Beneath the glittering facade of London lies a dark underworld where rival gangs battle for power. Melanie, the fierce daughter of a mafia leader, returns to the city after years of hiding in Italy.
At a glamorous masquerade ball in London, Melanie...
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Melanie
When I returned to London a few days ago, I imagined it would be with the cold steel of a gun in my hand, my finger hovering over the trigger, ready to confront the woman who abandoned me. But here I am, standing in front of my mirror, a stranger to myself, applying the final touches of my makeup for the masquerade ball at Velvet Heaven—a place steeped in whispered secrets and dark desires. My mother, Carolina, hasn't found us yet, but the night is young, and I can feel the thrill of danger curling in my veins.
The masquerade is the event of the year, where gangsters from around the globe mingle behind their elaborate masks, identities concealed, intentions hidden. It's intoxicating, a cocktail of adrenaline and fear, and part of me revels in the thought that I could die tonight. After years of hiding away in Italy, I refuse to let fear dictate my life any longer. If this is to be my last night on earth, I'll make it one to remember. I'm ready to drown the past in whiskey, lose myself in the chaos, and maybe even steal a kiss from a dangerous stranger.
Leigh-Anne, my loyal friend from our gang, is on her way, bringing along a few men to keep an eye on us. I take a deep breath, adjusting my black, sparkling gown. The corset-style bodice clings to me like a second skin, and the long skirt swishes around my legs, the slit revealing just enough thigh to tantalize without giving everything away. I grab my mask from the side of my makeup bag, a delicate piece adorned with black feathers that hint at the mystery of the night ahead. I tie it on, feeling both powerful and vulnerable.
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A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Car's here, vita mia," my father, Davide, calls from the other side, his voice steady yet laced with a hint of concern. I watch him lean against the bathroom doorframe as I give myself one last glance, the reflection staring back at me a mix of defiance and longing.
"I'm ready," I reply, trying to sound more assured than I feel.
"Sei molto bella," he says, his Italian accent softening the compliment. But then his expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. "Are you sure you want to go?"
