Alora Imari has the face of an angel, but the body of a vixen. She's feared by all. Her and her elder brother, Giovanni Imari, were passed down the family business; becoming mobsters for the Italian mafia.
Many describe Alora as being heartless and...
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"You're fucking with me?" I harshly reply into the phone. My fingers grip the phone with such strength I'm afraid I might crush it. Fuck it, I could always buy another one.
"No. I'm not 'fucking with you'." Giovanni replies, mimicking my tone. I roll my eyes and groan. I want to cuss him out and tell him that there's no way in hell that I'm going to a fucking nightclub. "You owe me. Remember?" He adds. I can just imagine the smug look on his face.
"You're an asshole. I hope you know that," I groan once again. He laughs and I take the opportunity to hang up on him. "Mads!" I yell.
"Yes, Ms. Imari?" She responds within seconds. She stands by my bedroom door. Poveretta, she only reaches a little over halfway of the doorframe. Her big green eyes look at me, waiting for my command. A smile creeps up on her flawless face. Oh, how I love Maddalena. She's the only one who I actually care for. The rest of the maids and guards are just presence. [ poor girl ]
"Set up an appointment with Belen," I tell her. I see a curt nod of acceptance from her.
"Right away, Ms. Imari," she replies. She turns on her heel and shuts the door.
I step out onto the terrace of my bedroom. I'm still boiling from my brother's demand. The fucking nerve of that man. Gio knows I would never be caught dead at a nightclub. Things are filled with cheap strippers, flaunting what their mama didn't give them and men whose bored housewives are waiting for them at home. According to him, this particular nightclub is owned by our dear friend, Santiago. We've known Santiago since we got into this business, met him a couple years back.
I grasp the railing and exhale a long breath. My breath hits the cold air and instantly turns white. One of the many things I adore about Philadelphia. That's what makes Giovanni and I quite different. He lives and breathes the heat. Lava runs through his veins. He detests the cold and lives for days where the pavement is burning. I, on the other hand, am the opposite. Ice runs through my veins, all the way to my cold, dead heart. He once made a joke about him being Lava-girl and me being Shark-boy. Che idiota. [ what an idiot ]
"Ms. Imari?" I heard a meek little voice call from behind me. I cock my head back to meet Mads' gaze. I quirk an eyebrow and wait for her to continue. "The appointment with Belen is set for an hour from now. Va bene?" [ is that fine? ]
"Perfezionare. Grazie," I say and turn back toward my view. I hear the door close and I succumb to the white-noise of the wind. I feel the cool air hit my face and my lips are undoubtedly parched. My black hair flows peacefully behind me and I pick at my unpainted nails. This temperature might be too cold for some weak-asses, but it's faultless for me. [ perfect. thank you ]
The next hour goes by unbelievably slow. I'm dreading going to Seducción, Santiago's nightclub. I told him the name was cheesy and frankly, a cliché. Per usual, he didn't listen to me and here we are. I got to give him props, though. As most nightclubs are jam-packed with skanks and low-life men, this one isn't. It's by far the hardest nightclub to get into in all of Manhattan. You'd be lucky to even step foot inside. Most people would dream of getting in; I'm fucking pissed about going. What a cruel twist of fate.
