friends to justify your departure. Trapped in this unwanted exchange, you struggled to maintain a façade of composure, all the while cursing your predicament.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself, Alessandro?" you interjected, hoping to redirect the conversation and buy yourself some time. You knew all too well that men like him loved to talk about themselves, and you hoped that indulging his ego might provide you with an opportunity to slip away unnoticed. “Well, I'm the son of a caporegime," he began, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. Mentions of being the son of a "caporegime" left you puzzled, but you dared not ask for clarification, fearing that it might expose your ignorance and blow your cover. Instead, you listened attentively as he regaled you with tales of his family's wealth and influence, boasting of their ownership of Italian vineyards and their esteemed status among the top producers of wine in the world. Throughout his monologue, Alessandro's hand wandered, subtly but persistently, until it came to rest on your knee. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you resisted the urge to recoil, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression even as his fingers began to inch upward, tracing a path along your thigh. Despite your mounting discomfort, you knew that any overt rejection or attempt to escape could provoke a dangerous reaction from Alessandro. So, with a sense of resignation, you continued to feign interest in his stories, all the while plotting your next move and praying for an opportunity to extricate yourself from his grasp.

Feeling increasingly cornered by Alessandro's advances, you desperately searched for a way to escape his grasp. The bartender, who had offered a brief respite from Alessandro's unwelcome attention, was nowhere to be found, leaving you feeling utterly alone and vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment. Your heart raced as Alessandro called your name, his voice dripping with arrogance and entitlement. Startled, you turned to face him, hoping to maintain a façade of composure despite the rising sense of panic within you. "I'm sorry?" you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to find the right words to rebuff his advances. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he repeated his proposition, his hand squeezing your thigh possessively. "You could come and see my manor next to the vines," he murmured, his words laced with a thinly veiled threat. "I'm sure the view would please you." Panic surged through you as he continued to press closer, his proximity suffocating. "N-No, that wouldn't be necessary," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you attempted to maintain a semblance of composure. But Alessandro seemed undeterred by your feeble protestations, his confidence only growing as he whispered in your ear, his words sending a shiver of revulsion down your spine. "Don't play hard, bella," he whispered, his hand grazing up your thigh as he insinuated his intentions. "I have a room upstairs, but I don't remember the number. Wanna help me find it?" You recoiled at his touch, feeling utterly helpless and petrified by the realization of your predicament. Trapped in this dangerous game with no means of escape, you struggled to find a way out of this nightmare, praying for a miracle to intervene and rescue you from Alessandro's clutches.

Suddenly, a throat cleared behind you, causing Alessandro to halt his advances and visibly tense. His expression shifted from annoyance to fear as he turned to face the source of the interruption, ready to curse whoever dared to intrude on his plans. But as he caught sight of the figure behind you, his fiery demeanor melted away, leaving him pale and trembling. As Alessandro's demeanor shifted from aggression to abject fear, you felt a surge of relief wash over you at the arrival of this mysterious figure. With Alessandro's attention now diverted, you seized the opportunity to distance yourself from him, discreetly inching away from his grasp.

"D-Don..." he stammered out, his voice barely above a whisper as he retreated from you, his bravado crumbling in the presence of the newcomer. The title sparked a flicker of recognition in your mind, but before you could fully grasp its significance, the man behind you spoke up. "I'm surprised to see you here, Ales," he remarked, his voice grave and tinged with a pronounced Italian accent. "I thought I made it clear to your father that you shouldn't be anywhere near my business. Or would you dare to disobey me?" Alessandro's response was immediate and deferential, his words choked out as if each syllable caused him physical pain. "Of course not, boss! I was only passing by to deliver an envelope to a capo," he explained hastily, his tone betraying a mixture of fear and regret.

You watched in stunned silence as the power dynamics shifted before your eyes, realizing that you had unwittingly stumbled into a confrontation between two powerful figures in this shadowy world. As the gravity of the situation sank in, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mingled with apprehension, uncertain of what lay ahead in this dangerous game of power and intrigue.

