dog eat dog eat dog eat dog

"Depends. Does a Ferrari find it hard to keep up with a fucking Kia?" She talks in cars, well-known and loved in Veronica's mind. Learned in the ways of jacking cars, tuning up motorcycles, and getting into the rough-and-tumble of New York's dangerous boroughs. Alessandro can puff his chest, slick back his hair, and act the formidable villain. And certainly, he'll win when it comes to matters of finery and the twisting of words. But when it comes to a battle of machismo - she knows she's a winner. "Well, why would you? Seems to me like you've eaten well all your life. We all play with things we take for granted." Another loathsome fact about him. The worst kind of man; bottom-feeding whilst being well-fed and educated. It makes her recoil, yet linger even closer at the heat of his challenge.

Alessandro was egoistic enough to believe that the luxury vehicle which rolled off her tongue was a deliberate choice for he and he alone, a sharing of heritage that likened one mechanical beast to the corporeal one before her, nipping at her heels. Chasing if only to be chased back. The cocksure smile never once dropped from his lips, not when her words dragged him into a sparring court, and certainly not when she played the part of someone revolted and refusing. "Take for granted? You wound me." She couldn't even begin to try, and Sandro very much enjoyed reminding her of such. "Consider it a talent. Not everyone has the patience to savor their prey, even if that prey is the near-equivalent of road-kill."

Had Rüya ever been asked just what her thoughts were regarding the matter, the word she'd pick to describe them certainly it would have been something that fit their unpredictable nature. Two creatures, ready to prowl and yet beings with masks that echoed a depth only seen within those that knew to play the game; fight hard. She'd gotten to where she was now simply by stabbing someone in the back; not one she cared for. An old boss that had it coming. She was too ambitious to let go and yet loyal enough to know that one did not take what did not belong. Those rules could be extended so long as she herself wasn't loyal to the source in question; person or otherwise.

In more ways than one, Alessandro held a long fascination with boundaries and the art of pushing against them. Whether it was by hands, lips, or simply his own mental practice, he enjoyed exploring all manner of restraints and the many ways he could make them unravel and fall apart — only to tie it all back up again in a pretty little bow. He supposed that was the idea he'd had in the first place when it came to Rüya, his secret little project of sorts, a walking manifestation of shared desires and strategic machinations wrapped in high heels and red lipstick.

❧ @stagecrafted // the clinic

From the moment he exited his town car and stood at the clinic entryway, Alessandro was confronted by two very real things he detested with fervor: the sudden evening downpour, which drenched the length of his suit and brought the faint city smell of oil, smoke, and piss to new heights...and the fact that his debtor had opted to either mislead or hide in a place that was small and homely, rather than somewhere his lender could disappear into anonymity while on the prowl.

"you two share good taste," she murmured softly, angling her body so it was towards the senator despite her attention being on the man that was beside her. the taste, however, was only good because both of their focus was on her. she was the prize and she wanted them eager and desperate to win. her body shifted, pressing into alessandro's chest and then moving so she could settle between his legs, his own form leaning back to accommodate her body against his. "touch me," she whispered as she guided his hands along her body, towards her rib cage, beneath the swell of her breast to work its way down. her gaze fixed on the senator who was zoned in on them. "do you think he wishes he were you?" she lifted one of alessandro's hands towards her mouth, parting her lips to welcome his index finger.

Morena was an impossible vixen, the pretense of her desires on wanton display for all to see, maddeningly distracting and utterly enticing in equal measure. In a rare and fleeting demonstration of Alessandro following someone else's lead, his hands fell helpless to her manipulations, fingers lingering — no, pawing — at every curve of her body, savoring the swell of her breast before resting at her throat for just a moment. He knew precisely who in this room would shudder with fear at the thought of his hands at their neck, and here Morena was, not only welcoming it, but employing it as part of her ruse. Alessandro's half-moon smirk grew easily into a hungry grin, lust unmistakeable in his eyes despite himself and the task at hand. She led his fingers to her mouth, lipstick smearing ever so slightly as he idly pressed into the fullness of her bottom lip before tilting her chin up to him. "Everyone does," he breathed his answer against her mouth, allowing his machinations to momentarily succumb to his desire. Greed was ever-present on his lips and tongue as the proximity between them faded into a fervent kiss, marking his claim on the woman without bothering to confirm the senator's attention. Satiated for the moment and curious to see the result of their display, Sandro held Ren close as he whispered conspiratorially, "If he's not jealous after that, then I might just have to fuck you right here and now." A mere few moments later and the man in question greeted Alessandro, eyes rarely leaving Morena's figure even as he extended an invitation to chat in private. "Senator Campagna, it seems our schedules are finally allowing us to be in the same place at the same time. But, this auction is a special treat for my date tonight, so it'll be up to Miss Aguirre to decide if I'm allowed a few minutes away from her side." His fingers caressed the soft of her exposed skin, casual and unhurried, but knowingly teasing the man before them. "What do you say, mia bella? Are you willing to share me tonight?"

