Dante
The pulse of Il Vizio beat through the walls like a living thing. From his office above, Dante could see everything: bodies pressed together on the dance floor, glasses raised in toasts that meant nothing, deals whispered into ears that could never be trusted. The smoke, the perfume, the greed—it was all his kingdom, his domain. And yet tonight, it felt more like a cage.
He stood at the wide glass window, whiskey in hand, watching the crowd not with pleasure but calculation. Every laugh below was a distraction. Every sway of a woman’s hips was weakness. Normally, he thrived on it. Tonight, it grated.
The door opened with a soft click. Eva’s perfume preceded her, sweet and suffocating. She moved into the room like she owned it, a trained smile plastered on her painted lips.
“Yo
