The Mafia Queen's Obsession gxg

Meeting The Mafia Queen

This was her chance, but she couldn't just walk in like everyone else. No, she needed to play this smart. 

Selene Moretti had just arrived, and this was no coincidence.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Ayla said, offering a polite smile before slipping into the line of people moving toward the entrance. 

The paparazzi were still snapping shots, but Ayla kept her gaze focused straight ahead. She wasn't here to be part of the crowd—she was here to stand out.

As Ayla stepped closer to the entrance, the crowd parted just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the woman everyone was whispering about.

Selene Moretti stood at the edge of the red carpet, framed by the flashing lights of the paparazzi, but she seemed completely untouched by the chaos surrounding her.

She looked... different. Exquisite, yes—but in a way that made Ayla take a second glance. Where most women in a place like Vesper would rely on beauty or the softness of their figure, Selene's presence was raw power. 

Her physique was muscly, toned with the kind of strength that came from discipline, not just aesthetics. The sharpness in her posture, the way she moved without a hint of hesitation, made it clear she didn't need anyone around her for protection. 

No bodyguards. No entourage. She was an empire all on her own.

Ayla couldn't help but stare for a moment longer, feeling that familiar tingle of both admiration and caution. 

Selene wasn't just a pretty face—she was something far more dangerous.

Shaking off the distraction, Ayla turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to stay focused.

 Tonight wasn't about getting lost in awe—it was about getting closer, observing, and figuring out how to make her move.

With a quick nod to the bouncer, Ayla flashed the fake VIP card Max had created for her. He gave her a once-over and then waved her through, his expression neutral. She stepped into the club, the pulsating beats of the music wrapping around her like a second skin. The atmosphere was electric, a perfect mix of exclusivity and indulgence.

 But Ayla wasn't here to dance. 

She wasn't here for the glittering lights or the pretty drinks. She was here for answers.

She made her way to the bar, sidestepping groups of people laughing, chatting, and sipping expensive cocktails. The bartender, a tall man with an indifferent expression, greeted her as she leaned in.

"I'll have an Old Fashioned," Ayla said, her voice calm but firm. 

She needed something strong—something that would give her the edge she needed to stay sharp.

As the bartender began mixing her drink, Ayla's gaze drifted back toward Selene. She was still the center of attention, though she wasn't acting like she cared. 

There was something magnetic about her, an aura of quiet confidence that made everyone around her seem small in comparison. 

Ayla couldn't help but wonder what it was like to have that kind of control, that kind of fearlessness. It was exactly the kind of power she needed to understand.

The bartender slid the glass toward her, breaking her reverie. 

Ayla wrapped her fingers around the smooth glass and took a slow sip, savoring the burn as the whiskey hit the back of her throat. 

She could feel the eyes of the room on her, but she didn't mind. She was here now—just another face in the crowd.

The paparazzi, sensing that Selene's attention was fleeting, began to grow more aggressive, their cameras flashing with relentless intensity. But Selene, completely unbothered, lifted her hand in a lazy motion, her fingers flicking the air as if to swat them away like annoying flies. 

Her expression remained calm, but there was a razor-sharp edge in her eyes that made it clear—this was her space, and anyone who didn't respect that could go to hell.

Ayla watched as Selene effortlessly commanded the room. 

The paparazzi, realizing their shot at capturing her was slipping away, muttered in frustration but slowly began to back off, murmuring amongst themselves.

Then, without any warning, Selene walked toward the bar, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. 

She passed by a group of well-dressed patrons who quickly parted to make way for her, and, to Ayla's surprise, slid into the empty seat next to her with an almost casual grace, like she had nowhere else to be.

For a moment, Selene didn't acknowledge Ayla, as if she were just another part of the club's scenery. But when the bartender reached for a glass, Selene's sharp eyes flicked over to Ayla, noticing her steady, unflinching gaze. 

She raised an eyebrow and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with an air of effortless confidence.

"You're staring," Selene said, her voice smooth, tinged with sarcasm but not unkind. "Did I drop something?" Her lips curled into a teasing smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Ayla's breath caught for a second—this wasn't just the powerful woman she had studied in photos or heard about in whispers. This was Selene, right in front of her, and her calm yet confident presence was as captivating as it was unnerving.

With a shrug, Ayla met her gaze, her expression neutral. "No, just admiring how you manage to steal the spotlight without breaking a sweat."

Selene smirked, as if Ayla's comment was more of a compliment than a jab. "That's the trick, isn't it?" She motioned toward the crowd with a lazy flick of her hand. "People love a spectacle. I just make sure I don't need to work for it." She took a slow sip from her own drink, savoring it before adding, "Though, I suppose, you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

Ayla leaned back, maintaining her cool. "I'm not interested in spectacle. I'm interested in substance."

Selene studied her for a moment, the playful teasing gone, replaced by a quiet, almost calculating look.

 "Substance," she echoed, as if tasting the word on her tongue. "Interesting. Not what I expected from someone who spends their time at a place like this."

Ayla smiled, unfazed. "You'd be surprised what people like me are capable of when they stop pretending."

For a long moment, Selene said nothing, the tension between them hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. 

Then, she finally broke the silence, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You know, you might actually be more interesting than I thought. I'll give you credit for that." She leaned closer, her tone turning even more sarcastic, as if they were old acquaintances having a conversation that was too personal to be public. 

"But just so you know, darling, everyone thinks they can get close to me. Very few ever actually do. You might want to keep that in mind before you start thinking you're different."

Ayla's lips curled into a faint smile, but there was a sharp edge to it. "I'm not interested in getting close to you, Selene. I'm just here for a drink. Everything else is just... noise."

Selene chuckled, a sound full of dark amusement. "Noise, huh? Well, you're in the right place." She took another sip of her drink, the corner of her mouth curling in what could almost be described as a smirk. "But I think you're underestimating just how loud this place can get."

Ayla leaned back slightly, her gaze unwavering. She had walked into Vesper with a plan—to observe, to gather, and to learn. 

But she hadn't expected to be thrown into this kind of casual verbal sparring with Selene Moretti herself.

"Guess we'll see," Ayla replied, her voice low but steady.