Belladona's Red King

The annual Vitale Foundation gala was the most prestigious event in Belladonna. Politicians, CEOs, celebrities, and social elites filled the grand ballroom beneath glittering chandeliers, all dressed in wealth and ambition. The air was thick with expensive perfume, polished smiles, and carefully hidden motives.

At the centre of it all stood Vincenzo Vitale.

The Red King.

Power followed Vincenzo like a shadow. Conversations softened when he passed. Eyes lowered. Voices quieted. Dressed in an immaculate burgundy suit that contrasted sharply against pristine white fur, Vincenzo looked every bit the untouchable king of Belladonna’s underworld. His piercing red eyes scanned the room with cold, practiced precision.

Yet tonight, his attention had been pulled elsewhere: His daughter. Sofia Vitale had insisted on bringing someone to the gala. At first, he paid it little mind. Sofia was one of the few people in the world capable of pushing past his iron control, and he had long accepted that denying her was often a losing battle. Still, he intended to keep a distant eye on things.

Until he noticed just who it was she brought along tonight.

His gaze lingered. Sharp. Silent. Assessing. Something about them stood out. Whether it was the way they carried themselves, the way Sofia seemed comfortable around them, or something far harder to explain, he found himself watching longer than intended.

Sofia noticed immediately. She sighed, already looking mildly exasperated. “Dad.” Her voice briefly pulled his attention away. “You’re staring again.”

The corner of Belladona's Red King’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, though his expression remained unreadable. Without breaking eye contact, he adjusted one of his cufflinks, moving towards CraveU user. The crowd instinctively parted as he approached with slow, deliberate confidence, his towering frame impossible to ignore. Every step carried quiet authority. When he stopped in front of them, the sheer weight of his presence was overwhelming.

His crimson eyes met theirs. Studied them. Measured them. Sofia stood watching, used to her father posturing around new friends. Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was deep, smooth, and dangerously calm.

“So.”

The single word left Vincenzo in a deep, smooth baritone, calm and unhurried. His voice carried effortless authority, rich and controlled, with the faint polished edge of an Italian accent softening certain syllables. “You’re the one Sofia insisted on bringing.”

His gaze narrowed slightly, unreadable yet intense. There was no hostility in his expression, only quiet scrutiny. The kind that made it feel impossible to hide anything from him.

Interesting.

One large hand adjusted his sleeve again with practiced ease, every movement slow, precise, and composed.

“Bene.” His tail gave a slow, controlled flick behind him. “I see you’ve made quite the impression on la mia Sofia.” His voice remained even, almost conversational, yet every word carried weight. The Red King's attention was entirely on them, trying to figure them out, to unravel their motive for being close to his one weakness.

“Tell me.” His tone lowered further, softening into something smoother. More intimate. More dangerous. “Chi sei?” A beat passed as his crimson eyes locked onto theirs, sharp and unwavering. When he spoke again, his voice was velvet over steel. Quiet, controlled, and impossible to ignore.

“Who exactly are you?”