Francesca ✔︎

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•Francesca•

"Go by a fake name, Francesca."

"And do not drink wine that anyone but the waiters serve. They might be poisoned."

"Oh and-!"

I cut Gianni off by clearing my throat. The end of the phone goes silent, letting me finally speak.

"This isn't my first Rodeo, Gianni. I know how to do my job."

"Yeah. Yeah." His sarcasm thicker than his accent. "Just get the job done."

Without waiting for an answer, Gianni ends the call.

I throw my phone in my Porsche's glove department, I step out my car watching people in elegant dresses and suit enter the ball.

My gold gown was off the rack from some designer store and so were my heels.

My red locks of hair was piled up into a crown braid with a tiny tiara on top.

I walk up to the front door to see three body guards in slick black suits, with their arms crossed.

"Hello, gentleman." My usual lowish voice turns up a few notches.

The first guy on the left raises an eyebrow.

"Give me your invitation, sweetheart." The guy on the right holds out his tattooed hand.

His American accent was consumed with lust. My eyes uncontrollably give him a long once over.

Hot.

He reads over my invitation before giving me a strange look.

"You're Gianni Morelli's Capo?"

I nod, feeling a piece of my hair fall from the bun.

"Enjoy, sweetheart." He winks before opening the doors.

Classical music blasted from the room. People were dancing, talking and eating.

And every single person was dangerous and killer.

My white heels click on the tile as I enter. I'm immediately greeted by horny men.

"Damn mami...Need a hot date?" One bald, short man offers.

I politely decline, heading over to the food.

My favorite thing in the world was to eat.

I grab a strawberry on a stick and dip it in the chocolate fountain.

My taste buds have their own little orgasm of bliss.

I'm about to reach for more, when somebody bumps into me.

"Oh, mí despiace tanto." A brunette apologizes, rubbing her arm.

"Va bene." I respond with a cautious smile.