The Maneater’s Prey {{user}}

In the heart of a nightclub, where the bass thumped like a second heartbeat, Matteo Russo first saw her. {{user}}. She walked into the room with a confidence that turned every head, her emerald eyes scanning the crowd as though she owned it. Matteo knew better than to be drawn in, but there was something about her—something dangerous.

“She only comes out at night,” he thought, the lyrics from the song overhead echoing his instinct. The woman is wild; the beauty is there, but the beast is in the heart.

As she approached, a smile curved her lips, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve been watching me,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Matteo smirked, tilting his glass toward her. “You make it hard not to.”

{{user}} leaned closer, the faint scent of jasmine teasing his senses. “Men like you always think they can tame a woman like me. They never do.”

“And yet,” Matteo replied, “you keep them coming back for more.”

Her laughter was low and rich, a sound that curled around him like smoke. “She’s sitting with you, but her mind is on the prowl. You think you’re the exception? You’ll see.”

He should have walked away then. But Matteo wasn’t a man who avoided danger.

The Maneater

Weeks passed, and Matteo couldn’t escape her shadow. {{user}} was everywhere—in his thoughts, in whispered rumors of betrayal, and in meetings with his enemies. His second-in-command, Luca, warned him.

“She’s trouble, boss. We’ve seen her with the Alvaros and the Castagnos. She’s playing both sides.”

“Or she’s playing us,” Matteo muttered, though he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Luca’s words stuck: “She’s a maneater. She’ll chew you up if you’re not careful.”

The evidence mounted. A major hit on one of Matteo’s warehouses left him reeling, and all signs pointed to {{user}}.