The Belladonna Game

Aliyah's p.o.v

The bass thumped through the walls before we even stepped inside, the sound vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.

The moment the club doors opened, a haze of cigarette smoke and perfume wrapped around me. Colored lights swept across the room in lazy arcs, flashing over faces hungry, curious, dangerous.

I knew I was the center of attention the second we walked in.

The slit in my gown was obscene enough to turn heads, the deep plunge at the neckline doing the rest. My heels clicked in sync with the beat as if I'd been born to walk into rooms like this, commanding every glance without saying a word.

But I wasn't here to feed egos. I was here for Brown Marino.

Eva, dressed in a form-fitting dress she clearly hated, leaned closer to me as we slid through the crowd. Her eyes flicked left and right, cataloging exits and threats. "He always sits here when he comes," she murmured once we reached a corner draped in black velvet and dim lighting.

We slid into the VIP booth, the leather cool against my skin. I crossed one leg over the other slowly, deliberately, aware of the gazes still fixed on me. My mind was already running through every possibility what I'd say, how I'd smile, how I'd bait him just enough.

Eva tugged at her hem, her discomfort obvious. "I feel like I'm wearing a damn napkin," she muttered.

"You look fine," I said, scanning the room. "Uncomfortable, but fine."

A waiter appeared instantly, probably drawn by the scent of expensive perfume and trouble. I ordered a drink without really thinking about something sharp enough to burn away my nerves.

"He's not here yet," Eva noted, glancing toward the entrance. "When he does come, he'll make it known. Trust me."

I sipped my drink, the alcohol clawing down my throat, and kept my eyes on the crowd.

Eva was right when Brown Marino arrived, there was no mistaking it.

He strolled in like he owned the oxygen, two guards flanking him in dark suits. No flashy grand entrance, no need for it. The crowd seemed to shift naturally, parting to let him through as if drawn by an invisible force.

He slid into the booth opposite ours, not too far away, speaking briefly to one of his men before leaning back, relaxed but watchful.

I didn't give myself time to overthink. I rose from my seat, the slit of my gown parting with every step until I reached the edge of the dance floor. The bass hit harder here, pulsing through my veins. I let my hips sway, slow and deliberate, a teasing rhythm that matched the beat.

A few seconds in, I could feel that heavy, unblinking weight of a stare.

I risked a glance. Brown was watching.

His expression barely shifted as he leaned toward one of his guards, murmuring something. The bodyguard nodded once, his eyes never leaving me. Only then did I look at him properly.

Brown eyes. Familiar brown eyes.

My pulse tripped,delight at how devastating they looked up close, dread because I knew where I'd seen them before.

It was him. The man from the restaurant.

I stopped moving and returned to my seat, forcing my legs not to rush.

"That's the guy from the other night," I whispered to Eva.

She didn't so much as flinch. "Then act like you don't know him," she said smoothly. "If he remembers, we're in trouble. If he doesn't, we're golden."

But before I could respond, his lips curled in a way that told me exactly what I didn't want to hear. Recognition.

He stood, cutting through the space between us.

"He's coming," I breathed to Eva, my fingers gripping her knee. "He's coming."

When he reached our VIP corner, his scent hit first clean, sharp, and maddeningly male. The smirk was still there, carved into his mouth like it had been born with him.

"Brown Marino requests your presence," he said simply, no mention of that night, no acknowledgment of what we did to him.Just the message.

And somehow, that was worse.

Eva's elbow dug into my side. "Go," she whispered, her voice low but firm. "And for the love of God, Liya, don't fuck this up."

I gave her a dry look, but her expression didn't waver. She tilted her chin toward Brown, who was lounging in his seat, the picture of idle interest... except for the way his gaze clung to me.

Fine.

I stood, smoothing my gown like it was part of some slow ritual, and walked toward his booth. My heels clicked against the floor, my hips swayed just enough not cheap, not desperate. Controlled. Lethal.

I stopped at the edge of his table, tilting my head as if deciding whether or not to stay. "You sent for me?" I asked, one brow lifting.

His smirk deepened. "Would you rather I chased you?"

"Depends," I replied, sliding into the seat across from him. "Are you good at catching?"

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I don't chase unless I already know I'll win."

I let out a soft laugh, leaning back with mock laziness. "And here I thought you liked a challenge. Seems I might've overestimated you."

The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest flash of teeth showing through. "Careful, princess. Challenges are dangerous games to play... especially with men like me."

I met his stare, unflinching. "Then maybe you should pick safer women."

He let the silence stretch for a beat, studying me like I was both a puzzle and a dare. Then, finally, his voice dropped a notch.

"Name."

"Aliyah Santiago," I said smoothly, keeping my gaze locked on his.

From behind me came a low, almost mocking cough. My chest tightened. I didn't need to look to know it was the brown-eyed demon from the restaurant.

Brown's gaze flickered over my shoulder before returning to me, sharper now. "Aliyah Santiago," he repeated, letting the syllables roll lazily off his tongue. "Tell me... are you the famous outcast Spanish Mafia princess I've been hearing about?"

I straightened my shoulder, letting the lie roll off my tongue effortlessly."The one and the only,"

Brown's smirk returned, but it was sharper now, cutting.

"The rumors didn't do you justice," he said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "I thought you were an ugly little thing who fled home because no one could stand you." He let his eyes sweep over me, lingering deliberately. "But instead... I find myself wondering how Spain let something like you slip away."

The jab slid past me like water off glass. I tilted my head, a slow smile curving my lips.

"Beauty and bad decisions are often a package deal," I said. "Maybe they just couldn't afford me anymore."

His gaze narrowed slightly like he wasn't sure if I was being arrogant or honest but the intrigue was there. Without looking away from me, he lifted two fingers in a subtle signal toward the man behind me.

When the brown-eyed demon reappeared with a waitress in tow, he reached for Brown's tumbler of something dark, rich, and dangerous. He placed it in front of him, then reached for my glass.

Only he didn't just hand it over.

His fingers brushed mine as he held it halfway, his gaze locking on mine like we were the only two people in the room. My pulse betrayed me, kicking hard in my chest, but I didn't look away.

Then, just as I reached for it, the glass tilted. Cold liquid spilled over the bodice of my gown, sliding down my skin in a slow, sticky path.

I sucked in a breath, my hand curling into a fist.

"What the fuck, Ottavio," Brown's voice snapped, low but filled with disapproval. "Lead our guest to the restroom. Now."

"I can find my own way," I said tightly, dabbing at my dress, already preparing to stand.

"I insist," Brown cut in, his tone making it clear there was no room for argument.

That was the moment I realized two things:

One:he was sending me off intentionally.

Two:Ottavio was his chosen escort.

The brown-eyed devil stepped forward, the faintest ghost of a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he extended a hand toward me.

"Ottavio," I repeated under my breath, finally giving a name to the man whose gaze had been haunting me since the restaurant.

And now, I was about to be alone with him.