Then another pop blasted, and another. Champagne flew into the air, leaving a trail of white behind as Marina's voice erupted from atop a balcony on the club's second stage, a toast raised in hand.
"I want to congratulate Christian Marosco for the club opening—may it bring you ever clarity of mind and prosperity of heart, so you'll know which woman to love and honor. *Saluti!*"
The music shifted to gangster rap. I could taste the champagne on my lower lip, my eyes red with anger and locked on Marina's infuriating, defiant gaze. My hand crept closer to my pistol, drawing it as I started rushing through the crowd.
It was going to be a bloodbath tonight. Both our men were poised for the first shot, one that would ignite a blood-feud war across the entire city.
"Christian…" Melissa's soft voice called out. I turned to her. She stood soaked in champagne, mouth open, golden curls plastered to her face.
She glanced around, blue eyes sharp as if she recognized the song. All eyes were on her in the middle of the dancefloor, yet she saw no one.
She slashed the air with angular arm motions, each snap synced to the bass throbbing through the floor. *Stomp-stomp-CLAP.*
Her stiletto heels carved the rhythm into the tiles, champagne fizzing beneath her stomps as if the ground hissed with her heat.
Her chest jerked along with her arms in wild thrusts, forward and back, heart pulsing to the music. One strap of her crimson dress slipped loose, a rose shedding its petals.
Shoulders rolled as her head snapped side to side, knees dipping to reveal a flash of white undergarment. Every eye fixed on her now, and my heart raced with jealousy. *What was she doing?*
The dress slid further, pooling at her hips as her lower body swayed—feet planted, knees bent. Her arms rippled from shoulder to fingertip as she rose, standing atop the fallen fabric.
One stiletto flew off, pirouetting midair before landing needle-straight in a champagne puddle. Melissa grinned, kicking free the other heel with a sharp shuffle.
Barefoot, she C-walked forward: *slide-tap-slide-STOMP*, hands dribbling to the beat, undercutting the synth. Then she stood, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, as if preparing for a three shot.
She raised her arms to eye level, then jumped. extending her shooting arm, yeeting an invisible ball at the top of the second floor. She flicked her wrist, eyeing Marina as her lips spelled "score".
The entire club erupted in cheers and applause. I looked up at the second floor. Marina stared at her, eye twitching, face blazing with hatred, her cocktail trembling in hand.
*Melissa 3, Marina 0.* This was my woman. She just spared the entire room with her cunning.
But as she celebrated, arms thrown skyward, the champagne-soaked undergarment revealed too much of her *perkiness*.
I tossed my pistol to the ground, freeing my hands—for her—and strode forward.
Her eyes flashed when she saw me, arms freezing midair near her face. Then she stepped close, standing on her tiptoes atop my shoes to wrap both arms around my neck.
"My prize," she said, her chest pressed to mine. "Came to celebrate with me?"
"No," I growled, grabbing her beneath the thighs and hoisting her up. She gasped in surprise. "Came to steal you away. Hold on tight."