FALLING FOR THE WRONG BROTHER.

Lena’s pov

After an excruciatingly long week of having the same exhausting classes over and over again, the only thing I wanted tonight was to drown my sorrows in the bitter-sweet embrace of liquid courage. I had come to numb my feelings and drive away the stress that had been accompanied by a lot of anxiety these past weeks, to forget the demands of school life and escape the responsibilities that had weighed down on me for so long. All the weeks of taking mock Exams, tests, lectures, and assignments, coupled with my part-time job as a waitress at a local coffee shop up town that barely pays the minimum wage, and my mother’s failing health, I desperately needed a night on the town to unwind. A night just for me to feel like her age again. At just 21, I already had a lot of responsibilities on my frail shoulders.

And I wasn’t alone either, my best friend, Jazz had planned the perfect evening for both of us to simply let loose and have the time of our lives.

The pulsating beat of the music vibrated through the floors, matching the energy of the club. Jazz and I were seated at a secluded table in a corner. Shot glasses cluttered the table in front of us, the remnants of the liquor swirling in the vibrant neon lights that casted its glow over us and our surroundings. Jazz threw her head back in laughter, and I joined her, laughing uncontrollably at something that might have been far less funny than what we had made it out to be. But who cared? It was the weekend and we were here to let loose and drink ourselves to a stupor.

Against the backdrop of the nightclub, my red hair, which I had just recently dyed, was wild like a flame, reflecting the neon lights as it fell in soft waves down my back. Sometimes it looked bright pink, sometimes it looked deep indigo. My big brown eyes seemed to reflect the excitement that bubbled at my depths as I felt the alcohol course through my veins. I was filled with unbridled anticipation and confidence as I leaned into my best friend. The giggles are wrecking my body. Compared to the bold choice of hair color, my physical features were rather delicate, cute with an edge of Y2K baddie. Growing up, people told me I looked just like my mother when she was around my age. An oval face with an upturned nose that led to full lips. Tonight, I had opted to wear a sultry black form-fitting dress that hugged my curves jealously. A deep neck line that left little to the imagination and an open back. The dress stopped right above my knees and it had long sleeves that flayed out. My lips were painted red to match my hair and Smokey makeup to give me an even bolder look. A small bag hung at my side always and a simple silver chain that adorned my neck to tie my look together. Tonight, Lena Hart was going all out. Sexy and bold.

While I rocked the dress, Jazz had on biker boots, black leather pants, and a white crop top turtleneck that revealed the moon-shaped piercing on her bellybutton and a tramp stamp tattoo on her hip. A constant reminder of a night she had a little too much to drink without restraints and walked into a low bus tattoo shop. Her eyes were a vibrant green and her hair was black as night, she tied it up in a high ponytail. She looked like a cat.

“Another one!” Jazz yelled over the music, sliding another shot towards me, to which I gladly accepted.

“Kampai!!” I clapped my hands together as a grin tore across my lips, stretching from ear to ear as I grabbed the shot glass and clinked it against hers before tossing it into my mouth in one go. The Tequila burned its way down my throat, but it made every fiber of my being come alive like fireworks on the fourth of July, heightening all my senses.

“You know what would be really fun??” Jazz began as she leaned into me, her words came out in a sultry slur as she grinned.

“What?”

“What if we like, hooked up with one of the guys here tonight?”

“What?! Don’t be ridiculous, Jazz. Do you even realize the kind of men who come here?” I shook my head slightly with a small frown hanging off my brows. It wasn’t as though the idea of doing that wasn't tempting, but the men in here were…different and you’d never know who took you home. But it would be a lie if I said the liquor hadn’t stirred my own desires for something a little dangerous tonight. My body craved the sinful touch of a man in ways alcohol wouldn’t be able to satisfy. Because it's been that long. But I shook my head as though to shake out that crazy idea.

“...yeah! Crazy Hot men,” Jazz chirped excitedly. I could see the wheels turning in her head. She craved something fresh and exciting, even if that thing were a dangerous one-night stand with a made man. And club Nero was the perfect place to find that, but I wouldn’t be persuaded.