You didn't dare to turn around to face your savior, afraid to intrude on the unfolding confrontation between him and Alessandro. Instead, you remained rooted in place, listening intently as the man's commanding voice filled the air, his words carrying a weight of authority that left no room for argument. "Then what are you still doing here? Bothering one of my guests, I might add," he remarked, his tone dropping to a lower octave, sending a shiver down your spine. Alessandro attempted to stammer out some words of excuse, but his feeble protests were quickly dismissed by the man's stern rebuke. Summoning your courage, you finally turned around to face your savior, your breath catching in your throat as you took in his commanding presence.

He stood before you, tall and statuesque, his dark hair slicked back in a tousled style that added to his rugged charm. His attire exuded an effortless sophistication, a black shirt with a few buttons undone hinting at a casual elegance that suited him perfectly. But it was his eyes that drew you in, pools of molten gold that sparkled with intelligence and depth, captivating you with their intensity. There was a warmth in his gaze, an invitation to trust and confide, that made you feel instantly at ease in his presence. As you observed him, you couldn't help but be struck by his aura of charisma, a magnetic energy that seemed to radiate from every pore. Yet, beneath the surface, there was a hint of vulnerability, a furrowed brow that spoke of inner turmoil and conflict. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was an undeniable magnetism about him, a captivating allure that left you breathless in his presence. And as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a stirring within your soul, a sense of connection that transcended words and spoke to something deeper within you.

As your savior's gaze briefly crossed yours, you detected a subtle shift in his expression, a fleeting glimpse of something indefinable that seemed to flicker and fade in an instant. But before you could decipher the meaning behind the change, his eyes grew dark once more as he assessed the scene before him with a cool detachment. With a nod towards one of the men at his side, he gave a silent command, and they moved swiftly to handle the situation. Alessandro was roughly seized by the shoulder, his protests falling on deaf ears as he was dragged away from the scene. You watched in silence as he disappeared from view, feeling a mixture of relief and unease at the abrupt turn of events. As the commotion died down and the party resumed its festivities, you couldn't help but feel a sense of embarrassment wash over you. All eyes seemed to be on you, and you wished nothing more than to disappear into the shadows and escape the scrutiny of the crowd. Sensing your discomfort, your savior turned his attention back to you, his demeanor softened slightly as he addressed you directly. "I'm sorry he bothered you," he apologized, his voice tinged with genuine concern. "I had made sure my bouncers wouldn't let him in. Turns out I wasn't specific enough." Your savior's steely gaze bore down on one of his bodyguards, who lowered his eyes in shame under the weight of his employer's disapproval.

You felt a pang of sympathy for the man as he apologized, recognizing that he was shouldering the responsibility for his subordinates' oversight. However, you quickly reminded yourself of the role you needed to play and the necessity of leaving as soon as possible without causing offense. "It's no worries, truly," you reassured him, offering a small smile of gratitude for his concern. You reached for your Negroni, intending to take a sip to calm your nerves. As you prepared to take a sip of your Negroni, a hand suddenly snatched the glass from your grasp, causing you to startle in surprise. You looked up to see your savior's concerned expression as he inspected the contents of the drink. "No, it's spiked," he stated firmly, his voice laced with urgency as he gently placed the glass back onto the table. With practiced efficiency, he produced a small vial containing a red powder and poured it into your drink, the telltale sign of an unwanted substance detected.

Your stomach churned with disgust and horror as you realized the implications of his actions. Alessandro must have spiked your drink while you were distracted, a sinister attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. The thought sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards your savior for intervening before it was too late.With a grimace of disgust, you pushed the tainted drink aside, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you at the mere thought of consuming it. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the danger lurking in the shadows of this glamorous facade, and you resolved to remain vigilant and cautious in this unfamiliar world of power and intrigue.

You blushed at your own clumsiness, feeling embarrassed by your lack of awareness in such a sophisticated setting. Turning back to your savior, you struggled to find the right words to express your gratitude, stumbling over your words as you realized you didn't even know his name. "Thank you, again... sir, Don..." you began, your voice trailing off uncertainly as you faltered over his title. His reaction caught you off guard, his eyes widening before he erupted into a warm, hearty laugh that filled the air with its infectious warmth. "No need for such formalities, signora," he reassured you, his laughter subsiding into a gentle chuckle as he regarded you with amusement. Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson at his easy demeanor, feeling out of place amidst his effortless charm. "You're not used to these kinds of events, are you?" he asked softly, his tone now gentle and understanding, a stark contrast to his previous stern demeanor. You shook your head slightly, feeling a pang of insecurity at being so transparently out of your depth. "No," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence. He simply nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "I figured. But don't worry, people around us are just putting on airs. They may act like they know what they're doing, but deep down, they're just as unsure as you are." His words offered a small comfort, easing some of the tension that had coiled in your stomach. You met his gaze once more, finding solace in the warmth and kindness reflected in his eyes.

