Outside the windows, the city unfolded in glittering ribbons of light beneath the evening sky. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the sidewalks glossy and reflective, turning the city into streaks of gold and neon and blurred headlights.
Tonight was supposed to be simple. One normal night. No Leo. No Chiara. No family meetings. No discussions about alliances and security and marriage and protection. Just me. Just one night where I got to pretend I was a normal girl instead of a future mafia wife.
After a ridiculous amount of arguing, begging, emotional manipulation, and promising Chiara I wouldn't "accidentally commit crimes," I'd somehow gotten permission to go out. Technically. With supervision. Unfortunately.
Vincenzo sat in the front passenger seat looking like a man actively regretting every choice that had led him to this moment. Late forties. Massive shoulders. Dark hair turning silver at the temples. Permanent expression of tired disappointment. He'd known me since I was little. Which meant he treated me less like mafia royalty and more like an irritating niece.
“Aurora,” he warned, glancing at me in the mirror, “I know that face.”
I blinked innocently. “What face? I have several faces.”
“The one where you're planning something.” He groaned, and I pretended to look wounded.
“Vincenzo.” I pressed my hand dramatically to my heart. “You think so little of me.”
“You're smiling. You smile before trouble,” he muttered. The girls dissolved into laughter beside me. Traitors. Ten minutes later, I solved the Vincenzo problem. Very easily.
“Vincenzo,” I said sweetly as we climbed onto the crowded sidewalk. “Could you do me one tiny favor? There’s a bakery around the corner. Could you get me a giant bachelorette cake?”
“No,” Vincenzo said plainly. “Not part of the plan. Drop you off at the club, watch you like a hawk. That’s what boss and Sergio said.”
“Please?” I stuck my bottom lip out and did my best version of puppy eyes. “I just want to celebrate with a cake. I never got them on my birthdays.”
He finally turned and looked at me. Narrowed eyes. Suspicion. The expression of a man who'd survived decades around dangerous people and somehow knew I was worse.
Bianca joined in. “Pleaseeeeee, Vincenzo?”
Sofia pouted. Alessia grabbed his arm dramatically. “Pleeeease.”
Poor Vincenzo looked up toward the sky like he was asking God for patience. “You girls are evil.”
Five minutes later he disappeared around the corner toward the bakery. The second he vanished into the crowd, I grinned.
Bianca stared in awe. “Oh my God, you little manipulator.”
“I prefer the title of strategic planner,” I winked at her. “Now run.”
We ran. The four of us disappeared into the city, laughing and stumbling over heels, clutching tiny purses while cold evening air whipped through our hair. For the first time in weeks, I felt light. Actually light. No expectations. No marriage. No invisible chains hanging around my throat. No Sergio.
Just city lights and music bleeding from bars and people laughing around us. Freedom. Tiny and temporary. But freedom nonetheless.
“Where are we going?” Sofia asked breathlessly.
I pulled out my phone triumphantly. “I found a place earlier.”
Bianca narrowed her eyes. “Aurora.”
“No family connections,” I winked at her. “No fifty-two year old men in weird shoes and socks.”
Her eyes widened. “No bodyguards?”
“No stuffy mafia people,” I went on. “Just us.”
Sofia looked excited. “What kind of place?”
I smiled. “Just a regular nightclub.”
Twenty minutes later I realized I had made a catastrophic mistake. We stood on a darker street now, away from the polished restaurants and rooftop bars. Music pulsed through the sidewalk beneath my heels. Not normal music. Heavy bass. Slow. Deep enough that I could feel it vibrating against my ribs. Above us, black neon letters glowed through the darkness. The sign read After Dark.