Chapter 3: Naughty Kitten

"Thud."

Alessia landed gracefully yet again, her feet hitting the bedroom floor with practised ease. It was past 2 in the morning, and the house was silent—no sign of Marcello.

"That's for the best," she muttered to herself. "No one to nag me."

But her relief was short-lived.

"You're later than usual, rat," came the unmistakably smug voice of Marcello, cutting through the quiet.

Alessia groaned. "Ugh." She’d spoken too soon.

She hated it when he used that condescending, parental tone. Alessia knew her parents adored her, but they treated her like fragile glass. To them, she was a delicate princess to be coddled, protected, and kept far away from danger.

Her life had never been normal. While other kids went to school, she was homeschooled. And while they played freely, Alessia had bodyguards hovering nearby—even at the playground.

The reason was clear enough. Her father, Antonio Rossini, was the Consigliere to the Monaro famiglia, the most powerful and ruthless Mafia in all of Italy. Over time, Alessia learned why she was denied a normal life. She was an asset to be guarded, not a child to be free.

But things were different for her brothers, Roberto and Marcello. Papa involved them in everything. They attended famiglia meetings—a term that hardly did justice to the power plays that defined the Monaro clan. The Monaro famiglia comprised thirteen other famiglias, all under its control, each managing different businesses. Papa, once the most trusted man of the former Capo, had risen to become one of the heads of these famiglias. Roberto, the eldest son, was already being groomed to take over those responsibilities.

"Ugh. It sucks being a girl," Alessia thought bitterly.

Still, Alessia wasn’t the delicate flower her parents believed her to be. She had always been a sweet girl with a rebellious streak. She snuck off to train with her brothers, determined to master the skills they learned. Once, Papa caught her practising with firearms. After several unsuccessful attempts to stop her, he trained her formally—for her "safety," of course.

………….

“Ring, ring.”

The vibrating caller ID showed the name Sophia.

Sophia was Alessia’s best friend—unusual circumstances on Alessia’s 16th birthday led to their friendship of 5 years.

"I don't know why Mama made me wear this damn gown. I can't breathe," Alessia had grumbled, her gaze fixed longingly on the dessert table laden with treats. She cursed the corseted pink dress her mother had insisted she wear.

Her birthdays were always over the top. Antonio and Rosa Rossini spared no expense, throwing elaborate parties that left other girls green with envy. For this celebration, they hosted a Victorian-style tea party. Alessia’s gown was haute couture, handwoven and studded with 400 diamonds. Her long obsidian-dark hair flowed in waves, adorned with antique jade hairpins gifted by her Nana. Michelin-starred chefs catered for the event, serving delicacies with the finest cutlery.

But Alessia couldn’t care less about the grandeur. She only cared about the food. A shameless glutton, she delighted in sneaking snacks and raiding the pantry at night. The cook adored her for it, always indulging her cravings with a knowing smile.

Scanning the room, she spotted her mother, Rosa, deep in conversation with other Mafia wives. Rosa Rossini was a vision in a midnight sequined gown that complemented her honey-coloured eyes and obsidian hair. She was breathtaking, a living masterpiece. Alessia often caught herself wondering if she would ever match her mother’s elegance.

Seizing the opportunity, Alessia grabbed a few desserts and slipped out to the garden.

She had barely begun enjoying her stolen treats when a voice interrupted her solitude.

"Those truffle cakes go well with this grape juice. You should try it."

Startled, Alessia looked up to see a girl her age—brown-haired, sharp-eyed, and radiant.

"Oh, sorry to bother you," the girl added, noticing Alessia’s surprise. "I just thought I’d share."

"Thanks," Alessia muttered, unsure of what to make of her.

"By the way, I’m Sophia. Let’s be friends."

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

………….

Sophia’s voice snapped Alessia back to the present.

"Hello? Have you been listening to me?" her friend’s shrill tone rang through the receiver.

"Yes, Mom. I’ll be ready by 7," Alessia teased.

"I said 6! We need to stop by my house first to do our hair and makeup!" Sophia sounded like she was cycling through all five stages of grief over Alessia’s inattentiveness.

"Fine, 6 it is," Alessia retorted.

"Beep. Beep." The line went dead.

Stepping into the Club Arena

The deafening sounds of music grew louder as Alessia and Sophia stepped further into the corner where the club was hidden. The club was known for its top-notch security —not even a fly could slip past the vigilant security guards stationed there. Tonight, two bodyguards stood at the entrance. One was a real-life Hulk—towering at an imposing height of 6’7", his bulging muscles were enough to make professional bodybuilders look like amateurs. Beside him stood a less intimidating but equally formidable stone-faced guard. 

They meant business.

Alessia strode confidently toward the guarded entrance, Sophia clinging to her arm like a jewel. The two men straightened their postures, instantly recognising the VVIP guests. Their demeanour shifted that of respect and acknowledgement as they stepped aside to let the women pass.

…………

The Sparrow was one of the most prestigious and extravagant clubs in Sicily, and surprisingly, 22-year-old Alessia was the major shareholder of this establishment, She had wisely used her inheritance from her Grandfather to make several investments. The club was one of her businesses, alongside that she owned chains of fashion stores in Milan and Sicilicy and a charity foundation.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” came the familiar voice of Guvano Martini, the club's manager and Alessia's long-time friend.

The two women walking in caused a stir in the club, commanding attention with every step. Men stared hungrily like ravenous wolves sizing up prey. Women, on the other hand, glared at them, seething with envy and nursing the desire to shred the two captivating succubi to pieces.

"Look at them thirst like bloody hounds" Sophia said to Alessia, grinning in satisfaction at the effect they had. 

Alessia was dressed to kill—a little black dress that clung to her curves, accentuating her heavy breasts, toned abs, and impossibly slim waist. Her smooth, porcelain legs seemed to stretch endlessly, drawing awe-struck gazes as she walked. Each step was light yet sensual, like a forbidden fruit swaying seductively on a delicate branch.

"Ugh I feel like a painting hanging in a museum," Alessia complained, shuddering at the lewd and hateful gazes she was receiving. 

"I wouldn't blame them, Alessia" Sophia chimed, barely fazed by the looks, "You look hot, I could fall in love with you, you know" she teased. 

Alessia was an exotic beauty—a blend of her mother Rosa's Grecian lineage and her father Antonio's Italian heritage. Her honey-coloured eyes, framed by long, fluttering lashes, glimmered with mischief and allure. A heart-shaped face and sharp jawline adorned with a smattering of freckles added a hint of innocence to her exotic looks. Her luscious, obsidian-dark curls bounced with every step, teasingly revealing the curve of her neck. And her lips—plump and cherry-pink—curved into a sensual pout that could drive anyone to the edge of madness.

Sophia was no less stunning, her sun-kissed skin glowed under the club's neon lights. Her hourglass figure, clad in a fiery red dress, was highly tempting. Waves of silky brunette hair cascaded down to her waist, framing her face like a portrait of natural beauty.

"So you haven't fallen in love with me already?" Alessia said gasping dramatically, "Here I am in my unrequited love, oh poor me" she lamented teasingly. 

The girls laughed and teased each other, leaving poor Guvano to third wheel.

"Ugh! They are still staring, Let's move quickly" said Alessia

"Well I certainly can't blame them, you ladies are dressed like vixens" Guvano stated extending his arms to escort them to their private booth.

"If their stares bother you, I can gouge their eyes out," Guvano said, with every seriousness in his tone.

"We are here"