"And I won't bite you, miss..." he trailed off, waiting for you to fill in the blank. And as he waited patiently for your response, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude towards this enigmatic stranger who had shown you nothing but kindness and understanding in your moment of need.

As the need for an excuse pressed upon you, the memory of the badge flashed in your mind, providing you with a convenient alias: Bianca Mazzoti. Gathering your wits, you confidently supplied the name to your savior. "Mazzoti, Y/n Mazzoti," you declared, hoping to deflect any further inquiries with a semblance of authority. He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly lost in contemplation. "I had no idea Mazzoti had another daughter. You don't look anything like Bianca," he remarked, his gaze piercing as he studied you intently. You maintained your composure, weaving a web of lies with practiced ease. "Mr. Mazzoti adopted me when I was sixteen. I only take Bianca's place when she cannot attend to certain obligations," you explained smoothly, your words flowing like silk.His curiosity seemed piqued by your revelation, prompting him to delve deeper into your past. "Which explains why you're not used to this. Where were you born? I sense a familiar accent," he inquired, his tone gentle yet probing. The truth was tempting, but you knew better than to reveal your true origins in this precarious situation. Instead, you offered a half-truth, drawing upon your French heritage for a convincing answer. "Florence," you replied, the name slipping effortlessly from your lips. It wasn't a complete lie, but it veiled the truth behind a facade of ambiguity. "La Bella Firenze," he mused in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he contemplated your response. You breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve as you navigated the delicate dance of deception in this intricate game of intrigue.

As the realization dawned upon you that you still did not know his name, you decided to take a bold step and inquire about it. After all, if he had asked for your name, it seemed only fair that he reciprocate. "You asked me my name. Wouldn't it be formal for you to give me yours?" you ventured cautiously, aware of the potential risk in probing further. His men visibly tensed at your words, their eyes darting nervously as they awaited his response.His gaze intensified, the golden flecks in his eyes shimmering with an otherworldly brilliance as he regarded you with a penetrating stare. For a moment, the air crackled with tension, the weight of his scrutiny bearing down upon you like a heavy cloak. Finally, he spoke, his voice resonating with quiet authority as he revealed his name to you. "You can call me Damiano," he declared, his words carrying a weight of significance that left you breathless with anticipation.You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his response. Nodding in acknowledgement, you mentally filed away his name, committing it to memory for future reference.In a swift motion, he flicked his finger, summoning a nearby barman who swiftly brought two cups of champagne to the table. You watched in astonishment as the bartender moved with lightning speed, awed by the seamless efficiency with which Damiano commanded the room.As you sipped your champagne, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer power and presence that emanated from Damiano. Like Hades presiding over the realm of the underworld, he seemed to wield an invisible authority that permeated every corner of the room. The comparison to Hades sparked a curious thought in your mind, and as you studied Damiano's flawless features—the dark eyes, the tousled hair, the enigmatic smile—you couldn't help but see echoes of the mythical deity in his demeanor. There was a certain allure to him, a magnetic charisma that drew you in and left you captivated by his enigmatic presence.

As you zoned out, lost in your thoughts, Damiano's voice jolted you back to the present moment. You blinked, realizing that you had been staring at him absentmindedly. Flustered, you attempted to regain your composure. "Oh, nothing, just thinking," you stammered out, hoping to mask your momentary lapse in attention. Damiano's lips twitched with amusement, and he coughed lightly to hide a laugh before shifting the conversation to a different topic. "So you're only here to replace Bianca. What do you do in life?" he inquired, his gaze fixed intently on you as he awaited your response. “I-I’m a violinist.” That wasn’t truly a lie. You were one, and was part of an orchestra. But your main life was being a student, but he didn’t need to know that.