“Emphasis on crazy! But no, I think you meant dangerous men, Jasmine Moretti!” I cut in. Club Nero was one of the hottest clubs in town. Just getting in required an exclusive wait list. And it might have taken a month for us to get on that list, thanks to Jasmine’s connections, and it was totally worth it. But the caliber of men who frequented this place was not just ordinary criminals. No, these men ran this city’s underworld. And I wasn’t so sure it would be such a hot idea to mess around with them for a so-called, night of fun.

“geeze granma, when was the last time you had a good fucking, Len? You know….” Jazz whined her hips in a suggestive manner and both of us collapsed into laughter again. I hated how blunt she was sometimes.

As both of us continued to enjoy the night, we didn’t know how oblivious we were to the world that flowed around us as we had our fun. Even then, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we were being watched from somewhere within the club. But I brushed it off as passing paranoia as I took another shot of tequila to calm myself. It was probably nothing, there were a lot of people in here to begin with.

“You know what, shut the hell up, Jazz, let’s go dance!!”

Taking a final swing of the tequila, I burst up to my feet and pulled Jazz along with me. The neon lights of the club pulsed around us as we weaved our way through the throng of bodies on the dance floor. Being a contemporary dancer, Jazz’s dance moves were unmatched as the crowd burst into a cheer and I joined her, moving to the beat of the music, carefree and unrestrained, laughter spilling out of our lips and into the air.

Jazz, with her inky black hair bounced in the strobe lights, raising her hands above her head, her body moving in perfect sync with the music.

I, with my vibrant red hair and smoldering gaze wrapped around my body as I felt the waves rum through me like a current. Red. The color of power and seduction.

VINCENZO’S POV

From the VIP section of the club, I watched her closely.

And not for a single second did I take my eyes off her, never missing a beat, as I followed her every movement from the private booth across the room.

From the minute she and that other woman had walked into the club, I had my eyes fixed solely on her. Her vibrant red hair was like a flame in the sparsely lit space that called me. It was bold, unruly, the kind of color that screamed for attention, and she wore it with charming confidence.

From that moment on, I hadn’t been able to fully focus on the meeting before me, never for once taking my eyes off of her. Noticing my sudden silence, Lorenzo, my brother and first commander, followed my gaze and the bright red on the dance floor caught his eyes too. A knowing smile marked his lips as he leaned in.

“Careful, Fragéllo, she might burn up if you keep staring like that.” Lorenzo teased. He was an intelligent man, and I respected that. But he could be a damn nuisance sometimes. He managed to remain calm and laid back despite the icy glare I shot at him.

I let out an annoyed grunt and I finally tore my gaze away from the strange woman. I straightened the cuffs on my well-tailored ox blood suit that hugged my body snugly, and adjusted the collar of my shirt. A waitress dressed in a slutty dress came to top up my drink, but I couldn’t have been less interested in the woman. I saw how her gaze lingered a little longer on my exposed chest before she left. I had intentionally left the front buttons on the shirt undone, exposing a generous amount of inked skin beneath the black shirt. I was nursing on a cigar, one leg crossed over another as I reclined back into my seat and blew smoke through my lips. The prince of darkness, the dark lord, the judge, the executioner, the don, the kingpin, were the different names people called me. I was a dominant force that exuded nothing but raw confidence and a brutal strength that preceded my reputation as the leader of the New York brawlers and current head of the Maranzano family.

“I don’t know what you were talking about…” I denied Lorenzo’s claim sharply, my voice deep and smoky with an authoritative edge that I used to command my men, but Lorenzo wasn’t an idiot. He knew me well enough, far too well to not pick up any subtle changes in my mood and behavior. He could tell that I had suddenly picked an interest in the red-haired woman. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that. When he gave the woman another glance, he hummed in approval.

Lorenzo wasn't an overtly muscular man, his build was lean, but strong in his own right, and he definitely looked like me. He was the second oldest and the second son out of four boys and a girl. The Maranzano siblings. With me being the oldest. Lorenzo was my underboss. A man I could count on when shit got too real.

"Sure," Lorenzo chuckled, leaning back in his seat as well, his tone laced with mock amusement. He had on a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way up. On his wrist was a gold Rolex watch that could very much have cost the same as a middle-class worker's salary for an entire year. His knuckles were tattooed _NY Brawlers_.