Silk & Steel: A Mafia Romance | ENGLOT

Chapter 8: A Dangerous Game Begins

Wyvern pushed open the heavy oak door of a guest room, the plush carpet muffling the sounds of her hurried steps. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the opulent space. Gently, she laid Contessa down on the center of the king-sized bed, the silk sheets whispering against the dancer's limp form.

Pulling the silk sheets up to her chin, Wyvern surveyed the still form for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features.

A soft knock on the door startled her. "Enna? Is everything alright?" The voice, youthful and curious, belonged to Nicola.

"Everything is under control," Wyvern replied, her voice a low murmur. "Just... putting someone to bed."

Nicola pushed the door open further, her gaze falling on the unconscious Contessa. "Who is she? What happened?" Concern etched lines on her youthful brow. "And why is she...?"

"An accident," Wyvern cut her off, her voice clipped. "She needs to rest. Go back to your room, Nicola."

Nicola, sensing the dismissal in her sister's voice, bit her lip. But her curiosity, coupled with a sliver of unease, wouldn't be quelled so easily. "Are you sure? Maybe I can help—"

"There's nothing to help with," Wyvern interjected, her voice hardening. "Just go."

Nicola, sensing the steel behind her sister's words, took a hesitant step back but before she could go Wyvern says, "Nic, There will be a guard posted outside this door. No one, not even Mama, comes in without my permission. Understood?"

Nicola's eyes widened further. This was serious. Wyvern rarely used such a stern tone with her, especially regarding Mama. "Okay," she whispered, a shiver running down her spine. She knew better than to question Wyvern when she was like this.

Nicola's eyes lingered on Contessa's pale face for a moment longer before she finally turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Wyvern placed a single finger over the dancer's pulse. A faint but steady rhythm reassured her. She straightened, her gaze hardening. She let out a sigh, the weight of the day finally pressing down on her. She cast a final glance at Contessa, a silent question hanging in the air. What had she gotten herself into this time?

Leaving the room, Wyvern locked the door with a decisive click. Turning to Sofia and Luca, who had followed her silently, she issued a curt order. "Have someone guard the door. No one enters without my permission."

Sofia and Luca exchanged a worried glance, but simply nodded in compliance. Wyvern, with a weary gait, turned and headed down the hall, leaving behind the enigma of the unconscious dancer in the locked room.

...

Contessa's eyelids fluttered open, heavy as lead weights. Disoriented, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, its intricate floral pattern swimming before her blurry vision. A throbbing pain pulsed in her temple, a dull ache radiating down her neck.

She sat up, wincing at the sharp protest from her muscles. She was in a bed, large and luxuriously soft, with silken sheets that felt cool against her skin. The room, bathed in the soft morning sunlight filtering through heavy drapes, was a far cry from the dingy dorm she shared with other dancers. Plush lavender armchairs sat nestled around a crystal coffee table, and a magnificent floral arrangement adorned a side table. It was elegant and opulent, a stark contrast to the life she knew.

Contessa's blurry vision cleared, but in turn, panic clawed at her throat. Where was she?  Memories of the previous night flooded back – the chilling gunfight, the steely gaze of the woman, the blow to her head. Wincing at the throbbing pain in her temple, she scrambled out of bed.