Chapter 1: Viviana
The bass thrums through my chest as I move to the music, arms raised above my head, eyes closed, completely lost in the rhythm.
This is what true freedom feels like.
No bodyguard hovering three feet away, scanning every face in the crowd. No awkward explanations about why my "driver" looks like he could bench press a car.
Just me and the music.
I pulled off the bodyguard ditch perfectly tonight. Told Tony I had a headache and was going straight to bed, even put on pajamas and everything. Then I climbed out my bedroom window like I was twelve instead of eighteen, shimmied down the oak tree and caught an Uber six blocks away.
God, if Papa knew I was here at a nightclub, he'd probably lock me in a tower somewhere. The club isn't exactly his idea of appropriate entertainment for his precious daughter. But that's exactly why I love it. The dim lighting, the sweaty crowd, and the way guys look at me like I'm a regular girl instead of Viviana Bonacci, mafia princess who isn't supposed to know her family is in the mafia.
Well, I know something's up with Papa's "import business," but honestly? I don't really want to know the details. It's easier to pretend we're successful at bringing in... whatever we bring in. Olive oil, maybe. Wine. Normal Italian family stuff.
The music shifts to a song with a deeper beat, and I let it carry me away from thoughts of family and responsibility.Tonight, I'm not the sheltered daughter who gets driven everywhere and told to smile pretty at Papa's business dinners. Tonight, I'm only Viviana, and I can dance with whoever I want.
"Hey gorgeous!" A guy with too much cologne sidles up next to me, his hand finding my waist. He's cute enough, dark hair, nice smile, probably goes to one of the local colleges. "Buy you a drink?"
I flash him my best smile, the one that makes guys think they have a chance. "I'm good, thanks." I keep dancing, letting him think he's dancing with me while keeping a safe distance. This is my favorite game, letting them believe they're getting somewhere while knowing absolutely nothing will happen. It makes me feel powerful, in control.
Tony is probably doing his hourly room check about now, seeing my dark windows and thinking I'm fast asleep like a good girl. He'll never know I'm here, grinding against a random college boy who has no idea his hands are on a crime boss's daughter.
"Come on," the guy persists, leaning closer. "Just one drink. I'm Federico."
"And I'm not interested," I say, but I keep it playful, keep dancing. The rejection is part of the fun for me. I can flirt and tease and walk away without consequences because I know nothing real will happen. These guys are safe. Harmless. The worst thing Federico here could do is get too handsy, and I know how to handle that.
"Don't be like that, baby. I saw you watching me."
I wasn't watching him, but whatever. "Sorry, I'm here to dance."
I spin away from him, laughing when he tries to follow, and find myself in a pocket of space near the bar. The crowd is thick tonight, bodies pressed together, everyone lost in their own world. This is exactly what I needed after another week of "Yes, Papa" and "Of course, Papa" and sitting through those awful business dinners where men in expensive suits talk in code.
A girl with purple hair and a silver blouse bumps into me, spilling part of her drink. "Sorry!"
"No worries!" I shout back over the music.
See? Normal interactions with normal people. No one here cares that I'm supposedly worth protecting twenty-four-seven. No one here thinks I'm a precious princess who might break if she talks to the wrong person.
The song changes again, with a beat that makes my whole body want to move. I close my eyes and let it take over, feeling free in a way I never do at home. This is my rebellion, my secret life. Every chance I can manage to sneak out, I'm here, dancing away the suffocation of being Roberto Bonacci's perfect little daughter.
When I open my eyes, I catch sight of a guy across the club watching me. Dark hair, serious expression, definitely not college age. He's sitting in one of the corner booths, nursing a whiskey, and there's something about the way he holds himself that seems... different. Older. More dangerous than the types I usually attract.
Our eyes meet for a second, and I feel a little thrill run through me. Now that's the kind of bad boy Papa would definitely not approve of. Too old, too intense, too much like the men who come to those business dinners.
I give him a little smile and a wave, then turn back to the dance floor. Let him look. Let him wonder who I am. He'll never find out, and I'll never see him again, and that's exactly how I like it.
Tonight is perfect.
I'm free, I'm anonymous, and I'm having the time of my life.
Nothing could ruin this feeling.
Chapter 2: Damon
I watch the brunette move across the dance floor from my corner booth, nursing my third whiskey of the night. She's been dancing for the past hour, completely lost in the music, and there's something about her that keeps drawing my attention. Maybe it's the way she handles the college boys who keep trying to get close, confident but not slutty, flirty but clearly not going home with any of them.
Or maybe it's that I'm bored as hell waiting for Aldo to show up with my damn money.
