Chapter Ten: Viviana Bellini... Conte

The underground gambling den smelled of cigar smoke and old money, humming with the sound of shuffled cards, clinking chips, and muffled curses. Viviana descended the concrete steps without hesitation, heels clicking against the cold floor. She was dressed in sleek black leather pants that hugged her curves like a second skin, paired with a crimson satin blouse tucked in just right, its buttons teasingly open near her collarbone. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, green eyes sharp, confident, and hungry.

Heads turned as she walked through the corridor lined with heavy security. Everyone knew her name, down here. They knew she was feared, but only a few knew to what extent.

She didn’t pause to speak or exchange greetings. She walked straight toward a corner table, set under a fancy chandelier. The light flickered slightly over the faces of four men seated around the green felt. Each of them had been involved in the recent deal she had set with Raffaele and the Eastern European supplier group.

They had good product. Great product, even. But they had crossed a line.

Raffaele’s men had been ambushed during the transaction. It was a crime on her side of go against their main purpose.

She didn’t need Raffaele’s permission for this. This was between them.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted, sliding into an empty seat at their table with a charming smile. The dealer hesitated, then resumed dealing cards.

The men shifted nervously. The youngest among them, Milo, looked like he wanted to shrink under the table.

"Viviana," muttered the older one with a thick accent. Boris, the one who usually handled the paperwork. "We weren’t expecting…"

“Firstly, you weren’t supposed to raise the price,” she cut in smoothly, glancing at her cards. "And you weren’t supposed to attack Conte men."

The table fell silent.

Boris cleared his throat, fumbling for a justification. "There was a... miscommunication. Our superior had new instructions."

"Miscommunication?" Viviana echoed, leaning forward. Her voice remained calm, but her eyes burned, but strangely, her expression remained calm. "I don't miscommunicate. I give orders. You follow them. That was the deal."

The other men nodded rapidly, trying not to show fear. Viviana tossed a handful of chips on the table. "Let’s play. I have some time to kill before someone takes me to your boss."

And play she did. She won round after round, and it was obvious she didn't struggle with it at all. All the while, she slipped in subtle threats with the same grace as her card tricks.

“I wonder what Raffaele will say when he decides to act on this betrayal. I'd probably suffer a backlash too, don't you think?” she mused aloud, eyes flicking to Boris. "But I'm not sure who I'd ask you to fear more between Raffaele and I.”

They lost badly. Not just the game, but their composure. By the end of the last hand, sweat slicked their foreheads, and no one dared look her in the eye.

She stood, gathering the chips she had won and carelessly dropping them back on the table. "I’m done playing. Now take me to the one who thought he could get away with crossing me."

A man named Yevgeny, one of their soldiers, offered to lead her to the warehouse two blocks down, where the Eastern European operation’s logistics were based. She followed him through the back entrance of the gambling den into a hallway that smelled damp.

They arrived at a steel door guarded by two armed men. One of them opened it with a sharp nod when he recognized Viviana. The moment she stepped inside, silence fell.

Six men stood inside. One sat behind a desk, bald, broad, and smug-looking, the supposed one in charge, she guessed.

He barely got a word out.

Viviana pulled out the twin blades hidden beneath her jacket. Her movements were swift and controlled. The first two didn’t even see it coming. Blood sprayed as her blade sliced clean through necks and throats.

Yevgeny stepped back, stunned.

The man behind the desk reached for a gun, but it was too slow. She hurled a blade across the room, embedding it in his forehead. He collapsed, chair and all, with a dull thud.

Three remained. Two tried to run. Mistake.

Viviana moved swiftly, kicking one back into the wall before stabbing him straight through the gut. The final man dropped his weapon and backed into a corner, hands shaking.

She didn’t kill him.

She leaned in close, her voice a breath over his trembling lips. "Go home. Tell your boss, the real boss, whoever’s hiding behind this mess, that I look forward to doing business properly. Next time, I'll wipe out every root y'all can be traced to.”

He nodded frantically. She stepped over the bodies, cleaned her blades on one of their jackets, and walked out like she hadn’t just painted the room red.

She felt the same thrill she used to feel when getting rid of people in her family's way. She didn't bother hiding who she was from people she was murdering because they never lived to tell the tales, but no one really knew about it on the outside.

“What a bore.” she let out a sigh of boredom. “I'd have loved to use my sniper instead.”

Yevgeny shrinked in fear behind him, and this made Her turn to him finally, a cold smile on her face. “Oh, you're the pest left. Those playing should be gone by now.”

In a swift moment, Yevgeny was laying lifeless on the ground, not a single wound on his body, but he was dead.

In the gambling room, the same had happened. The men she left behind slumped and gone.

One thing anyone in the underworld would be foolish to do was get into Viviana's death book, which these fools found themselves in. But of course, only a few really know the real pain.