Chapter 5 - The Snake Pit
The Bellagio Club did not exist on any city map. Tucked beneath an unassuming meatpacking warehouse, it was a cavern of red velvet, smoked mirrors, and black-tie predators. The air smelled of Cuban tobacco, dry martinis, and old blood.
When the heavy brass doors opened at ten o'clock, the entire room fell into a dead hush.
Aleandro walked in wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo, looking every inch the brutal emperor of New York. But it was the woman on his arm that sucked the air out of the room.
Bella looked magnificent. A floor-length black silk backless gown pooled around her heels, revealing the pale, flawless curve of her spine. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate, classic chignon, leaving her long neck bare save for a stunning choker of black diamonds. Her chin was held high, her lips painted the color of dried blood, her eyes sweeping over the room with cold, haughty boredom.
She felt like throwing up, but she didn't let a muscle in her face betray the war inside her gut.
"Look at that," a voice drawled from the main lounge.
Don Carmine Lucchese, the head of the rival Jersey syndicate, approached them. He was a bloated, dangerous man with yellowed eyes and heavy gold rings that clinked against his whiskey glass. Behind him stood three massive bodyguards, their eyes locked on Aleandro.
"Aleandro," Carmine grinned, revealing gold-capped teeth. "We heard rumors you were slipping. We heard you let Salvatore Bianke run out of Luchia’s with his tail between his legs. Some people were starting to think the Moretti lion had lost his teeth."
Carmine’s greasy gaze slid down Bella’s gown, lingering on her waist. "And who is this exquisite piece of work? You renting out escorts to hide your shame, Alex?"
The room went dead silent. Vinnie, standing five paces behind them, reached inside his jacket.
Before Aleandro could speak, Bella took half a step forward. Her voice cut through the velvet gloom like a razor blade.
"Mr. Lucchese, isn't it?" she said, her voice dripping with crystalline contempt. "Salvatore Bianke didn't run. He crawled. And if you had any real intelligence networks, you would know that he signed over his entire shipping terminal in Newark to my fiance before noon today."
Carmine blinked, completely thrown off balance by the woman speaking directly to him without permission.
Bella tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with icy disdain. "As for me, I suggest you lower your eyes. Because the last man who stared at me with that much insolence had his wrist pinned to a mahogany table. Aleandro doesn't need to show you his teeth, Carmine. He lets me handle the rabid dogs."
A suffocating pause gripped the room. Then, someone near the bar let out a low chuckle. Carmine’s face flushed a deep, dangerous crimson, his jaw clenching as he realized the entire room was watching him get publicly humiliated by Moretti’s woman.
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Aleandro slipped his arm around Bella’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. The pressure of his fingers against her ribs was electric, approving, and unmistakably possessive.
"You heard my lady, Carmine," Aleandro said softly, the edge in his voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Lower your eyes before I cut them out."
