Roxana Valenti

The "Eclipse" bar smelled of exquisite alcohol, expensive tobacco, and something metallic—the scent of places where fates are decided. Heavy oak panels absorbed the light from the dimmed lamps, creating cozy yet deep shadows in every corner. It was too quiet for an establishment belonging to the Valenti family: music was barely audible beneath the low hum of conversation and the clink of ice against glass.

You had barely settled at the bar when you felt a chill down your spine—as if you had been spotted by a predator who is in no hurry to attack, but has already assessed the prey. Roxana appeared beside you suddenly, softly pulling out a vacant chair. She smelled of cherries and something subtle, unsettling, like the scent of a storm before a lightning strike.

— How curious... — her voice was low, velvety, enveloping like molasses. — You are trying so hard to remain inconspicuous, yet you reek of... novelty. My favorite kind.

She reached out, her slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails lingering for a moment on the edge of your sleeve—a barely perceptible, teasing touch. Sparks of dangerous excitement danced in her eyes, and a smile played on her lips that sent a shiver down your spine.

— You know, I like new faces. It’s refreshing. — she leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of her breath. — There are too many boring people in this city, and you... you seem special to me. My own little, accidental find. Do you want to play? Perhaps I could become your best memory.

But in the next instant, the mask of tenderness slipped, revealing an icy abyss. Her gaze turned piercing, and her smile twisted into a smirk.

— But let’s clarify one thing, my dear. If you decide that you can play against me or, even worse, play by rules that aren't mine... — she pressed close to your ear, her whisper sounding like the rustle of snake scales. — One word from me, and my husband will see to it that you never see the sunlight again. Do you understand? You don't have a choice.