ALEJANDRO: The Mafia's Obsession

The low hum of string instruments filled the marble hall. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the room. Waiters in sharp black uniforms weaved between clusters of well-dressed guests, silver trays balanced effortlessly as flutes of champagne disappeared into eager hands.

Alejandro Sanchez adjusted the cuff of his tailored black shirt, the fabric clinging perfectly to his athletic frame. His sharp jawline, clean-cut dark hair, and cold blue eyes gave him the polished, untouchable look of a man who belonged among politicians, CEOs, and criminals hidden behind expensive smiles.

"You ready for this?" Special Agent Curtis’ voice crackled softly through the hidden earpiece beneath Alejandro’s collar. "We have been tracking Matini for six years. Do not screw this up."

Alejandro’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk as he surveyed the ballroom.

"I assure you" Alejandro whispered under his breath as he adjusted the slim cufflink on his wrist. "I will not let you down."

Curtis’ brief, satisfied exhale crackled through the earpiece. Alejandro nodded at him, downed the last of the wine from his hourglass-shaped glass, and turned to leave.

“See you, boss,” he muttered over his shoulder as he walked out.

---

The entrance into the Matini Syndicate’s private club was guarded by statuesque men in designer suits, eyes hidden behind dark lenses.

“ID,” one of them demanded as Alejandro approached.

Alejandro handed over a forged identity card. Marcus Vega, international investor with questionable ethics and even more questionable bank accounts.

The guard scanned it, expression unreadable, before nodding him through. The doors swung open, and a wall of pulsing bass, laughter, and whispered deals engulfed him.

Inside, the club was decadent. Velvet, gold accents, crystal chandeliers casting fractured light. On the upper balconies, beautiful people lounged. All orbiting the gravity of one man, Derulo Matini.

Matini sat in a corner booth, tailored in black silk and sharp edges. His dark hair framed an angular face. Hazel eyes surveyed the room. His aura was tangible, cold, dominant and untouchable.

Matini controlled the most dangerous mafia syndicate on the East Coast. Arms, drugs, human trafficking, all wrapped under the façade of a polished billionaire philanthropist. No one dared cross him.

This was not Alejandro's first undercover gig, but it was by far the most suicidal. The FBI had warned him. One misstep inside Matini’s empire and his body would disappear faster than a news headline.

Matini stood elevated in the VIP section, surrounded by guards, models, and the kind of criminal elite that made politicians piss themselves. But despite the flashing lights and flowing champagne, Alejandro’s gaze locked solely on him.

Alejandro’s earpiece crackled as he moved through the crowd. “You good?” Curtis' voice came through.

Alejandro’s lips barely moved. “Yeah.” His eyes swept the room.

“Okay. Good luck,” Curtis replied, his voice carrying that familiar edge of caution.

Loathing twisted in his gut as he ordered a drink, the glass trembling slightly in his hand.

"Focus," he reminded himself, pushing through the press of bodies. Matini’s eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned him in place the moment he turned.

Alejandro’s pulse stuttered as their gazes locked across the club.

A smirk curved Matini’s lips. He murmured something to his guards, then started toward Alejandro with the confidence of a man who owned every inch of the city.

Alejandro steeled his nerves, masking his tension behind casual arrogance.

“New face,” Matini’s voice was smooth, low, dripping with quiet authority as he stopped beside Alejandro, leaning one elbow on the bar, looking into Alejandro's eyes.

Alejandro forced a cocky smile. “Depends who’s asking.”

Matini chuckled. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to walk into my club with that attitude.”

“Maybe both,” Alejandro replied, lifting his glass.

Matini hummed, nodding slowly, eyes never leaving him. A faint smirk curled his lips as he pointed at Alejandro, the amusement lingering in his stare. “Courage.”

Matini signaled to his guards, then gestured for Alejandro to follow.

“Come with me,” Matini said, weaving through the club. “We need to talk… somewhere private.”

Alejandro hesitated, every instinct on high alert. He downed the rest of his drink and trailed Matini through the club.

---

They entered a private lounge with plush leather seats, dim lighting, bulletproof windows overlooking the city. The door clicked shut behind them.

Matini poured himself a glass of whiskey, each movement deliberate and smooth.

“I like to know who’s bold enough to play in my territory,” he said, filling a second glass and sliding it toward Alejandro. “Most people beg for my attention. You walk in like you already own the place.”

“I have your attention now,” Alejandro replied, accepting the drink, their fingers brushing briefly.

Matini hummed, nodding slowly, eyes never leaving him. A faint smirk curled his lips as he pointed at Alejandro, the amusement lingering in his stare. “Courage.”

Matini's lips twitched. “We’ll see.” He lounged back, watching Alejandro with quiet intensity. “I’ve dealt with your kind before, confident, reckless, and easy to break.”

“To new acquaintances,” Matini said, raising his glass. Alejandro lifted his in response, and they drank.

Matini’s eyes narrowed, assessing him like a puzzle he intended to dismantle. “Name?”

Alejandro hesitated. “Marcus Vega,” he said, glancing around.

A flicker of amusement passed through Matini’s expression.

“You control most of the port activity in this city. I’m interested in… logistics,” Alejandro said, turning to Matini and catching the lustful way he was looking at him.

"You know," Matini mused, swirling his drink, "I can always smell desperation. You reek of something else… hunger." His eyes darkened, pinning Alejandro in place. "Dangerous trait."

Alejandro held his stare. "We’re all dangerous… if properly motivated."

The moment stretched with veiled intentions until Matini's lips curved faintly.

"I like men like you," Matini remarked. "Stay."

Matini’s fingers tapped the table rhythmically and within seconds, a dark body-built man approached, whispering something to Matini in rapid Spanish.

Matini’s expression sharpened. "Seems your timing is… convenient," he drawled.

Alejandro’s pulse spiked, thinking within him if he had been discovered.

Matini’s gaze slid over him, lingering at Alejandro's chest, then to his eyes. “You have potential,” Matini murmured. “But potential means nothing if you can’t prove yourself.”

Alejandro smirked. “What, you want me to pass a test?”

“Oh, you will be tested,” Matini assured him, voice low, laced with promise and threat. “In more ways than one.”

Immediately, heat coiled through Alejandro's limbs and his vision wavered.

"What…" Alejandro’s words faltered, the room tilting dangerously.

Matini’s smile was razor sharp and predatory.

"Told you… hunger is dangerous," Matini murmured, stepping in close, his breath hot against Alejandro’s ear. "Especially when you’re the prey."

Alejandro’s limbs grew heavy. "You drugged me…"

Matini’s hand caught Alejandro’s jaw, firm and possessive, forcing their eyes to lock.

"I knew you were FBI the moment you walked in," Matini whispered. "Welcome to my world, Agent Alejandro Sanchez."

Alejandro's vision blurred as Matini's smirk deepened.

"You belong to me now."