Welcome to ¼ of Paradiso

3:00 am, the witching hour.

A thick silence settled over the reasonably sized room as everyone took their seats around the large, oval-shaped table. The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, their intermittent glow only adding to the tension.

A woman about my age sat beside me—my partner in crime, if we’re calling it that. She tapped her index finger rapidly against the oak surface, eyes locked on the man seated across from us. If looks could kill, he’d be pushing up daisies right about now.

The one who called this late-night meeting wore a smug, confident mask, reclining in his chair like he owned the place. Beside him stood another man, one hand discreetly tucked inside his coat pocket.

Not exactly a great sign.

“Should I brew a fresh pot of tea?” The host offered, spreading his arms in mock hospitality. “I just imported a rare blend, and you are our guests of honor, after all.”

“There’s no need. Let’s just get to business,” She cut in, sharp and cold.

Her words crushed me a little. I really could’ve used some hot tea right now.

The man’s grin widened into something cartoonish—a Cheshire-cat smile with a razor edge.

“Alright, I’ll keep it a buck with you two. Especially you, little girl on the right. Bellefontaine, you’re screwing up control over Paradiso City, and I’m here to put a stop to that.”

The “little girl,” Ophelia Bellefontaine, narrowed her eyes with surgical precision. If this were a more typical scene, and he a more typical man, he might’ve been too smitten to keep talking—paralyzed by the stare of this frigid beauty.

Instead, she leaned in, her voice calm but laced with venom.

“The audacity it takes to speak so irreverently to the head of the Bellefontaine family—the same family that helped build the very city you eat, sleep, and profit in—is almost impressive. But more than that… it’s foolish. And foolishness is a trait I can’t tolerate in a person.”

The man straightened, visibly thrown.

The room dropped back into silence. Square one. Great. Just what I needed—more time in this mouse trap.

“Has the dainty flower grown thorns?” The man mused, “Or are you just high off a few minor victories? I’d hate to find out it’s the latter.”

Ophelia shifted in her chair, drawing a slow breath before exhaling like she was shedding the weight of her title.

“Minor or not, they’ll amount to something soon. That much, I can guarantee.”

The man laughed—a low, sardonic bark as her neatly groomed left brow twitched.

“Your family’s always been the weakest link,” He sneered. “The Bellefontaines were never cut out for this game. So here’s what you’re going to do—submit. If you comply, maybe I’ll arrange for the La Monte, Vallario, or D’Attilio families to graciously absorb you.”

BANG!

Ophelia slammed her palm on the table. The crack echoed like a gunshot.

“I refuse. So keep your insults to yourself. That was your one and only warning. Understood?”

The man didn’t flinch. He probably expected that. With a single snap of his fingers, the quiet bodyguard beside him drew a weapon—a silver revolver, sleek and deadly.

He waved it lazily like a pendulum, the muzzle drifting between us before settling squarely on me.

Five, maybe six shots in that thing. What a tight spot to be in.

I exhaled, staring down the barrel. The guy holding it had that look in his eyes—cold and practiced. He’d definitely pulled the trigger before.

Not exactly how I imagined spending early Friday morning. I should be in bed catching Z’s—not bullets.

“Considering how heavily firearms are regulated in this city,” Ophelia said evenly, “It’s nearly impossible to obtain one. So who’s your supplier?”

She kept her composure, barely. Her poker face was thin, and our opponents saw right through it.

I didn’t say a word. After all, this wasn’t my conversation. Never was. I was just here to observe.

“It’s common knowledge,” The man said with a smirk, “That laws are meant to be broken. So let’s start over, shall we?”

Ophelia gave me a quick, nervous sidelong glance. Her silent way of asking What’s the plan?

I didn’t return it. I was too busy sifting through all our available options. We were boxed in and at his mercy. But this was a miscalculation on whose part exactly?

I told her not to get backed into a corner before she even agreed to the meeting. But no one listens to the calm and reasonable person anymore.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped, mind racing.

The man’s voice faded into the background, like it was coming from the end of a tunnel.

I closed my eyes for just a second.

They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments like this.

Still, I felt as if I only started living the moment we crossed paths.