𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓-𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 | vento aureo

tre; PARTNERS IN ORGANISED CRIME

The private jet would land in the spot Don Giovanna instructed her in less then twenty minutes. You were sipping on a cocktail every now and then while going over the plan with your father for what seemed like the hundredth time today. Yeah, you were anxious about the meeting between the two of you, but who wouldn't after practically begging one of the most powerful man in Italy for help.

"I know you'll do well Y/N. You've handled countless of business meetings before" your dad's calm tone eased your worries by a little, but you were still alert.

"I know, I know. But you know how different this is! Our entire family depends on the success of this... partnership. Hopefully, at least..."

"That's true. But I also know you can accomplish anything you put your mind to."

You laughed softly. "Sure, but lemme get all the panic out of my system before we get there, so that I'm all good."

"Go ahead" he looked to the side with a smile, used to your antics.

You proceeded to place the glass on the nearby table, get up from your seat, and let out a scream. The pilot jumped slightly, but not enough cause any turbulence. After exactly two minutes, you stopped, sat back down on the plush seat, picked your fruity drink and carried on like nothing happened.

♡

The plane landed. You need to focus. You're about to meet the Don of Passione, and you need to keep a clear head. Remember who you are.

Y/N De La Louve. The Wolf of France. The current head of the most prestigious line of organised crime, renowned throughout all of Europe. Luxury is like second nature to you, you've been fed with rose-gold spoons your whole life, you've studied at the best schools the world has to offer; you've traded and made business with dozens of different organizations, you've carried yourself with pride and superiority in every situation you've been put through, fuck, you've tricked Death countless of times.

As your heels clicked upon stepping down from the jet, you put on a serious expression. You know who you are. You've got this.

You flattened out the soft material of my cotton-candy pink button-up shirt. A white vest with intricate, golden floral designs all over sat atop of it, and a bolo tie with a, now deep green, alexandrite gem, framed by a golden frame and a small, black and white stripped bow. Elegant white pants that hugged your curves perfectly along with matching, light pink heels.

Your dad wore a boring, but stylish, professional grey suit.

Your eyes immediately fell upon the black limousine that waited just meters away. Men dressed in black suits and sunglasses stood around it. It was weird to think about it sometimes – they were all ready to die for their boss within the blink of an eye. You were in the same situation, but it still made you feel uncomfortable at times.

The door was opened and you and your dad made your way in. Inside was a man adorned in a white suit with teardrop-shaped patterns, and a titty window that would put most of your dresses to shame. The sharp black bob and the golden pins framed his face like it was painted by God himself, giving him an air of power and authority.

You recognized him as Bruno Bucciarati. Obviously, you wouldn't come like this, in what would be considered enemy territory, without doing some research on Giovanna and all his right-hand men.

You smiled politely at him, extending your arm for a handshake. You noticed he was taken back that you were the first to the gesture, and not the man beside you, but it's what usually happens, so what's new. Still, he shook your hand back with a firm grip.