Free

Rossi estate -On Saturday night.

In a cute, comfy and cozy peach aesthetic room, sat Gia and Emilia, the two getting ready for midnight clubbing.

Gia wore an off-shoulder, long-sleeve crop top paired with a pleated, flared leather mini skirt and knee-high boots.

Emilia opted for a black, off-shoulder bodycon dress that hugged her curves, stopping just below her upper thighs, complemented by knee-high boots.

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Midnight – Black Orchid Club

The music throbbed through the air, bass heavy and intoxicating. The scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and reckless decisions filled the club as Emilia and Gia strutted in, turning heads without a single care.

"Shots first, dance later?" Gia smirked, pulling Emilia toward the bar.

Emilia, already feeling the adrenaline rush, grinned. "Obviously."

The bartender didn't even need to ask—two shots of tequila slid their way. The girls clinked their glasses together.

"To what?" Gia asked.

Emilia smirked. "To trouble."

The burn was sharp but welcoming, warming them up for the night. The moment their glasses hit the counter, Gia grabbed Emilia's hand, pulling her straight to the dance floor.

The crowd pulsed around them, bodies moving in sync with the deep rhythm of the music. Emilia let herself go—hips swaying, hands in the air, her long, dark waves flowing down her back as she lost herself to the beat.

Gia twirled, laughing. "No Bianchis, no rules. Just us, baby!"

"Just us!" Emilia echoed, spinning around, the flashing neon lights making her feel weightless.

The night belonged to them. The world belonged to them. And for once, Emilia wasn't thinking about Alessandro Bianchi, about mafia politics, about the war brewing between their families.

No, tonight—she was just Emilia Russo.

And nothing else mattered.

The night raged on, a blur of neon lights, pulsing bass, and the sweet burn of alcohol. Emilia and Gia danced like they owned the world, their laughter swallowed by the music, their bodies moving with reckless abandon.

"Another round?" Gia yelled over the music, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Emilia smirked, already feeling the heat of the tequila rushing through her veins. "Obviously."

They stumbled back to the bar, breathless and exhilarated, their skin glowing under the dim, sultry lighting of Black Orchid. The bartender smirked, already setting up another round of shots.

"You're trouble," he chuckled as he slid the drinks toward them.

Emilia picked up her glass, tilting her head. "Baby, you have no idea."

They downed the shots, the liquid fire sliding down their throats as Gia let out a delighted squeal, grabbing Emilia's wrist again. "Come on, I see a VIP section. Let's crash it."

Emilia raised a brow but followed without hesitation. "Breaking and entering? Now you're speaking my language."

The bouncer guarding the entrance barely had time to react before Gia slipped past him, dragging Emilia inside. The moment they stepped in, luxury wrapped around them—plush velvet seating, a private bar, and expensive cigars burning in crystal ashtrays. The VIPs turned, eyes narrowing at the uninvited guests, but Emilia simply smiled, radiating confidence.

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit, leaned back in his seat, appraising them with mild amusement. "And who let you two in?"

Gia smirked, crossing her arms. "Didn't need permission."

Emilia's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile as she recognized the man instantly—Marco DeLuca.

A known ally of the Bianchis.

Well, well. So this night was about to get interesting.

"Mr. DeLuca," she purred, taking a seat across from him, completely unbothered. "What a coincidence."

His brow lifted slightly, his intrigue clear. "Ah, Miss Russo. Your father know you're running around my club?"

Gia plopped down beside Emilia, stealing a glass of whiskey from the table. "Does he need to?"

Marco chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I like you girls. But I doubt your father would be pleased if he knew you were here."

Emilia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Then I suppose it's a good thing my father isn't here, isn't it?"

Before Marco could respond, his phone buzzed on the table. His gaze flicked to the screen—then back to Emilia.

And that's when she saw it.

Bianchi.

The name flashed across the screen.

Her smirk widened, her pulse kicking up a notch. Speak of the devil.

Gia leaned in, lowering her voice. "Wanna bet it's about you?"

Emilia didn't even have to guess. Of course, it was about her. Alessandro probably already knew where she was—who she was with.

And he would be fucking livid.

Good.

Let him burn.

Marco exhaled, his expression unreadable as he answered the call. "Mr. Bianchi".

Marco leaned back, his tone calm but edged with amusement. "Yes, she's here."

Emilia smirked, reaching for the glass Gia had stolen, taking a slow sip as she met Marco's eyes over the rim. She could hear Alessandro's voice on the other end—low, sharp, undoubtedly pissed.

Marco chuckled, shaking his head. "No, she doesn't seem like she's in distress… Quite the opposite, actually."

Gia snorted beside her, whispering, "He's probably throwing shit right now."

Emilia hummed, pretending to examine her nails. "Tell him I'm perfectly fine, Marco," she drawled lazily. "Enjoying the night. Like a free woman."

Marco arched a brow at her audacity but relayed the message, his lips twitching. "She says she's enjoying herself." A pause. "Like a free woman."

The reaction on the other end must have been something because Marco laughed. "Alessandro, if you want her that badly, come get her yourself."

Emilia's smirk froze.

Gia's eyes widened in delight. "Oh, shit."

Marco ended the call, placing his phone back on the table with a knowing look. "I hope you didn't have other plans for the night, Miss Russo."

Emilia exhaled through her nose, her eyes twitching, forcing her smirk back into place. "I always have plans, Marco."

But her pulse betrayed her, hammering with anticipation.

Because if there was one thing she knew about Alessandro Bianchi, it was that he never made empty threats.

And if he was coming for her?

Then she was in for one hell of a night.