The sound of Andy knocking on my bedroom door pulls my attention away from my songs.

— "May, you need to get ready. You're expected in an hour," she announces, opening the door.

— "Yes, boss. Give me five minutes, and I'll be there."

With large strides, she crosses the room, snatches my notes from the bed, and starts walking off with them.

— "Hey, what are you doing ? I just needed five more minutes!" I exclaim.

— "Sure, and I'm the Pope. I said go get ready. You've been stuck on those since you got back from your interview yesterday. You're ready." She asserts before exiting with a loud bang of the door.

I sigh, throwing my pen onto the bed, and head off to get ready.

Wearing my little black dress, I finally emerge from my cave and find everyone gathered in the living room.

— "May, seriously, you're not going to a funeral," Andy says, eyeing me up and down.

— "What ? I'm not going to dress to the nines either. We said casual evening, so here's a classic."

— "You sure it's your voice people will notice in that dress ?" Amadeo teases, his laughter blending with Andy's.

Pleased with themselves, they exchange a high-five under my disheartened gaze.

Despite his slip-up during our last mission, his presence is still appreciated. A longtime friend of Andrea, they'd lost touch after Ezio's death, but since reconnecting, there have been few days they weren't together. He's now part of our group, though not all my suspicions about him have been completely erased. I must admit, however, that having an extra man in the group adds to our security.

— "Don't worry, May, it's fine. We love you even if you're a lost cause," Andrea adds, throwing her arm around my shoulders.

— "Pff, elegance is clearly a concept beyond your grasp," I mutter, smiling.

With bursts of laughter, we all head to Andrea's car, everyone eager to show their support for me.

In a matter of minutes, we arrive downtown at the Black Dahlia. I leave my three companions behind as I head backstage.

The atmosphere is already charged with excitement. Everyone's eager for a night so unforgettable that it will make them forget their troubles. The music pounds, echoing in our bodies, calling out our inner debauched selves. I struggle to make my way to the backstage, getting jostled by people too drunk to stand or encountering couples ready to tear into each other in the shadows.

After overcoming a few obstacles, I finally reach my goal. There, I find a man in his fifties, with a fake mafioso look—shirt unbuttoned, revealing chest hair threatening to suffocate between his too-tight shirt and his tanned, bloated skin. Chains and gold rings gleam against his bronzed complexion. I deduce he's the bar's manager. Sitting in the chair of what's more of a closet than a dressing room, he waits, his face drawn with fatigue.

— "May Torre ! What a pleasure to have you with us tonight!" he exclaims, suddenly relaxed as he stands up.

— "Sir ?"

— "Pellitone, madam," he introduces himself with a proud smile.

— "Mr. Pellitone, thank you for having me here this evening," I reply, matching his hypocritical smile.

An awkward silence settles in. Not understanding what he's waiting for, I break it by asking for a little privacy before heading on stage. He grants it without hesitation.

After a few minutes of preparation, I'm ready to be bathed in the stage lights.

In the dark, I observe the crowd, already on fire. Adrenaline and nerves surge within me. I quiet the flood of questions in my mind with a deep breath. More than ready, I step onto the stage, knowing that once I'm out there, I'll be in my element, letting all my doubts melt away as my voice resonates in each of them.

My appearance on the small stage causes a stir. Everyone cheers, intoxicated by the atmosphere and the surprise of my return. Buoyed by their energy, I give them the performance they deserve. With each song, the crowd becomes more frenzied, lost in delirium. There's no doubt—I'm triumphant. Trying to see if I've achieved my main objective, I scan the crowd for Enoro, but in the dim lighting, I can't recognize anyone. I let it go and focus even more intently on my songs. After a general encore, I reluctantly leave the stage. More than a job, performing is my passion, and once on stage, everything becomes easy, clear. It's all joy and celebration, and nothing else matters. The happiness I can provide in such a short time is priceless.

I head to the bar, parched, where I'm quickly swarmed by fans eager for photos and autographs. It takes a good half hour before I'm finally alone and free to order a drink.

After a few sips, my body tenses involuntarily as I catch a familiar scent. Without needing to turn around, I can feel the fluttering in my stomach, knowing exactly who's approaching behind me. As I try to relax, his warm voice sends shivers down my spine.

— "Good evening, May," he says calmly.

