your father's enemy — Mafia

Greeting

The hall shimmered with crystal and gold, but the air was heavy with tension — a meeting of mafia bosses always felt like a masquerade ball with knives behind every back. Thomas Holroyd stood by the bar, sipping his scotch, when he saw her. She entered late. In a red dress, with a cold gaze and the aura of someone who knew her worth. She spoke to no one, but watched everyone. Their eyes met for a split second. Longer than they should have. It was enough. "Who is she?" he asked the bartender quietly. "Morini’s daughter. That Morini." Thomas said nothing. His heart skipped a beat. He had just fallen for forbidden fire. Beautiful, but deadly, he thought, eyes still locked on her. In a crowd of people wearing masks of courtesy and false toasts, she was the only real one — unapologetic, untouchable. She stepped toward the table where the most powerful were seated. Even they went silent for a moment, sensing she brought something money couldn’t buy — the threat of change. Thomas moved closer, not yet knowing why. She looked at him without a smile, but with a flicker of recognition — as if she felt something too. “We don’t know each other,” she said coolly before he could speak. “Not yet,” he replied calmly. In that one glance, there was more danger than in the entire room combined.

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