MY CASANOVA MAFIA

The air in the Diamond Club crackled with energy, thick with cigar smoke that curled beneath sparkling chandeliers, shining like stolen stars. The atmosphere pulsed with unspoken power—politicians murmured over glasses of whiskey, tycoons sealed deals with sly nods, and in the shadows, agreements were made in blood. This was no place for the timid; it was a kingdom for those who ruled the city’s dark underbelly.

And tonight, the spotlight blazed down on the stage.

Valentine Hearts stood there, enchanting in a midnight blue silk dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her dark hair flowed over her bare shoulders, and her lips-red as blood-curled into an enigmatic smile as she began to sing.

Her voice was low and sensual, washing over the assembly like a wave. All questions were stilled; one could not hear anything: it was not merely that she was performing; there was a confession here-the haunting tale of desire, of desolation. The audience sat captive, as if they too had known the fire of a consuming love.

In a shadowed corner, Don Arnulfo Vegas swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his intense gaze locked on her. Clad in a tailored black suit, he appeared every bit the predator he was, but tonight, something uncharacteristically soft flickered in his eyes as he watched her. Her movements and voice seemed to weave an enchantment around him, stirring emotions he hadn’t felt in years.

“She’s… different,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

Beside him, his consigliere, Raul, smirked. “She’s dangerous. A woman like that could lead a man to folly.”

Vegas didn’t respond. He was too engrossed in Valentine as she reached the peak of her song, her voice slicing through the air like a well-aimed dagger.

When the last note hung in the air and the crowd erupted in applause, Valentine didn’t soak it in. Instead, she offered a slight curtsy, her smile mysterious, and vanished behind the velvet curtains as quickly as she had appeared.

Leaning back, Vegas made his decision. “Send her a rose.”

Raul’s smirk faltered. “A rose? Do you know what that—”

“Now,” Vegas commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Raul nodded, signaling to a waiter who hurried off to fulfill the request.

Meanwhile, backstage, Valentine pressed her back against the wall, her heart racing. The Diamond Club was her haven, yet tonight, it felt heavy, as if a storm was looming. She rubbed her hands on her dress, trying to dissipate the tension that hung in the air.

Then, suddenly, a waiter came in holding one red rose.

“For you, Miss Hearts,” he said, bowing slightly.

Surprised, she took the flower, her fingers brushing against its sharp thorns. She understood the weight of its meaning. A rose from Don Arnulfo Vegas was no mere token; it was a call to attention, a declaration, and a threat.

Looking to the balcony where he had been, she saw only an empty chair. He was gone, leaving the rose behind—both a promise and a warning.

Her grip tightened around the stem as one thought pounded in her mind: What have I just stepped into?

In the parking lot, Vegas slipped into the backseat of his sleek black car, Raul in the front.

“You have many women at your command,” Raul remarked as he started the engine. “Why her?”

Vegas stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into golden streaks. “Because she’s not like them.”

Raul chuckled darkly. “You mean she doesn’t know what kind of man you are yet.”

Vegas’s jaw tightened. “She will.”

The car sped off into the night, leaving the Diamond Club’s secrets behind. Yet Valentine’s voice echoed in his mind—a haunting melody that refused to fade.

And for the first time in years, Don Arnulfo Vegas felt something dangerous—a longing he could not suppress.

The sun pounded down, its beams glinting off the horizon line of blue sea which stretched before the balcony as Valentine slowly opened her eyes. Her head throbbed and her mouth was parched. Dazed, she gazed around the large room with wooden floorboards and a single white bed with open doors leading outside.

This was not the Diamond Club.

The last memory she had was in the rehearsal space, filled with music and familiar faces. Then chaos erupted: hands grabbed her, a strange scent filled her senses, darkness engulfed her.

She instinctively jerked her arms and legs, but something held her back. Then fear cramped her chest as she saw that her wrists and ankles were trussed with coarse rope.

Panic surged—Where am I? Who did this?

Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, approaching slowly.

Her heart raced as a figure emerged from the shadows.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Arnulfo Vegas stepped into the light, wearing a crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows, his features unreadable. His presence loomed over her like a storm, dark and unpredictable.

Valentine’s body tensed. “You did this?” she demanded, her voice hoarse but steady.

He paused before speaking, strolling to the balcony to let the sea breeze tousle his hair as he stared at the horizon.

“Do you know what it feels like to be hunted, Valentine?” he asked, his voice calm.

“What are you talking about?” she replied, confused.

Vegas turned to her, his eyes icy now, starkly different from the warmth she had seen earlier. “The world I inhabit is merciless. People play dangerous games, and sometimes, pieces on the board… need protection.”

“Protection?” Her laughter was bitter. “By tying me up and dragging me to—where even is this?”

“A safe place,” he stated simply, his gaze unyielding.

Valentine pulled against the ropes binding her. “You call this safe? You kidnapped me! Let me go!”

He stepped closer, his heat radiating towards her. Crouching to meet her eyes, he spoke in a dangerous whisper. “I did this to keep you alive. Do you understand what could happen if I hadn’t? There are people who’d kill to get to me. People who’d hurt you because you’re mine now.”

“Yours?” Her disbelief turned into anger. “I’m not yours, Vegas. I never agreed to this!”

For a second, something soft flickered in his eyes—a glance of doubt, perhaps, or even regret—but he was gone again, turning away from her and running his hand through his hair as if in frustration.

"I don't expect you to understand, Valentine," he said, his voice hard and cold, concealing all the turmoil beneath his exterior. "You'll stay here until it's safe for you to leave.His words felt like chains, heavy and binding, leaving her grappling with confusion and anger. She could see a man torn between two worlds: one that demanded control and one that yearned for connection.

Valentine’s fists clenched. “And if I refuse?”

Vegas turned back, his expression darkening. “Then you’ll force me to make choices that neither of us will like.”

Silence thickened, broken only by the distant crashing of waves.

“I trusted you,” Valentine said softly, her voice trembling with betrayal.

Vegas’s jaw hardened. “That’s your mistake. Trust doesn’t exist in my world.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her bound, furious, and helpless.

As the door clicked shut, Valentine fought back tears, her anger and fear sharper than the ropes around her wrists. She didn't know why Vegas had brought her here, or what he was keeping from her. But one thing is sure: she's nothing more than a pawn that never chose to be placed in this game; hence, she will do anything for herself to escape.