The Belladonna Game

Aliyah's p.o.v

I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders as the winter breeze slithered through the tiny gap between the restaurant's glass doors, prickling my skin. The expensive place looked warm enough from the outside, but inside, the draft still found ways to crawl under clothes and into bones.

I should have been at home,curled up in bed, maybe with something hot to eat but peace of mind wasn't going to come to me there. Not tonight. Not when I needed to be here.

"Miss, are you ready to order?" The blonde waitress appeared again, her tone polite but her smile paper-thin. It was the fifth time she'd asked, and I could almost hear the unspoken warning in her voice: Order something or leave.

I forced a small smile and nodded. "Yes. A glass of dry gin."

Something to dull the ache in my chest, to quiet the restless pounding in my veins.

She returned quickly, setting the drink in front of me along with the bill,already printed. Her brittle smile didn't reach her eyes as she lingered a second too long beside my table. I picked up the glass, the clear liquid trembling just slightly in my grip.

I knew exactly what this was. She'd already decided someone dressed like me couldn't possibly afford to sit here, let alone pay the inflated price for a drink.

If it weren't for the need to keep my composure and the satisfaction of not letting her believe she'd rattled me.I might have spat the gin back into the glass and told her exactly what I thought.

Instead, I let a small, sarcastic chuckle slip. "No biggie," I muttered under my breath, even as my savings winced in protest. She nodded, satisfied, and drifted back to the bar.

"Bitch," I whispered to myself.

The glass door slid open again, letting in a fresh burst of icy air along with the sound of expensive heels and the faint clink of jewelry. From the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress transformed practically sprinting toward the newcomers, her smile suddenly radiant.

Designer coats. Polished shoes. A bag that probably cost more than my rent.

The Marinos.

Othello Marino, with his sharp, calculating eyes. His wife Sabri, dripping in understated wealth. Allegra, their perfectly groomed daughter with a viper's smile. And Brown Marino, Othello's brother...just as polished, just as dangerous.

They were ushered to a table directly beside mine, the waitress nearly bowing in reverence as she took their orders.

I swallowed a mouthful of gin, feeling it scorch a path down my throat, the heat clashing with the cold in my veins. My pulse was racing, but I forced myself to settle. To listen.

I couldn't afford to let anger cloud me, not when I'd waited two months for this chance.

Two months of watching. Waiting. Following the trail of whispers and shadows that surrounded them.

The Marinos were murderers. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. Michaelo wasn't their first victim, and I doubted he would be their last.

Tonight, I just needed proof. Any incriminating words could do just that for me.

The long tortuous minutes of waiting for them to settle in, finish their meal and start talking business seemed not worth as their talk only revolved around;

"Brown, have you got a bride yet?" the voice I assume to be Othello's questioned. I heard someone snicker as Brown took his time to answer.

I tilted my glass to their direction, enjoying the clear reflection it gave. As I could see them now.

Brown picked a glass of drink and sipped, wiping his lips with a handkerchief, he replied "A Mafia princess Yes?"

Othello and Sabri nodded hastily. " Then you are going to hold on for just a little while, If I would be cajoled into that sick institution called marriage, then I have to do that with a perfect ass and tits," he ended with his vulgar words and then let out a chuckle.

"Do it your way, but you better make it fast, my retirement time is ticking," Othello muttered.

...They went on to scold Allegra for spending too much money,something about a new diamond set she'd "simply had to have"but it was all surface noise. Nothing useful. Then chairs scraped against the polished floor, coats were pulled on, and the Marinos began to leave.

Now was the time for me.

I rose smoothly, forcing my heartbeat to slow, and locked eyes with the waitress. I pulled a wad of cash from my bag, raised it briefly in her line of sight, and let it fall onto the table. Her gaze flicked to the money, then back to me, her expression neutral but her eyes calculating.

My phone was already in my hand, my thumb swiping to the contact I needed. I lifted it to my ear and began to walk, angling my steps to intercept the Marinos at the door.

This had to look accidental. A clumsy collision. An apology. Just enough contact to slip a little something into a coat pocket or catch a snippet of conversation up close.

But I didn't make it that far.

A hand clamped over my mouth, smothering my startled gasp. My phone nearly slipped from my grip.

I was yanked backwards into the shadow between two tall wine racks, my spine colliding with a hard chest. The air around me reeked faintly of leather and smoke.

Then cold metal. A gun, pressing just under my ribs.

"Easy, là viperà" a rough voice rasped in my ear, low enough that no one else could hear.

The pressure of the weapon was steady, not trembling. Whoever this was, he wasn't bluffing.

"I got no problem pulling the trigger," he added, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone, "and trust me,no one in here will hear a thing."