I clasped the delicate lace of my bridal gown so tightly that my knuckles turned an ashen white. The pristine fabric, meant to symbolize purity and new beginnings, now enshrouded me like a funerary veil, suffocating the remnants of my former freedom...
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The warehouse was silent, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. I surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. Three bodies lay sprawled on the concrete floor, their crimson stain blooming like a grotesque flower.
I adjusted the cufflinks on my custom-made suit, a gesture as cold and final as the bullets that had ended these men's lives.
Business was done.
I exited the warehouse, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind me. Outside, Andrea, my ever-present shadow and best friend, waited by my sleek black Maserati.
“Clean?” Andrea raised an eyebrow, his question a formality.
A ghost of a smile played on my lips. “As always.”
Sliding into the passenger seat, I reached for the bottle of aged whiskey tucked discreetly in the glove compartment. We needed a drink. Tonight wasn't about bloodshed, but a rare night off, a chance to unwind with a taste of the good life we protected so fiercely.
Andrea expertly navigated the streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and white. Our destination: Il Fiore, one of our esteemed nightclubs that pulsed with the city's clandestine heartbeat.
The redhead at the door, clad in a crimson dress that left little to the imagination, smiled knowingly at me. A prearranged signal. We were here for business, but a different kind tonight.
Inside, the club throbbed with music, a kaleidoscope of bodies swaying under the hypnotic strobe lights. Women in cocktail dresses and men in sharp suits mingled, an unspoken tension simmering beneath the veneer of gaiety.
Andrea and I weaved through the crowd, our presence parting the throng like the Red Sea. We settled at a secluded booth, two beautiful women already gracing our side.
The night stretched before us. For a few fleeting hours, the harsh realities of our world would fade, replaced by the intoxicating allure of oblivion.
I, Alessandro Rossi, the high-ranking underboss of the notorious Rossi crime family, was always a man of power and control. Surrounded by luxury and surrounded by beautiful women, my life was always fueled by lust and satisfaction. Tonight, I decided to take a random girl home from the club.
It wasn't just any girl, but a curvy girl with fake breasts and even faker lips. I didn't particularly enjoy the artificial enhancements, but the rest of her body was enough to grab my attention.
As we made our way to one of our Manhattan penthouses, my mind was racing with thoughts of what I wanted to do to her. My need for distraction was strong. But my thoughts were quickly interrupted as the girl began to undress in front of me. Her body was a work of art, with soft curves and creamy skin.
As she slid her dress down her body, I could see her toned abs and long legs. I felt a surge of desire and dominance, knowing that this woman was about to fulfill my every need.