       it  sounded  like  a  challenge  to  fidan.  especially  when  coupled  with  the  wink.  a  brow  quirked  as  she  sat  there  awaiting  what  was  in  store  for  her.  it  sounded  like  too  much  alcohol,  especially  when  introduced  before  they  even  got  to  the  wine.  hopefully  there'd  be  food  pairings  or  something  to  counter  the  intake  that  seemed  promised  if  this  tasting  went  full  steam  ahead.  "is  that  why  you  invited  me?  to  test  me?"  there'd  been  some  assumption  on  fidan's  part  that  this  could  all  be  to  show  off  and  stroke  his  ego.  the  record  spoke  for  itself,  she  didn't  need  to  prove  herself  to  anyone.

If one looked closely enough, one might notice Alessandro's wide, inquisitive eyes lit with a spark of relief, or the curl of an almost satisfied smile playing at his lips. It was an unfamiliar thrill that coursed through him from that very first invitation extended, and one he felt with undeniable presence as his gaze, ever hungry and ever watching, relaxed ever so slightly at this first glimpse of approval. The critic was a beauty, there was no doubt, and the sight of a beautiful woman finding pleasure from something of his wasn't an unfamiliar experience, of course — but this, this first taste of endorsement from the lips of someone whose opinion actually mattered... This he could find himself getting quickly addicted to.

"did you come looking for me?" her gaze shifted from the man who'd been trying to start a conversation with her once she'd decided to escape behind the nightclub for some fresh air. sandro's appearance was a blessing and the way her body angled towards him hopefully reflected that she had no interest with the older gentleman who couldn't take a clue. "i knew you wouldn't be able to stay away for long. i was just telling my friend here that my boyfriend would soon come find me but he didn't seem to believe me."

The honeyed sweetness of her voice, body and attention curving towards him and only him... Rosalia was many things, this he knew — but a lovestruck, cooing little dove she certainly was not. Suspicion pricked immediately at his senses, and his eyes quickly found the reason for her act of pretension before resting on her countenance. "Madonna, amore mio... You know I can't bear to be apart from you for too long," Alessandro feigned exasperation, slipping easily into his role as a lovesick bird of prey, his hands demonstrating quick possession over her lithe frame as they rested on her hips, pulling Rosalia closer to his core — effectively claiming her as his own.

Sadness was grotesque look on her and yet one she'd worn over the first few days. Then, as time passed, it had become easier to hide it. For the most part, to all those who did not know better Rüya seemed almost fine. As though forgetfulness had claimed her. Those that knew likely could simply see the truth underneath.

Sharks were born swimming, weren't they? It's a thought that's crossed his mind more than once in his encounters with Rüya, discerning a particular sharpness behind her eyes that could only belong to someone confident, opportunistic, and vicious when the moment called for it. Someone — and this, his ego delighted in to an almost inebriating extent — just like him.

"You're right - what gentleman?" She parrots back, quick and coy. "As far as I can see, there's no gentlemen here." Veronica lets her eyes linger; down the dance floor, up the private booths, before landing squarely at Alessandro's smirking figure. "No, not a one." She concludes, as if that isn't part of the appeal. She's the arbiter of 'good and sensible' choices for others. But when it comes to her own? Well, there's a reason she hasn't backed out, a reason she accepts the pretentious bottle of vodka he has delivered to them. "You love to speak in riddles and dramatics, don't you?" As if he's in an Edwardian novel, rather than the bar keep to a New York City nightclub. "What ever happened to a man who knew how to smile, please, and let a woman do all the talking?" Far too placating a seduction tactic for him, she bets. Alessandro makes sure everything is like pulling teeth.

