Chapter 3- Queens of Chaos
The bass throbbed through the walls before we even stepped inside. That deep, pulsing rhythm that felt like a second heartbeat. The club was alive, humming with electricity, drenched in neon, perfume, and danger. A perfect place for beautiful chaos.
Camila, Julia, and Rosetta were already outside, waiting by the curb like a scene out of a designer perfume ad—legs for days, smoky eyes, and sin twisted into femininity. My kind of people.
As I stepped out of the car, Alessandro’s shadow followed—silent, suffocating. He moved like death in designer boots, always behind me, always there.
I turned sharply, my hand shooting out like a dagger between us.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said, voice low and laced with venom. “Step one foot near me or them, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
His glacier gaze met mine. No reaction. Just that same emotionless mask carved from ice and war.
I didn’t flinch.
Neither did he.
But I could feel it—the tension humming in the air between us like a taut wire, ready to snap.
Without another word, I turned and walked toward my girls.
Camila’s face lit up first. "Look at you!" she squealed, her eyes running over my outfit. “You came dressed to kill, babe.”
“That’s the goal,” I murmured, letting them hug me.
Julia’s lips curved into a wicked smile—until her gaze shifted over my shoulder.
“Wait,” she said slowly, her voice dropping. “Who the hell is that?”
Rosetta’s eyes followed hers. And then silence.
Total, stunned silence.
Even the music from inside couldn’t drown it.
Julia blinked. “What the actual fuck?”
I turned halfway, just enough for them to follow my line of sight. Alessandro leaned against the Maserati, arms folded, one boot crossed over the other, eyes locked on me like I was a mission he’d already started dissecting.
His black dress shirt clung to muscles carved by war, his jaw dusted with a hint of stubble, and his entire aura screamed violence, sin, and secrets.
Rosetta practically gasped. “That’s your bodyguard?”
I nodded once.
They all just stood there, wide-eyed.
Julia was the first to break. “Girl… you tryna get rid of that?” She motioned toward him like he was an expensive gift I was being ungrateful about. “He looks like he’s about to strangle the devil and make it look sexy.”
“I don’t need protection,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “What part of that is hard to understand?”
Camila raised a brow. “Are you sure? I mean, if you don’t want him, we’ll take him.”
Rosetta chimed in, smirking. “Are we even on her side right now?”
Julia muttered, “His—” and then winced. “I mean… hers. Totally. We’re totally on your side.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wow. Traitors, the lot of you.”
They laughed, but there was something else behind their giggles. Interest. Intrigue. The kind of spark that always came before a storm. I could feel it rising between us, that delicious need for trouble.
Camila leaned closer. “So, what’s the plan?”
I gave them a slow smile.
“Lean in,” I whispered, tilting my head conspiratorially.
They obeyed like the loyal sinners they were, and I told them.
Their faces shifted as I spoke—eyes glinting, lips curling into amused smirks, and at the end, Rosetta bit her bottom lip with a wicked little grin.
“You’re insane,” Camila said, laughing softly.
“Completely unhinged,” Julia added, delighted.
“Which is exactly why we love you,” Rosetta finished.
I straightened, eyes flicking to where Alessandro still stood. Watching. Waiting. Probably plotting how many different ways he could kill someone with a shoelace.
Good.
Let him stay there.
Because tonight wasn’t about him.
Tonight was about me.
“Let’s go,” I said, and the girls fell into step beside me.
We strutted into the club like we owned it, our stilettos clacking against the floor in synchronized seduction. The bouncers didn’t even ask for ID. They knew who we were. Aria and her wolves. A walking storm in high heels and backless dresses.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Bodies moved on the dancefloor, grinding, twirling, losing themselves to the pulse of the night. Lights flickered overhead in hues of purple and red, bathing everything in the glow of temptation.
Camila handed me a shot of something blue and dangerous.
“To freedom,” she said.
“To war,” I replied, downing it.
We settled on our seats like queens taking their thrones. Our booth was plush velvet, deep red, tucked away in a corner that gave us the perfect view of the dancefloor and, more importantly, a direct line of sight to Alessandro, who lingered by the entrance like a dark omen refusing to dissolve into the night.