Damiano's eyes flicked down to your fingertips, where faint dents marred the skin—a telltale sign of years spent mastering the instrument. His keen observation did not go unnoticed, and you couldn't help but tense slightly at his perceptive gaze. "Which explains the small dents on your fingertips. It could be mistaken for the calluses of a habitual gun holder," he remarked casually, his words sending a chill down your spine. The implication behind his observation was clear, and you found yourself growing increasingly wary of this enigmatic man before you. As a future forensic doctor, you were well-versed in analyzing physical evidence, but to have your own marks scrutinized in such a manner by a simple nightclub CEO left you feeling unsettled.

"Usually, people don't pick up on it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to mask your unease. "Are you perhaps a musician too?" you ventured, hoping to divert the conversation away from his unsettling observation. Damiano took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable as he considered your question. "Some of my close friends would say so. My best musical arm would be my voice," he answered cryptically, his words tinged with a hint of mystery. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Damiano than met the eye. As you studied him, you couldn't help but wonder about the secrets that lurked beneath his polished exterior, and the true extent of his power and influence in this shadowy world of intrigue and deception. "Ooh, a singer?" you echoed, the hint of amusement in Damiano's tone contagious as you chuckled softly along with him. His attention remained focused on the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the scene before him with a sense of quiet contemplation.

"What about you? What led you to become the manager of such an intriguing place?" you inquired, curiosity lacing your words as you watched him closely, eager to unravel the mystery behind this enigmatic figure. Damiano didn't bother to look back at you as he spoke, his attention still fixed on the intricate details of the nightclub's structure. A slight smirk tugged at his lips, hinting at a deeper layer of amusement beneath his composed exterior. "I like extravagance, as you may now know," he began, his voice carrying a note of wistfulness as he spoke. "But I also find people of the night more intriguing. The night is a place where despair creeps in, and people let their masks fall. I love to be here and watch. It's like trapping flowers as they close in on themselves."His words sent a shiver down your spine, the imagery of darkness and deception intertwining with a sense of morbid fascination. It brought to mind the hidden rooms behind the curtains, the secrets that lurked within their shadows. "You're talking about the rooms behind the curtains?" you ventured, your gaze flicking back to the concealed alcove that the bartender had mentioned earlier. Damiano's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes darker than ever as a devilish smile played at the corners of his lips. "Precisely. But I'd be pained to find you there," he remarked cryptically, his words tinged with a hint of warning that sent a chill down your spine.You tilted your head in confusion, your mind racing with questions as you tried to decipher the meaning behind his enigmatic words.

"How so?" you pressed, your curiosity piqued by Damiano's cryptic remarks. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze distant as he contemplated his response. "People who go there are despaired, Y/n," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of solemnity. "I've encountered such great sorrow that hides behind the veneer of wealth. Sometimes, they feel they have no other option but to seek me out." You found his words bold, the stark admission of human suffering amidst the opulence of the nightclub's surroundings leaving a bitter taste in your mouth."And you let them lose your challenge?" you couldn't help but ask, your voice tinged with skepticism. Damiano's gaze shifted to meet yours, his eyes taking on a stormy hue as he regarded you with a mixture of intensity and resolve. "I always give them a chance to win, don't ever doubt it," he replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm not a man who traps." You held back a scoff at his words, unconvinced by his assurances. "So you're a saint?" you couldn't help but challenge him, the skepticism evident in your voice. For a moment, Damiano seemed taken aback by your question, his expression momentarily faltering as he searched for the right words. He opened and closed his mouth, his gaze flicking down to his drink before meeting yours once more."I don't think you could say that," he finally replied, his tone measured as he chose his words carefully. "But I have my own morals and values." His response left you with more questions than answers, the enigma of Damiano's character deepening with each passing moment. As you studied him, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye, and that beneath his composed exterior lay a complexity that defied easy categorization.