"Not finding it too hard to keep up with me, are you?" He teased back, grinning easily at what he knew was a taunt from her lips, but a compliment to his ears. It was true, Alessandro prided himself on speaking in such a way that formed the hazy edge of an Impressionist painting rather than the stiff brutality of a modernist work. Over the rim of his own shot glass, the man mused half an explanation, half a retort, "What can I say — I never quite outgrew that childish habit of playing with my meal." With that, he downed his shot in one and poured them both a second round.

       the  walls  of  her  home  had  begun  to  feel  as  though  they  were  closing  in  on  her,  loneliness  and  grief  stubbornly  held  her  in  isolation.  those  red  strings  weren't  connecting  as  easily  as  she'd  once  thought  in  piecing  together  the  puzzle  of  emily's  murder,  and  fidan  could  hardly  handle  the  suffocation  of  the  board  constantly  bearing  down  on  her.  especially  now  that  another  friend  had  met  an  end.  work  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  she  could  occupy  herself  with  to  keep  from  completely  spinning  out.  the  once  chef,  renown  around  the  world,  was  in  demand  as  a  critic.  in  some  ways  every  establishment  wanted  a  place  on  her  blog,  a  stamp  of  approval  from  someone  that  not  only  knew  the  best  of  the  best  but  also  still  maintained  all  of  the  important  connections.  if  one  were  to  dig  deeper  they'd  learn  of  her  prominent,  aristocratic  family.  though  it'd  be  a  miss  to  think  fidan  could  connect  them  to  her  turkish  diplomat  father.

Their hands joined in something between greeting and invitation, his touch firm and warm, beckoning her further inside with a gentle squeeze. Patrons parted for them to pass through the dizzying sea of dancers and hedonists — commanded, as Sandro knew, by fear, respect, and perhaps even a touch of jealousy. Was it any wonder that cocksure grin never once faded from his visage?

the attention was nothing new, certainly not when she wore something as revealing as a dress with a low neckline and tight enough that it accentuated each and every curve. it was as if he'd taken the measurements of her form and built the dress specific for her. "if i use my cleavage, i'm afraid i'll miss out on the fun of having you pay for anything." ren hummed as her hand slid upon her companion's thigh. though the allusion was that she was available enough to keep people's interest on her, she still wanted to make it clear there was a bit of competition. "you have an eye for the female form. it's impressive. i wonder how you knew it would fit like a glove." a hand rose up the front of his suit, smoothing down a wrinkle on his lapel. "should we give him something to stare at?" her legs parted, then refolded as she shifted closer to alessandro.

The smirk playing at Alessandro's lips only grew hungrier in response to his companion's unfettered confidence. It was one of the traits he enjoyed most of Morena, perhaps the very reason why he so frequently cast her in the role of his own personal weapon of distraction. They understood each other as extensions of business and entities of pleasure — the means to a variety of ends. His ears caught onto a dare thinly laced into her words, deepened surreptitiously by the press of her palm first to his thigh, then to his chest. So, Alessandro responded in kind, saying, "When it comes to beautiful women, my imagination becomes impossibly overactive — a trait, as I have on good authority, that's shared by our good senator." He allowed himself a moment to sip from his martini, lips coated in liquor as he whispered against the warmth of Morena's cheek, "Go on, principessa. Do your worst and make him come crawling, hmm?"

Work hard, play hard - words to live by. Veronica leaves it all out on the dance floor, thankful she's forgone heels for the combat boots that ruin the line of her body con dress. She's just about to order a drink when New York's most perfumed Italian slips beside her, his back already up. "Yeah? Then quit eye-fucking me on the dance floor." Because he may be smooth as butter, but Veronica is combative like gravel.

“Basta, basta... Just say you'd like to see me with my shirt off, Veronica. What gentleman wouldn't acquiesce to a beautiful woman's request when she speaks plainly of her desires?" Even his pseudo-musing bore the trappings of a dare, as that cocksure grin graced his features once more, eyes still refusing to leave her form. Notably, Alessandro chose not to parry back at her earlier claim — not because it wasn’t accurate, but because he preferred to let the air remain as it was: dangerously electric, a current thrumming through each exchange of the other's violent, yet most delicious, wit. To admit or deny would alter the chemistry of the moment altogether, and that was simply something he’d not allow this early into their little game.