He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak.
He just watched.
Camila slid a cocktail between my fingers. "This is insane, by the way. Just saying."
"Insane is what makes it fun," I replied, sipping the drink and letting it sting all the way down.
Julia gave a dramatic sigh. "So just to be clear—your genius plan to get rid of the sexiest shadow in existence is to prove he’s bad at being a bodyguard… by seducing him into making out with one of us?"
I raised a brow. "Exactly."
Rosetta giggled into her straw. "Oh, this is going to be a disaster."
"No, no," I said, sitting up straighter. "It’s going to be a revelation. Once my father sees a photo of his so-called elite guard making out with a random woman while I’m getting drunk in the background, maybe he’ll get the damn message. I don’t need a bodyguard."
Camila let out a low whistle. "Alright then. Let’s see how well-trained this soldier boy really is."
She slid out of the booth with all the grace of a serpent, hips swaying to the music as she made her way toward him. The crowd parted for her. Men turned to look, women turned to stare. Camila was fire in motion—bronze skin, raven-black curls, curves sculpted by sin and salsa.
Alessandro didn’t react.
She walked right up to him, slow and teasing, then placed a delicate hand on his chest like she was testing the surface of something dangerous. Her red nails curled slightly, just enough to graze his shirt.
His eyes didn’t leave me.
Not once.
Camila said something. He didn’t answer. Her smile widened anyway.
I leaned forward.
She leaned in closer, her lips just inches from his cheek. Alessandro didn’t move. Didn’t tilt his head. Didn’t so much as twitch. The man stood like he was carved from obsidian.
After another second of futile seduction, Camila threw her hands up with a laugh and walked back to us.
"Holy hell," she said, grabbing her drink like it was a life raft. "That man is built like a cathedral and just as touchable. But his eyes? Didn’t even flicker. Locked on you the whole damn time."
I smirked. "You sure you did your best?"
She shot me a look. "Girl, I touched his chest. I smiled like I was offering dessert. He didn’t even breathe."
Rosetta was already sliding out of her seat. "My turn."
"Oh, God," Julia muttered.
Rosetta practically skipped toward him. She wore a shimmery silver dress that caught the lights just right. Every move she made looked choreographed for a music video. She stopped in front of Alessandro and just… giggled. Like a schoolgirl who’d found herself face to face with the poster boy of every bad decision.
She stood there for maybe five seconds, said nothing, giggled again, then twirled around and sprinted back to us like she’d just won a prize.
"You didn’t even try!" I hissed.
"I did!" she said, fanning herself dramatically. "I tried not to melt! That man looks like he’d kiss you and then bury your body for fun."
Camila cackled. "So you gave up halfway through?"
Rosetta nodded furiously. "Did you see his face? It was like trying to flirt with a statue—one that murders people."
I facepalmed. "What is wrong with you guys?"
Julia swirled the ice in her glass. "Okay. I know it’s a fail already. But I’m going."
"Julia," I warned.
"Don’t stop me," she said, already standing. "If we’re collecting Ls tonight, I want mine close-up."
We watched her approach him—slowly, confidently. Julia was the boldest of us. She had that lethal combination of pretty and predatory. Blonde curls, long lashes, and a smile that said I’ve ended men for fun.
She stopped in front of Alessandro, and we all tensed. He hadn’t moved an inch since Camila’s attempt. But this time…
Julia said something. We couldn’t hear it over the music, but we saw her smile. We saw her hand brush his bicep, slow and intimate. Her head tilted, lips parted in that soft, flirtatious way that made men forget their last names.
And then…
Alessandro moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He leaned down.
All of us froze.
Camila’s mouth dropped open.
Rosetta stopped breathing.
Even I—Aria, master of control and queen of manipulation—sat up straight, heart suddenly thudding louder than the bass pounding through the club.
He was leaning toward her.
Not speaking.
Not pushing her away.
Just lowering his head like he was actually about to—
"Oh my God," Rosetta whispered.
Julia’s eyes widened.
His face was inches from hers.
We all held our breath.
And then—