As you took a deep breath to calm yourself, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. You realized you had been unfair to Damiano, judging him based on preconceived notions without truly understanding the complexities of his character. With a sense of regret weighing heavily on your shoulders, you turned your attention back to the bustling crowd, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the ambiance of the night."And do people often win?" you asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Damiano's smile was enigmatic as he met your gaze, his eyes holding a glint of amusement as if he knew something you didn't."Not really. It only happened once, years ago when the club was just new," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia as he spoke. There was a distant look in his eyes, as if he were lost in the memories of times long past."And did it cost you a lot?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by the hint of mystery in his words.Damiano let out a chuckle, his laughter carrying a warmth that belied the severity of his past. "Ah, that bastard did cost me a lot," he admitted with a wry smile, shaking his head slightly. "But most of all, he became my best friend after this."You couldn't help but smile at the unexpected turn of events, the realization dawning on you that there was more to Damiano than met the eye. Despite the darkness that seemed to surround him, there was a glimmer of humanity beneath the surface, a warmth that shone through in moments of vulnerability.As you looked back at him, you found him staring at you with a gaze that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny like a tangible presence in the air.In that moment, you wondered what lay hidden beneath the surface of this enigmatic man, and what secrets he held within the depths of his soul. But one thing was certain—you were inexplicably drawn to him, captivated by the magnetic pull of his presence and the mysteries that surrounded him.

"Did I ever tell you that people of the night fascinate me?" Damiano's smirk held a hint of mischief as he directed his gaze solely at you, his eyes probing yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel like he was speaking directly to your soul.You let out a small laugh, attempting to mask the flutter of nerves that danced in your stomach, and took a sip of your champagne in a feeble attempt to regain your composure. "I'm not really a woman of the night. The violin sounds better when you play in the sun," you replied, attempting to deflect his attention away from you.But Damiano's gaze remained fixed on you, studying you like you were a rare and precious discovery. "I'm sure you are. And playing violin in the night makes things more... dramatic," he remarked, his voice dripping with a tantalizing allure that sent a shiver down your spine.You chuckled nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze like a tangible presence in the air. "But who said I'm dramatic?" you quipped, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of playful banter. "We're Italians," he shot back with a grin, and you couldn't help but laugh at his response. There was a magnetic charm to his presence, an undeniable allure that drew you in despite your better judgment. As he extended his glass to toast with you, you found yourself unable to resist, raising your own glass to meet his in a gesture of camaraderie. The soft tinkling sound of the colliding glasses echoed through the air, a melodic symphony that seemed to encapsulate the magic of the moment.

He was a vision of effortless charm and casual elegance, dons a crisp white shirt, its top buttons left open in a gesture of relaxed sophistication. With every step, he exudes an air of confidence that effortlessly draws admiration. His demeanor speaks volumes of a man comfortable in his own skin, at ease with both himself and the world around him. With his hair gracefully tied back in a loose ponytail, he exudes an air of relaxed confidence, as if effortlessly striding through the currents of life's challenges.His presence commands attention, not through ostentation, but through a magnetic charisma that emanates from within. There's a grace to his movements, a fluidity that mirrors the calm confidence he exudes. It's as if he moves through life with a quiet assurance, navigating its complexities with ease and grace. As he leaned in to whisper something in Damiano's ear, you couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Damiano's expression, his eyes darkening with a hint of seriousness. "I'm sorry, signora," Damiano's voice broke through the momentary silence, his tone tinged with regret. "It seems our encounter must be cut short. Duty calls me."

You felt a pang of disappointment at the sudden turn of events, but you nodded in understanding, masking your emotions behind a polite smile. "Of course, Damiano. Thank you for the wonderful evening." With a graceful bow, Damiano pressed a kiss to your hand before disappearing into the crowd, followed by the enigmatic stranger and his retinue of men. Left alone once more, you couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious man who had interrupted your conversation with Damiano, his presence leaving an indelible impression on your mind.

You snapped out of it, checking the time and deciding it was late enough. You took your stuff and walked out of the VIP section, not without a last glance where Damiano had disappeared earlier. As you stepped out of the vibrant atmosphere of the nightclub, the cool embrace of the summer night enveloped you, a stark contrast to the pulsating energy you had just left behind. With your phone battery dwindling and your funds depleted, you made the decision to walk back to your grandmother's house, which fortunately wasn't too far away.The streets of Rome at night held a unique charm, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and adorned with the whispers of history echoing through the ancient cobblestones. Despite the late hour, the city seemed alive, bustling with the occasional passerby and the distant murmur of life.However, as you ventured further from the bustling heart of the city and closer to your grandmother's house, the streets grew quieter, until eventually, you found yourself walking alone in the stillness of the night.With each step, the only sound accompanying you was the echo of your own footsteps against the cobblestones, the rhythmic beat of your heart matching the cadence of your journey homeward. Yet, as you turned onto a small side street, a haunting whimper pierced the silence, sending a shiver down your spine.The sound was so faint, so ethereal, that it could easily be mistaken for the mournful cry of the wind weaving through the narrow alleyways. But deep down, you knew it was something more, something tangible, something that demanded your attention.

