Collide & Fall

Alessandro's POV: Power isn't a choice; it's a condition for survival. I clawed my way to the top, morphing into a man who couldn't be broken. Night in Bellavita City was a glittering trap of wine and indulgence. Neon signs and massive digital billboards served as the city's alter ego, tempting everyone, driving them to absolute madness until sunrise. Greed and lust—here, every sin found its home. Most people saw the neon glow and the debauchery. I saw the map of our empire, divided among the city's three ruling families. For decades, we each held our own turf, expanding our reach, occasionally tearing at each other's throats for a bigger slice. But I was never one to rest on my father's laurels. In just five years, I'd dragged his empire beyond its traditional borders, carving out ruthless new territory. My car glided down the sprawling coastal highway. I had my hooks in every luxury hotel, high-end bar, and nightclub flashing past—whether through direct ownership, silent stakes, or a cut of their profits. Every passing minute poured another staggering fortune into my bank accounts. I scanned them like a general inspecting his troops, the brutal grind of the past five years flashing through my mind. Every scar, every sleepless night—it was all worth it. A faint, razor-thin smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "Don, we've got a situation at the casino. Want to take a look?" Mario, my Underboss, asked from behind the wheel. I slowly dragged my gaze away from the neon-drenched city outside. "What happened?" "The Bellini heir is on a streak in our house." "How much?" "Over two million so far." A light chuckle escaped my throat. "Pocket change. Let him play." "But... why isn't he gambling on his own turf?" I turned back to the window, watching the blur of city lights. “Maybe he's bored of his own backyard. Or maybe he's begging for a fight.” Mario listened intently to his Bluetooth headset, his brow furrowing. "Don, the way he's winning... it doesn't add up." "Meaning?" My eyes didn't even shift. "The guys at the casino say he walked in thirty minutes ago. High stakes, ruthless precision, and he isn't showing any signs of slowing down. They think..." "Feed me the video," I cut in, my voice deadpan. The screen flushed to life. In the security footage, Carlo, the Bellini family's crown prince, lounged opposite the dealer. He wore a light-blue silk shirt left half-unbuttoned, draped open to reveal his chest. Three women were practically glued to his sides—young, stunning, wearing body-con minidresses that left nothing to the imagination. Behind him stood three musclemen in matching black suits. "The Bellini kid is all grown up?" I let out a dry laugh. "Last I checked, he was barely out of his teens." "He's twenty-five, Don. Four years younger than you." "When I was twenty-five, I was bleeding for the family, buried so deep in mafia business I barely remembered what sleep felt like.” "Rumor has it he's nothing but a playboy waste of space," Mario added. "Old man Bellini's been rushed to the ICU a few times already, but he still doesn't dare hand him the crown."

On screen, high-denomination chips were stacked like small towers beside the playboy. The women were practically crawling over him, their hands wandering everywhere and slipping beneath his unbuttoned silk shirt. But his focus wasn't on them at all. "Call your boss," his voice filtered through the audio monitor—lazy, smug, arrogant. The dealer immediately flagged the manager through his earpiece. Within seconds, the VIP floor manager hurried over. Carlo jerked his chin upward, lazily draping an arm around one of the girls. "I didn't ask for you. I want Alessandro." The manager kept his posture perfectly courteous. "My apologies, sir. The Don rarely visits the floor. If there's anything you need, you can address it with me." Carlo's brows pulled into a scowl. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He shoved the woman aside and turned his head straight toward the security camera. Reaching out, he curled his finger in a slow, mocking come-here gesture—as if he knew with absolute certainty that I was watching. A cold laugh rasped in my throat. I killed the feed. "Now that's interesting," I muttered to Mario. "Head to the casino." "Are you going to meet him, Don?" "Did I say that?"

The weight of a long day settled heavily over me. I closed my eyes, resting my head against the leather headrest. Moments later, Mario's voice broke the silence again. "Don, the lunatic just threw down the whole two million. He's up to eight million now." A faint smirk touched my lips, but I didn't bother opening my eyes. "Still hasn't left?" "No." "Then let him play." "But—" "Enough."

The car purred to a stop along the grand driveway of The Aurelia Casino. I stepped out and walked straight through the main entrance. The Aurelia was a palace of gilded luxury—the shimmering jewel of our empire. Overhead, tens of thousands of lights spilled across the high arches, transforming the floor into a temple of fortune and high-stakes greed. The golden light washed over the intricate Baroque designs, awakeing the dark craving in every soul that stepped inside. Guests lined the tables as staff moved like clockwork; the machine never stopped running. Day in and day out, it fueled their greed, letting it grow, dangling hope in front of them—only to let that very greed swallow their hope whole. A vicious cycle—yet they kept coming back for more. I rarely used the private staff entrance. I preferred walking through the front doors like any guest. I needed to see the floor in its raw, unedited state. Whenever employees spotted me from a distance, they immediately stood at attention, bowing their heads in silent deference. Seconds later, they slipped back into their flow without missing a beat. The lights kept blazing. The tables kept roaring. The guests didn't even realize the room had briefly held its breath. That was the standard I set: quiet, orderly, flawless discipline. No temporary distraction was ever permitted to disrupt my floor.

High stakes were nothing new at The Aurelia. But Carlo's winning streak wasn't luck. He wanted to see me? What kind of game was he trying to play? Our territories shared a border, which meant endless skirmishes over the years. Bad blood ran deep between the Bellinis and the Morettis. Mario hurried up beside me, having handed the keys to the valet. "Did he leave?" I asked without slowing my stride. He pressed a hand to his Bluetooth piece. "Still there. He's sitting on ten million now. Are you going to see him?" I turned into the elevator bay, my expression unreadable. "No. I'll be in my office."