The Nocturne tonight maintained a carefully balanced atmosphere. Busy enough to remain exclusive but quiet enough for meaningful conversations. The carefully curated guest list for tonight ensured the proper balance of power players, social elites, and carefully vetted newcomers who added just enough novelty without disrupting established hierarchies.


    Tatiana had grown accustomed to the rhythm, the predictable ebb and flow that allowed her to maintain her cover while advancing her mission. Weeks into her infiltration, she''d established routines, identified key players, planted surveillance devices in strategic locations, and, most importantly, secured Massimiliano De Luca''s sustained interest.


    Everything proceeded according to plan. Until it didn''t.


    Massimiliano arrived and sat at the bar across from her, just as he was about to greet her his head turned to the elevator.


    Tatiana followed his gaze, immediately identifying the source of his sudden focus.


    Six men entered Nocturne with the combination of excessive confidence and watchful caution. She immediately recognized them as belonging to a particular world. To be precise…her world, Massimiliano''s world.


    "Bianchi," Massimiliano murmured, almost to himself.


    The Bianchi family of Calabrian origin and historic rivals to the De Lucas. They have maintained an uneasy peace for the past decade through carefully negotiated territorial agreements. They don’t typically frequent Massimiliano’s establishment, which is why tonight’s presence carries a more dangerous undertone beyond casual drinks.


    "Friends of yours?" she asked, already knowing the answer but maintaining her cover.


    "Business associates." He said before warning her. "Keep your distance. Augusto has boundary issues, particularly with attractive women who aren''t his property."


    Attractive? Property? Her brow furrowed. The warning could have been interpreted as romantic if it didn’t carry such distasteful undertones.


    "I can handle drunk idiots," she responded sharply. "Even ones with Italian surnames." Clearly taking a jab at him.


    Massimiliano ignored her provocation, his focused eyes never left the newcomers as they were escorted to a table across the room. "Different category of threat, Tatiana. Trust me on this."


    He returned to his booth, immediately engaging in a quiet conversation with Antonio. Tatiana continued her duties, maintaining awareness of the Bianchi group through her peripheral vision while appearing focused on mixing drinks.


    For nearly an hour, the delicate ecosystem of Nocturne maintained its balance. The Bianchi men drank moderately, conversed quietly, and occasionally surveyed the room with casualness that fooled no one who understood the underlying dynamics at play.


    Then Augusto walked over to the bar. He moved in a way that isn''t quite drunk but had consumed enough alcohol to dampen his inhibitions. Augusto Bianci was a man in his mid-thirties with a large statue. Dark eyes, dark hair—the typical Italian man. And a gaudy sense of fashion, she noted, as her eyes settled on his chunky gold necklace.


    "Whiskey," he instructed without any preliminary greeting. "Macallan 25, neat." Of course he would order a Macallan.


    Tatiana nodded as she reached for the premium bottle without comment. As she poured, she could feel his gaze tracking her movements. The way his eyes lingered on her body longer than necessary irritated her.


    "I haven''t seen you here before." His voice colored by the accent of his Calabrian origin despite years in America. "New staff?"


    "Relatively," she answered with a tight smile, placing his drink on a coaster. "Enjoy."


    As she turned to assist another customer, he reached over the bar and grabbed her wrist.


    "Don’t run away, cara. I don’t bite. What’s your name?" He smiled, revealing expensive dental work and a single gold tooth. "When beautiful women serve me drinks, bella, I like to know who I''m thanking."


    She glared at him as she wriggled her wrist free from his grasp. Not wanting to cause a scene, she responded, "Tatiana." She gestured to his table, "And you can thank me by enjoying your whiskey at your table."


    Amusement spread across his face. "Tatiana."


    Her skin crawled at the way he pronounced her name. It felt…slimy.


    "Italian origins? You have the look, that fire in your eyes. My grandmother had that same expression when displeased."


    "Good observation skills," she responded flatly. "Enjoy your drink."


    "So dismissive," he chuckled, making no move to return to his table. "I wonder if you speak to all your customers this way, or only those who aren''t De Luca associates. My friends come here sometimes. I’ve been told…you provide special service for the prince, yes?"


    Her brows furrowed at his outrageous assumption.


    “Listen here, I’m not—” Before she could finish her sentence, Augusto leaned closer.


    "Perhaps you''d like to experience how real Italians treat beautiful women," he suggested, voice dropping low, his fingers darted to caress her chin. "Massimiliano plays at power, but the Bianchis, we understand pleasure. Celebration. Passion. Desiderio."


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Appreciate the offer," Tatiana said as she swatted his hand away, barely holding on to her patience, "but I''m working. So, thanks but no thanks. Stronzo." She said, casually calling him an asshole in Italian.


    Raw anger flickered in Augusto''s eyes, before settling into something more concerning: determination.


    "I don''t think—" he began with a threatening voice, before another voice interrupted.


    "Problem here?" Massimiliano materialized beside them. His arrival was so silent that even Tatiana with her heightened situational awareness hadn''t noticed his approach until he spoke.


    "Massimiliano!" Augusto greeted him with exaggerated warmth, spreading his arms wide in a mock welcoming gesture. "Massimiliano, mio caro," he drawled. "No problem at all, amico mio. Simply getting acquainted with your…exceptional staff.”


