Silk & Steel: A Mafia Romance | ENGLOT

Chapter 3: Under the Wyvern's Gaze

The dimly lit room buzzed with nervous energy. Wyvern, dressed in a midnight blue dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, adjusted the silver choker around her neck. Its sharp edges felt strangely comforting tonight.

"You sure you don't want to bring more muscle?" Sofia asked from behind her, fiddling with a butterfly knife. Wyvern scoffed.

"Four is enough for a meet-and-greet." She slipped a stiletto onto her foot, the click echoing in the tense silence. "Besides," Wyvern continued, a dangerous glint in her eyes, "I rather enjoy the thrill of a little danger."

Sofia snorted. "That you do, Wyvern. That you do."

Wyvern gave her reflection a final once-over, a smirk playing on her lips. "Alright, let's go paint the town red."

She strode out of the room, Sofia flanking her side like a shadow, their four stoic companions following close behind.

The four of them piled into a blacked-out SUV, the other two in a separate vehicle, the air thick with anticipation. Wyvern, flanked by Sofia in the passenger seat, surveyed the two men in the back via the rearview mirror. Their faces, a stoic mix of loyalty and apprehension, mirrored her own simmering tension.

The Gilded Cage, notorious for its opulent clientele and veiled discretion, loomed ahead. Wyvern smoothed down her dress, a flicker of steel beneath her perfectly painted facade. Tonight's meeting was with Nero Bianchi, a man known for his ruthlessness and unpredictable temper.

"Let's show them how a Donna does business," Wyvern murmured, a hint of a challenge in her voice.

The cars pulled to a stop, the harsh glare of the club entrance momentarily blinding. Wyvern took a deep breath, the scent of expensive cologne and anticipation thick in the air.

Pushing open the car door, she stepped out, ready to face whatever awaited her within the gilded cage.

The heavy bass thrummed through Wyvern's chest as she entered the club, a familiar surge of energy coursing through her. Bruno materialized at her side.

"Donna Wyvern," he greeted with a bow that could've been practiced or genuine, she couldn't tell. "A pleasure as always. Your usual table is ready."

Wyvern offered a curt nod, Bruno's theatrics never failing to grate on her. "I'm here for Bianchi. Is he expecting me?"

A glint of something akin to amusement flickered in Bruno's eyes. "He is, indeed. Though," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I gotta tell you Donna, he seems to be... agitated."

With a smirk, Wyvern straightened the sharp silver choker around her neck. "Thanks for the warning, Bruno. But I got it handled."

Bruno chuckled heartily, "Of course." He gestured towards a curtained VIP section in the back. "Well then, your usual spot awaits."

"Thank you Bruno." Wyvern replied, heading straight towards the table where a bald man in a suit is surrounded by girls in tiny dresses. Sofia and the four guards in tow.

...

Wyvern strode across the pulsating dance floor, the rhythmic thrumming of the bass a counterpoint to the steady click of her stilettos. Her gaze remained fixed on the curtained VIP section, her smile a carefully crafted mask of confidence. The warning about Nero's agitation hung heavy in the air, a prickling unease worming its way beneath her practiced bravado.

Sofia, ever the shadow, stayed a step behind, her hand hovering near the hilt of the butterfly knife tucked into her boot. The four guards fanned out behind them, their presence a silent promise of retribution should things go south.