Pawn Of The Mafia Lords

Noise, laughing, quiet whispers, glass clinking, subtle rustling of cash traded for enjoyment permeated the room. Long shadows against the dark corners of the strip club were created by neon lights bathing the space in an unnatural glow. The air seemed dense, heavy with smoke, fragrances, and something less pleasing, something that smelt somewhat of desperation. Bella Romano stood backstage, the only sound piercing the middle of her ideas, the quiet hum of a fan. To calm herself, she touched the frigid metal pole in front of her. Her mirror image revealed a lady wearing only silk, her long, black hair flowing down her back in waves. Dark mascara ringed her big, stunning eyes, but it was the hollowed look behind them, something that hadn't entirely vanished despite her best efforts, that revealed her actual nature. Restlessly shifting outside the curtain was the audience. Even before she set foot among their gathering, she could feel their eyes upon her. Though not specifically the performance she was going to provide, they were eager for something. They yearned for a quick taste of something unreachable, an escape. Though not by intention, Bella had become the precise thing they needed. As she inhaled, her fingers pale against the black cloth of her costume, tightened and released. One more deep one to calm the tensions. Her deliberate, precise motions reflected the fluidity she had developed during years of shadowing the underworld. But tonight, there was something different. She slid onto the stage, the crimson velvet curtain separating behind her like the portal to another realm, and the weight of the speakers vibrated into her core. She paused there, her form framed in the middle of the focus. Hungry eyes locked on her every action, the audience's focus was instantaneous and ready for her to spin the seductive spell she had created many times before. She moved automatically without thinking. Every stride she made, every hip swing, was flowing, thoughtful, elegant, yet forceful. Still, her mind is Her mental distance was a thousand miles. Broken memories danced in her brain like ghosts: her father's rage, the treachery of those she had trusted, the hushed promises she had once believed. Her legs stretched in a smooth, trained motion, her motions the ideal mix of sensuality and art as the audience roared her spin and arched back. Still, it was a falsehood. Benevolent behind the flawless performance was a lady drowning under the weight of her own life. Bella's chest clenched as the music changed, louder, more forceful, calling her to perform like she always had. But her heart lacked that. Though she could see the building desire in the eyes of the audience, they were not the ones she felt; no, someone else was the one she sensed. A fresh arrival in the room observing her like a hawk. She couldn't see him right away, but her body stopped as she sensed a flutter of movement near the rear of the space. Dressed immaculately in a cut suit, a guy stood close to the shadows, slanted against the bar. Though modest, his presence was compelling. She could see his keen jawline set in calm resolve even from a distance. His almost ethereal, menacing appeal came from his black hair, well brushed back catching the low lighting. Cold and unblinking, his gaze stayed on her while she danced. Bella's breath seized in her throat, and her motions became jerky and out of time. His eyes never changed; they were sharp, relentless, like a predator weighing up his target. The heat from the throng started to seem far-off, almost meaningless. She seemed to be acting for him rather than for the people gathered before her. Just himself. Moretti, Luca. Her instincts screamed at her, but her head hardly recognised the name. He was electrifying, dangerous, and sedative. Every second, the air between them thickened and became charged with something she could not identify, something well above the normal attention men in this dirty, grimy world paid. This guy, this Luca, set from the rest. She felt it right in her bones. Focussing on the music, on the beat, on the show, she battled to recover control. But her motions now seemed far-off. The weight of his stare on her skin, as if he could see through her and could peel away all she had hidden behind the layers, was nothing compared to the roar of the audience. Her hair shooting out behind her, the world around her dissolving into a frenzy of colour and sound, she whirled just as the music ramped up. But once again he was there, staring straight ahead at hers. They felt like ice, but under something else, something deeper, more perilous. Her chest contracted with terror for a single second. Why was it about this man? Her body moved reflexively, obeying, but her mind was a muddle. From whom was he? Why was he observing her that way? Lucca Moretti. At last the name emerged, and with it an echo of what she had heard murmured in the darkness: a mafia leader. a guy in charge of more than simply territory. Everything Bella had escaped from, he managed fear, respect, and power, everything that appeared to be dragging her back. She staggered through the exercise and felt a cold run down her spine. Her mind was suddenly divided between the dance she had performed so many times and the urge to comprehend the guy quietly observing her, ordering her in ways she did not even know yet. Luca's eyes narrowed suddenly, as if she sensed her breaking point. He stepped deliberately and slowly forward. Bella found her breath stopped in her throat. Was he approaching more closely? Her heart hammered, surge coursed through her veins. She only knew that her surroundings were no longer here to rule; she had no clue what was occurring. The quiet was oppressive, the song stopped suddenly, the sound fading. Bella's mind was elsewhere even though the crowd burst in cheers. Like a tattoo on her skin, she could feel his stare. Luca moretti. a kingpin in the mafia. A guy who had just marked her. Her legs quivering under her, she swiftly turned aside and withdrew to the stage's wings. She could still feel his gaze burrowing into her behind. Was it a desire? Was there a threat involved? Luca remained transfixed in the shadows, watching her go into the night; the fire in his eyes never left her. Bella entered the quiet, lowly lighted rear area and the faint buzz of the neon lights of the strip club flickering changed. Her body still tingled with the traces of the performance, her motions naturally elegant, but her head was weighty. She slid off her heels and headed towards the little changing room in the corner across the cool, concrete floor. Now save for a few scattered people tending to beverages at the bar, the club was almost empty. The music had stopped, leaving the residual echo of a wild night. But it was the guy Bella had seen dancing, not the song that stayed with her. Lucas Moretti. Her chest clenched at the memory of him, and she closed her eyes momentarily to attempt to stifle the sensation his stare had left on her skin. It had been disconcerting, as the weight of the universe changed the instant his eyes linked with hers. She tried to ignore it, write it off as the typical group of guys who came and left, but something told Luca she was unique. She heard something say he was hazardous. Turning the knob on her dressing room door, she sighed with relief as she entered. Though only momentary, the seclusion was consoling. Trying to collect her ideas, Bella ran her fingers through her hair, but they kept whirling back to him. Behind her the door creaked open, breaking the silence. "Bella," a voice low, demanding. It made her shiver down her back. She pivoted, automatically stepping back. Standing in the doorway, Luca Moretti's form was framed by the low hallway light. Unquestionably present, he imbued the area with almost tangible force. "Luca," she said, her voice waversing even with her best attempt to seem unbroken. She was still processing the performance, and now he was here, in her personal space. Her very last predicted location for him. He stayed there momentarily, observing her as if he were evaluating every action. His look showed just calm detachment; there was no sign of feeling. But there was something about his focus, like he was studying her, as if she were a conundrum he was resolved to solve. Bella eventually managed, her voice steadying as she recovered her footing: "I didn't expect you to be here." "Shouldn't you be out there savouring your triumph?" He moved forward, a few long steps decreasing the distance between them. His presence was compelling, smothering. Bella gasped sharply, although her body wouldn't back off. Sh e appeared to be anchored to the place by their magnetic attraction.