    "I see." Massimiliano nodded calmly. "Purtroppo per te…" he said smoothly, "Tatiana isn''t available for acquaintance."


    Augusto''s eyebrows rose in surprise. "Not available? Unusual policy for a bar. Perhaps only exclusive service for preferred customers? I wasn''t aware Nocturne operated with such... discriminatory practices."


    "Not discrimination." Massimiliano moved subtly, positioning himself between Tatiana and Augusto with such ease that the territorial display appeared almost casual. "Simple fact. Tatiana isn''t available because she''s with me."


    The declaration hung in the air as Tatiana tried to process the weight of his words. It took a moment for them to settle before she felt a genuine flash of anger at the presumption, the casual claiming of ownership. Standing behind the bar she furrowed her brows with disbelief as she looked at Massimiliano.


    Massimiliano looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze, giving her a small nod. His lips almost curved into a smile.


    These Italian bastards, she thought.


    Before she could interject, Augusto laughed. A loud reverberating sound that contained no actual humor.


    "With you? The bartender?" He shook his head, performing exaggerated disbelief for the benefit of his associates watching from across the room. "Standards slipping, mio caro? Or perhaps these rumors of your organization''s declining influence have merit? When De Lucas must claim service staff as companions rather than—"


    Before he could finish his sentence Massimiliano''s hand was already gripping Augusto''s lapel, his eyes challenging him to finish his thoughts.


    "Choose your next words carefully, Augusto," he advised, his voice dropping to a lower tone. "Your father negotiated peace between our families. Don''t make me explain to him why his eldest son returned home with fewer teeth than he arrived with."


    Augusto''s companions rose from their table, hands disappearing beneath jackets in telling movements. Across the room, Antonio and two other security personnel shifted position, bracing for the moment tension turned to action.


    "Careful, De Luca," Augusto warned, making no attempt to remove Massimiliano''s hand from his jacket. "You''re outnumbered in your own establishment. Poor planning."


    "Maybe. But you''d be dead before your men could lift a finger." Massimiliano''s smile contained nothing but excitement and anticipation.


    Augusto’s face contorted in anger, shoving Massimiliano off him. The air stilled. No one dared to move in fear of escalating the situation into something more deadly. Tatianaw watched from behind the bar as Massimilano calmly shrugged off his tailored jacket in a smooth motion, handing it to a nearby server without taking his eyes from his opponent.


    He calmly rolled up his sleeves, revealing the black king chess piece tattooed on his forearm—the symbol everyone in their world recognized as markings of the De Luca heir.


    "Last chance to walk away intact, Augusto," he offered. Instead of de-escalating, Augusto responded with a forceful, wild swing aiming at Massimilano’s face. Massimiliano sidestepped with ease, delivering a precise counterstrike to Augusto''s gut.


    "Oof!!"  The breath left him in a sharp exhale as he doubled over, clenching his belly.


    The previously contained confrontation now exploded into chaotic violence as Augusto''s companions rushed forward to protect their boss but were intercepted by Massimiliano’s men. A few of Augusto’s people drew their guns, but the sharp sound of safeties clicking off echoed just as quickly, as Massimiliano’s men had already drawn theirs. The sudden escalation sent patrons scattering toward the exits, while others pressed themselves against the walls, desperate to stay out of the crossfire. The other patrons who were used to this sort of violence, walked calmly out the main door, refusing to take sides.


    Massimiliano sidestepped a charging attacker, using his momentum against him to drive an elbow into the man’s ribs before slamming a fist to the back of his head. Another opponent swung wildly. Massimiliano redirected his punch, twisting the man’s wrist before delivering a sharp knee to his stomach.


    Tatiana observed the scene unfolding in front of her with crossed arms, pretending not to be impressed at Massimiliano’s hand-to-hand combat. For a moment she considered stepping in, but the thought of him casually claiming her as his moments ago irritated her enough to stay exactly where she was. He’s doing just fine.


    A third came at him from behind. Before he could strike, Massimiliano caught the incoming arm, twisting it into a joint lock before driving his fist into the man’s face.


    Crack! The sickening sound of cartilage giving way was followed by a sharp curse and a spray of blood as the man stumbled back.


    One of Augusto’s men lifted his gun, angling it toward Massimiliano. Without hesitation, Massimiliano lunged forward, delivering an open-palm strike to the man’s throat.


    Ghk! A strangled, wheezing sound escaped as his grip faltered. Before he could recover, Massimiliano’s elbow crashed hard into his temple with a dull thud. His body went limp as his gun slipped away from his fingers before he collapsed on her floor.


    The momentary interruption allowed Augusto to recover just enough to re-engage. Thwack! His fist connected solidly against Massimiliano’s jaw, splitting his lip open and sending a spray of crimson across the imported marble floor.


    Massimiliano laughed, clearly enjoying this altercation despite the pain coursing through his face. He rushed forward and caught Augusto’s extended arm, twisting it, before using his own momentum to slam him face-first into the bar.


    CRACK! The sound of his nose breaking reverberated through the bar, followed by a guttural groan of pain. Blood poured from Augusto''s shattered nose, staining his expensive shirt as he struggled to maintain balance. Massimiliano maintained his grip, applying pressure to the joint that promised dislocation if continued.


    "Enough!" Augusto gasped, recognizing the vulnerability of his position. "This accomplishes nothing!"