His Kryptonite

Chapter 12

Laila's POV
5 days later

Vincenzo strides up to the bouncer, disregarding the long queue of eager club-goers. Just like he did at the restaurant the other day, he introduces me, disclosing my identity as Francisco Scorsese's daughter since no one knows of my existence.

"Give me a call when you're ready to head home. And remember, stay in the VIP section. No wandering around, okay? Don't go overboard with drinks or any of that crazy stuff. No drugs, seriously. Got it? Oh, and never go to the bathroom alone. Stick with Elena. And no chasing after guys, even if you're crushing on someone!" Vincenzo bombards me with a thousand pieces of advice, his nerves palpable, as if I were some naive, wide-eyed teenager. I nod and bid him farewell.

Stepping inside, I can't help but sense the undeniable "mob" vibe that saturates the club's atmosphere. It's massive, extravagant beyond belief. I can't fathom why a nightclub needs to be so outrageously luxurious. The costs of keeping it running must be astronomical, yet they never seem to raise their prices. Instead, they keep adding more and more to the mix: professional dancers, circus performers, A-list DJs and performers, top-notch drinks at affordable prices, and an army of staff members who ensure lightning-fast service, catering to even the most budget-conscious party animals.

And if that's not enough evidence, despite the diverse population, all the VIP booths surrounding the massive dance floor are exclusively occupied by intriguing Italian men, some of them advanced in age, accompanied by their Cosa Nostra women. It's not just their appearance, but also the way they speak, dress, and carry themselves that gives it away. It's painfully obvious.

Meanwhile, on the sprawling dance floors, oblivious civilians dance without a care, completely unaware of the danger lurking in their midst. Little do they know that many individuals in this establishment are armed and ruthless murderers who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. They remain oblivious to the fact that on the second floor, behind tinted windows overlooking the dance floor below, resides the city's most powerful mob boss. And in the basement, he meets with his men to plan their next sinister moves.

As a regular civilian, I would never step foot in a place like this. But perhaps others wouldn't know any better. Maybe they see this venue as one of the trendiest spots in town, offering an upscale experience at an affordable price. Everyone knows that La Dolce Vita is the club where you can feel luxurious and sophisticated for a night, even if you're not. Yet, curiously, no one seems to question how this business model thrives so successfully, despite the fact that the numbers simply don't add up.

I had never set foot in this place before, deliberately avoiding any involvement in this lifestyle. Yet, here I am, once again being dropped off by Vincenzo, as if this is my new reality, and I must conform, pretending to be like my peers. And perhaps, deep down, there's a small part of me that longs to see Michael again, especially since he hasn't shown up at the firm this week. Five days without seeing him, and I'm already missing that infuriating face of his.

I know he probably handed me the contract earlier this week to shield my father from the truth about how those perverts were talking about me in the restaurant. But the truth is, when I witnessed Michael drop his cold facade and engage in genuine business conversations with me, even offering a sincere smile, my heart started racing uncontrollably. It was a side of him that I instantly craved, a version of him that I would do anything to experience again.

A waitress approaches and guides me to a booth occupied by a group of impeccably groomed girls, exuding an air of superiority, delicately sipping on their extravagant cocktails.

Elena, Nicoletta's twenty-one-year-old sister, seems to be the one I'm supposed to stick with since I don't know anyone else here.

"Heyyyy Lailaaaaa!" she shrieks as I ascend the three small steps to the booth.