Alessia pushed open the glass door of Bella Vita and stepped inside without hesitation.
Warm golden light wrapped around her instantly. The restaurant buzzed softly with low conversations, clinking glasses, and the distant hum of a piano playing something slow and romantic. The air carried the scent of garlic, butter, and expensive wine.
It was the kind of place men came to pretend they were respectable.
Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she walked in, her posture relaxed but deliberate. She didn't rush. She never rushed.
Control was everything.
She adjusted the small earbud hidden beneath her hair.
"I've transferred half already," the voice on the other end said quietly. "You'll get the rest once we have the password."
Alessia's lips curved faintly. "Relax," she replied under her breath. "If he breathes, I can handle him."
"Don't get distracted."
She almost rolled her eyes. "I don't mix business with feelings."
She ended the call before he could respond.
Her gaze swept across the room casually.
There.
Marco De Luca.
Late fifties. Expensive navy suit tailored perfectly. Gold cufflinks. Polished shoes. A heavy watch on his wrist. And the wedding ring that gleamed openly under the chandelier light.
He wasn't even hiding it.
He sat alone at a corner table with a glass of red wine, scrolling through his phone with the air of a man who believed the world owed him admiration.
Alessia studied him quietly.
Men like Marco weren't complicated.
They liked admiration. They liked feeling young again. They liked thinking they were in control.
She adjusted the strap of her red dress slightly.
The dress was simple but fitted. Elegant, not desperate. The neckline revealed just enough. The heels added confidence to her height. Her makeup was soft, her lips glossy but not loud.
Nothing about her screamed for attention.
But everything about her invited it.
She wasn't the most beautiful woman in the restaurant.
She was simply the one who knew exactly what she was doing.
She walked past his table as if she hadn't noticed him.
Then she let her handbag slip from her fingers.
It fell gracefully beside his polished shoes.
"Oh," she murmured softly, bending slightly. "That was careless of me."
Marco looked up immediately.
His eyes widened just a fraction before interest settled in.
He stood quickly, smoothing his jacket. "Allow me."
He picked up her bag and held it out to her. Their fingers brushed lightly.
She didn't withdraw too fast.
Not too slow either.
Just enough contact to register warmth.
"Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze.
She held eye contact for two seconds.
Then three.
Then she looked away first.
Men always followed what withdrew from them.
"Are you here alone?" he asked.
She hesitated like she was debating whether to answer honestly.
"Unfortunately," she replied softly.
The word did its job.
His smile widened.
Inside, Alessia felt nothing but focus.
She had learned long ago that men rarely saw beyond what they wanted to see.
They saw youth. They saw curves. They saw fantasy.
They never saw strategy.
"I was supposed to meet someone," she added lightly. "But he didn't show up."
Marco chuckled. "Then he's a fool."
She allowed herself a small laugh, lowering her gaze briefly before looking back up through her lashes.
Hook set.
"Please," he gestured toward the empty seat across from him. "Join me. I insist."
She hesitated just long enough to appear unsure.
Then she sat.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
"Just water," she replied. "I don't drink much."
He nodded approvingly, clearly pleased by what he interpreted as innocence.
Good.
Let him think that.
As they talked, Alessia leaned forward slightly, resting her forearm on the table. Her movements were slow, measured.
She mirrored his posture subtly. When he leaned in, she leaned in. When he relaxed, she softened.
Seduction was not about revealing skin.
It was about reflection.
People trusted those who felt familiar.
Marco began talking about his business.
Investments. Travel. Deals. He mentioned cities like trophies like Paris. Milan. Dubai.
She listened with careful attention, nodding at the right moments.
Occasionally, she touched his wrist lightly while laughing.
Each touch brief. Each smile timed. Each glance controlled.
When he complimented her appearance, she smiled shyly.
When he praised himself, she looked impressed.
Inside, she counted minutes.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Twenty-five.
Right on schedule, his voice lowered.
"It's too loud here," he said. "We should go somewhere quieter."
She pretended to consider it.
"I don't know…" she murmured.
He leaned closer. "I have a place nearby."
Of course you do.
She let her fingers lightly graze his hand this time.
A reward.
His breathing shifted slightly.
Men were predictable.
Give them attention, then withdraw it. Give them hope, then hesitate.
They chased what they believed they were winning.
After a brief pause, she nodded.
"Okay."
Outside, the night air felt cooler against her skin.
Marco walked beside her toward his sleek black car, his hand hovering near her lower back but not quite touching.
She was already thinking ahead.
The small vial in her bag, colorless, odorless and fast.
He would never suspect it.
Men like him never did.
They were too busy admiring themselves.
Just as they reached the car, a sharp voice cut through the quiet night.
"You shameless man!"
Both of them froze.
Alessia turned slowly.
A woman stood a few feet away, her posture rigid with fury. She wore an elegant coat, her hair perfectly styled, but her eyes burned.
Marco's face drained of color.
"Claudia…."
The name said everything.
The woman's gaze moved from him to Alessia.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Judging.
Alessia straightened instinctively.
She could feel the shift in the air. The tension thickened instantly.
"So this is your late meeting?" the woman demanded, her voice shaking with restrained anger.
Marco stepped forward quickly. "You're misunderstanding…"
"Am I?" she cut him off sharply.
Her eyes locked onto Alessia.
Cold. Scanning.
"How much did he promise you?" the woman asked.
The question hit harder than Alessia expected.
For a split second, something uncomfortable tightened in her chest.
She had expected many things tonight.
This wasn't one of them.
Marco reached for his wife's arm. "Let's not do this here."
She pulled away.
"Why not? You weren't embarrassed five minutes ago."
A few people near the restaurant entrance had started watching.
Alessia's mind moved fast.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Exposure meant risk.
Risk meant complications.
Complications meant lost money.
She glanced at Marco.
The confident businessman from ten minutes ago was gone.
In his place stood a nervous husband caught in public.
Predictable.
The wife's eyes returned to Alessia.
There was anger there.
But also something else.
Deep, humiliating hurt.
Alessia swallowed quietly.
For the first time that night, the performance felt heavier.
"You should be ashamed," the wife said, her voice trembling slightly now. "Young enough to be his daughter."
Marco snapped, "Enough!"
The wife let out a short, bitter laugh.
Alessia stepped back slightly, instinctively distancing herself from the explosion.
This was messy.
Too messy.
Her phone vibrated inside her bag.
Her partner.
She ignored it.
The wife's gaze softened just a fraction as she looked at Alessia again.
"Does he tell you he's unhappy?" she asked quietly.
The question surprised her and Alessia didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The silence said enough.
Marco tried again. "Claudia, please…."
But his wife
stepped back.
She looked at Alessia one last time.
And in that look was something Alessia didn't like.
Then the woman's voice broke the silence one final time.
"Enjoy what's left of your dignity," she said bitterly.
Alessia felt the weight of those words settle.
His wife?
Of course.