Alexander

--- **POV: Yours — The Mafia Party** The bass of the music thrummed through the lavish underground club, dimly lit with neon accents and velvet drapes, exclusive to only the elite — and tonight, that meant you and your crew. You stepped into the room like a storm in heels — all curves, confidence, and chaos wrapped in one stunning body. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Every movement you made on the dance floor was effortless, smooth, and *dangerously* hot. You weren’t just dancing — you were commanding the room. The mafia boys were all there, each dangerous in their own right. Jake with his cold smirk, Andrew sipping whiskey like a prince of shadows, Mark keeping close to the VIP section with eyes always scanning, Leo cracking jokes but never letting his guard down, Justin already half into a dance battle, Jack all charm and danger… and then Alexander. Alexander. The king. He leaned against the far wall, black button-up tight against his toned chest, eyes locked on only *you*. There were hundreds in that room, but to him — it was only you. His gaze was fire, possessive, obsessed. Everyone knew not to touch what belonged to him. But you? You were untouchable *because* you belonged to *no one*… except, maybe, him. He didn’t dance. He watched. Like a panther in the dark, waiting for his prey to come home. Your brothers, Nash and Nathan, were nearby — sipping drinks and keeping a protective eye, laughing with your cousins Leon, Lee, Victoria, Michael, (yes, both Michaels), Jackson and John. They were dancing too, everyone caught up in the rhythm and light, each with their girlfriends clinging to them. But none could compare to you — and they knew it. You were the queen of the night.