Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 29

Ezra's POV:

The heavy oak door of the VIP room, reinforced steel beneath its veneer, muffled the bass thrumming from the club below. Inside, the air was a heady mix of expensive brandy, the rich aroma of Cuban cigars Lorenzo favored, and the low, guttural murmur of men engaged in serious, high-stakes negotiation.

The air in the VIP room was thick with the expensive aroma of aged whiskey and the low rumble of men conducting serious business. My father, Lorenzo, sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, his presence commanding even in his advancing years. Our associates from Palermo, the Moretti brothers, flanked his sides, their eyes sharp and assessing, missing nothing. Tonight was crucial; solidifying this alliance would shift the balance of power for the years to come.

I watched the proceedings, interjecting with carefully chosen words, ensuring everything flowed smoothly. But a persistent, unwelcome distraction kept snagging my focus, a discordant note in the symphony of power. Davina.

She moved through the room like a shadow, a silent, almost ethereal presence in that short black dress. The cheap fabric clung to her in a way that… irritated me beyond reason. It was too revealing, too… inviting. And the way their eyes followed her. Every single one of them. Marco Moretti, his gaze lingering a fraction too long on the curve of her spine as she bent to refill his brandy snifter. Silvio, his lips curling into a suggestive smirk.

It wasn’t just their eyes. It was the snippets of their conversations, fragments I couldn’t help but overhear. "Bella ragazza," Marco had murmured to Silvio in rapid Italian, his gaze lascivious as she gracefully navigated around the table. Silvio had been bolder, implying a different kind of "service" for the night, his dark eyes locking on her with a possessive hunger that made a knot of something unfamiliar, something akin to raw, possessive jealousy, tighten in my chest.

"Your establishment employs… striking staff, Ezra," Marco had commented, his gaze lingering on Davina as she retreated to the sideboard. "A welcome... distraction from business."

"Davina," my voice cut through the low hum of conversation, drawing the attention of every man in the room. The Moretti brothers’ eyes flickered from her to me, a flicker of curiosity in their dark depths. Lorenzo raised a questioning eyebrow. "That will be all for now. See to the other areas. Ensure our other guests are… well-attended." The emphasis on "other guests" was deliberate, a subtle assertion of my control.

Her relief was palpable, a subtle softening of her tense posture as she quickly gathered the half-empty glasses on her silver tray, her movements almost frantic in her haste to escape their unwanted attention. She gave a quick, almost imperceptible smile to me, her eyes downcast, and practically fled the VIP room, the heavy click of the door closing behind her a small, petty measure of satisfaction.

The attention of the room, albeit momentarily diverted, returned to the serious business at hand, the maps spread across the mahogany, the low murmur of negotiations resuming. But the possessive anger, the unwelcome stirring of something akin to jealousy, lingered, a bitter, unfamiliar taste in my mouth. She was mine. And they would all do well to remember that.