Despite the trepidation gnawing at your senses, your innate curiosity propelled you forward, drawing you closer to the source of the haunting whimper. With each cautious step, you called out into the night, your voice trembling slightly with a mixture of apprehension and concern.As you rounded the corner onto the deserted street, your eyes widened in shock and horror at the sight that greeted you. There, sprawled on the ground, lay a man, his form illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead. Crimson stained the pavement beneath him, a stark contrast to the serene beauty of the night.Reacting on pure instinct, you rushed to his side, your heart pounding in your chest as you assessed the severity of his injuries. Blood seeped from a wound, staining his clothes and pooling ominously on the ground. With trembling hands, you pressed against the source of the bleeding, desperately trying to stem the flow and keep him conscious."Sir! Can you hear me?" you called out, your voice laced with urgency and fear. "Come ti chiami? What's your name?" you continued, hoping to elicit any response from the injured man. But there was only silence, save for the labored rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to cling to consciousness. Frantically, you reached for your phone, your fingers fumbling with the device as you attempted to summon help. But before you could complete the call, a sudden, searing pain erupted at the back of your head, stealing away your senses in a cruel wave of darkness. As the world around you dissolved into blackness, the last thing you felt was the cold embrace of the pavement beneath you, a silent witness to the unfolding drama of the night.

Damiano's pov

Damiano stood in the dimly lit room, flanked by Ethan and Thomas, the weight of their collective concern hanging heavily in the air. They awaited the arrival of Vic, their trusted associate, knowing that her presence would signal the beginning of a crucial discussion that could shape the fate of their organization.As the door swung open, Vic entered, accompanied by Luna, her expression grave and her demeanor tense. The severity etched upon her features spoke volumes, a stark contrast to the warmth and lightness Damiano had observed earlier. They all took their seats around the table, a somber atmosphere settling over them like a shroud."Thomas, tell us," Damiano urged, his voice steady but tinged with a sense of urgency. They leaned in attentively as Thomas began to recount the grim details of their missing soldato's fate."We last heard from him a week ago," Thomas began, his tone heavy with regret. "Initially, I assumed he had either betrayed us or fallen victim to a rival faction. Lavinia and I conducted a thorough search, scouring every corner of the city in search of his body, but we found nothing."He paused, his expression pained as he continued, "According to our sources, he was captured two days prior to his disappearance and subjected to unspeakable torture." With a heavy heart, Thomas played a video that had been sent to them, depicting the brutal murder of their soldato, a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Damiano's stomach churned as he watched the gruesome footage, his features hardening with a mixture of anger and determination. He exchanged a grim glance with Ethan and Thomas, their silent communication speaking volumes about the gravity of the situation."Who sent this?" Luna's voice was steely, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched the video unfold. She radiated an aura of authority, her presence commanding attention and respect from everyone in the room."We're not sure yet," Thomas responded, his voice tinged with frustration. "But we're working on tracing the source. It seems like a direct challenge from the other mafia, a blatant act of aggression aimed at provoking us."Damiano's jaw tightened as he absorbed the implications of Thomas's words. This wasn't just an attack on one of their soldati—it was a declaration of war. And war was something they couldn't afford to lose, not when the stakes were this high."We need to respond," Ethan's voice cut through the tense silence, his expression resolute as he met Damiano's gaze. "We can't let them get away with this."Damiano nodded in agreement, his mind already racing with plans and strategies. They needed to strike back, to send a message that they wouldn't tolerate such brazen acts of violence against their own."Prepare a team," he instructed, his voice firm and unwavering. "We're going to find out who's behind this, and when we do, they're going to regret ever crossing us."As the room buzzed with activity, Damiano couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that lingered in the air. This was just the beginning of a battle that would test their strength, their resolve, and their loyalty to the very core. And he was determined to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.