I turn to face him, feeling my cheeks flush at the sight of his devastating smile. I silently thank the dim club lighting, my accomplice in hiding my body's betrayal. Smiling back, I respond with casual defiance:

— "Did you come to witness your defeat firsthand ?"

He seems amused by my question, suppressing a smile.

— "I must admit, I'm pleasantly surprised," he replies, settling onto the stool beside me.

He raises a finger to summon the bartender and orders his drink before continuing, a sly smile tugging at his lips:

— "You expected a dark repertoire, filled with tragedy, tears, and suffering, didn't you ?"

He stifles a small laugh before taking a sip of his drink.

— "Honestly, yes. And a lot more morbid curiosity. But everyone seems too drunk to remember you're a suspected murderer," he says, glancing at the frenzied crowd.

— "Don't get too relieved. I have plenty of dark songs to make your ears bleed. And as for the scandal, it'll be behind me soon enough."

— "I'm sure it will. We're going to do great work together," Enoro retorts, offering his hand.

I flash him a broad smile and shake his hand, sealing the deal. At his touch, my heart races, our gazes locking. Time seems to freeze, and with each passing second, I feel myself sinking into the dark depths of his eyes. A hand on my shoulder abruptly pulls me from my reverie. I break the physical and visual contact with Enoro to focus on Andy, whose eyes are sparkling with excitement at meeting Dottrece.

— "Enoro, this is Andy, my agent and best friend," I say, gesturing toward her.

— "Pleasure to meet you, Andy," he greets her with a polite nod.

— "Likewise, as long as you've toned down your arrogance and are accepting May into your label. Trust me, you'll lose more by letting her go than keeping her. I hope your reputation as a jerk is just an unfounded rumor," she finishes with a wide grin.

I glance at Andrea, just as embarrassed as I am. Despite knowing Andy inside and out, her unpredictability and honesty always have the effect of a bombshell.

I anxiously turn my eyes back to Enoro, who seems more intrigued than offended by Andy's bluntness.

— "I think you're smart enough not to believe rumors and to form your own truth," he declares, standing up before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

I sigh, disappointed our tête-à-tête was cut short. I look at Andy, feeling exasperated.

— "Oh, don't worry, darling. If he's got nothing to hide and you've caught his eye, he'll come back."

— "I thought we were supposed to be working on getting him to accept the deal."

— "Like you tried to do in your interview? Don't bother, I know very well you weren't exactly docile, despite my warnings. And anyway, you've got nothing to worry about. He agreed to work with you, right?"

— "Yes, but nothing's signed yet," I point out, finishing my drink in one gulp.

— "Come on, let's lose ourselves on the dance floor," she says, dragging me off my stool.

Before I can respond, we're already in the middle of the dancing crowd. We sway to the beat of the music, caught up in a wild atmosphere of sweat, alcohol, and mingling perfumes.

And then, a familiar scent cuts through—the same one I'd smelled earlier. Enoro's signature. As he stands behind me, my body tenses and pulses under the effect of his whispered invitation to dance in my ear. I turn my head toward him, bringing our lips dangerously close, just a few inches apart. My breath quickens, my pulse races, and I fight the urge to claim his mouth as my own, despite my body's desperate plea.

Now facing him, with a wide smile, I accept his offer.

Driven by the rhythm of the Latin pop, our bodies move together in an increasingly sultry dance. Each movement grows hotter than the last. The touch of his warm skin makes mine shiver, craving more. Everywhere his hands land on me ignites with desire. His touch, both delicate and firm, heightens every movement, silently begging him to continue covering me with his passionate caresses. The air between us crackles as our need for each other intensifies. Facing him, time stands still. Everything around us fades away, leaving only the sound of our hearts beating in sync. One hand resting on his neck, the other on his chest, I can't deny our mutual attraction. As I graze his shirt through my dress, my nipples harden with excitement, my desire pooling as my thigh presses against his growing erection. With ragged breaths, we inch closer, our lips just barely brushing.

Suddenly, without warning, he bursts our intimate bubble by walking away abruptly, leaving me stunned on the dance floor, amidst the swirling crowd.

Frustrated and bewildered, I slowly regain my senses and go in search of my three companions to ask if we can leave. But finding each of them otherwise occupied—Amadeo in the arms of a woman of questionable morals, Andy and Andrea wrapped up in a compromising position—I decide to take a taxi home.