As the clock ticked past 2 am, the atmosphere in the room was tense with concentration. Vic, Thomas, Ethan, and I had been poring over documents and maps for hours, piecing together information and formulating strategies in response to the recent attack on our soldati. Despite the gravity of the situation, Vic couldn't resist injecting a bit of levity into the proceedings."So... Dami, how was your evening?" Her tone was teasing, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her playful insinuation. "What do you mean by that, Vic?" I replied, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Vic leaned against the table, her lips curved in a smirk. "Oh, come on, don't play dumb. I saw you flirting with that woman." I narrowed my eyes at her accusation, feeling a slight twinge of irritation. "I wasn't flirting," I insisted, though I knew my protests would likely fall on deaf ears.

But Vic wasn't easily deterred. "You so were!" she countered, her voice laced with amusement. Ethan, ever the voice of reason, chimed in without looking up from his work. "You even laughed," he remarked, his expression neutral. Vic's eyes widened in disbelief, and Thomas, sensing an opportunity for some lighthearted banter, looked up from his spot at the table. "You laughed?!" he exclaimed, his tone incredulous. I winced inwardly at their teasing, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. It was true that I hadn't been entirely stoic in my interaction with the woman at the club, but to suggest that I had been flirting was an exaggeration.

I found myslef trapped in the playful banter of his colleagues, their teasing relentless as they poked fun at my rare moment of levity. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the weight of their jests bearing down on me. "Three times," Ethan repeated, his tone laced with amusement. I shot him a glare, silently cursing Ethan for his telltale poker face. Vic's eyes sparkled with mischief as she joined in the ribbing. "You haven't laughed for the past decade, despite my best attempts!" she exclaimed, her teasing tone echoing in the room. "Do you even know how to laugh? The sound of it?" she added, her laughter infectious as it filled the air.

I clenched my jaw in annoyance, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. "Alright... It was the alcohol working," I admitted begrudgingly, searching for an excuse to deflect their teasing. But Vic wasn't about to let me off the hook so easily. "The alcohol? More like her pretty eyes tantalizing you," she remarked, earning a frustrated sigh from me.

Thomas chimed in with his own brand of mockery. "I still can't believe the boss knows how to laugh," he mused, his tone light but his words carrying a hint of disbelief. I shook his head, trying to regain his composure as Ifocused on my work. I couldn't deny the truth in their words—my encounter at the nightclub had stirred something within my, a flicker of long-forgotten emotion that Ihad buried deep within himself.

I shifted uncomfortably under Vic's scrutinizing gaze, feeling a slight flush creep up my neck. He glanced around the room, hoping to find an escape from the teasing interrogation. "It wasn't like that," Imuttered, my tone defensive. "We were just having a conversation." Vic's eyebrows shot up in mock disbelief, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "A conversation? At a nightclub? At two in the morning?" I sighed, realizing I was fighting a losing battle. "Fine, maybe there was a little bit of... friendly banter," I admitted reluctantly.

"A little bit?" Vic scoffed. "More like you were ready to serenade her with a love ballad." Ethan finally looked up from his work, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I wouldn't go that far," he chimed in, earning a grateful nod from me. Thomas chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, I guess it's good to know the boss still has some charm left in him."

I rolled his eyes, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement at the playful teasing from my friends and colleagues. Despite their banter, I couldn't deny that I was grateful for their camaraderie and support, especially in moments like these. As I delved back into my tasks, the memory of her face lingered in my mind, a tantalizing reminder of the unexpected connection I had shared with a stranger in the darkness of the night.

"Ok, sorry Dami," Vic said, her tone softening with genuine remorse. "Could you at least tell us who she was..?" I paused for a moment, considering her question. Despite my reluctance to divulge too much, I couldn't deny the curiosity burning within my friends.

I sighed, realizing I wouldn't be able to escape the relentless questioning from m colleagues. He glanced around the room, noting the amused expressions on their faces, and relented with a resigned chuckle."Her name is Y/n Mazzoti," he confessed, his tone tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "She said she's a musician, a violinist."Vic's eyes lit up with interest, her teasing demeanor momentarily replaced with genuine curiosity. "A musician? Sounds intriguing.""Yeah, and she's not from around here," Damiano added, his thoughts drifting back to the enigmatic woman he had encountered earlier that evening. "She mentioned she was from Florence."Thomas raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Florence, huh? That's quite a distance from Rome."Damiano nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed. She seemed... different. Not like the usual crowd you'd find in a place like that."Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying Damiano with a knowing look. "Well, it sounds like you had an eventful evening, boss."

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