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I watch, dull eyed, as streams of confetti fall from the sky. The sound of a champagne bottle being open hits my ears, irritating me. Everyone cheers around me, throwing graduation hats in the air and prancing all around.

What are they so happy about? Everything just gets harder from here.

I'm part of the 2015 graduation class of Harvard University. I spent the last four years in this hell hole, and now I was about to spend the next 30 something years in a societal prison.

What is there to celebrate?

"Congrats, baby brother! You finally made it, how does it feel?" My brother, Darius, comes up and claps his hands on my shoulders, a proud smile covering his face.

I muster a convincing smile. "Feels great, " I say.

"We need to go out tonight and celebrate, before you enter the real world. Drinks on me!" he cries and shakes me a little. I smile tightly at him and scurry over to the car, where our driver is patiently waiting, door already open to the back. Darius and I climb in, and he continues to talk about my graduation, and how excited he is for me to finally get into the family business.

Ah, yes. The family business. The monarch of my very existence, what haunts my dreams at night, is the only thing that kept me sane in that school for four years straight, and what kept me from coming home during the holidays and summers.

My father is a well-known mafia boss, for the American Mafia. He's currently in Boston, with his own purchased manor and office, while he has another purchased house for Darius and I in New York, ready for me after I graduated from University.

Darius has been using it in the meantime, running business in New York as my father's second in command. I will be living with him to soon learn the ways of the mafia family, and have a taste of what I am expected to do, come the day my father passes down the torch to my brother, and I take over as his second in command. A lot of pressure and responsibility will fall with that title.

Even now, I'm not sure I'm ready for it.

What I am ready for, is to get drunk.

So incredibly drunk, I don't remember who I am. Darius is the perfect person to help me do that.

I agree to go out for the night, with the promise that I can invite my childhood, Angelo Russo. We have known each other since we were both 10 years old, our friendship being consistent over the last 12 years and counting. He has been with me through thick and thin; the death of my mother at the age of 13, my father distancing himself after that to focus on work, my own rebellious phase, and so much more.

Darius ended up picking a popular dance club, which is practically packed when we walk through the door, a couple friends from the 'family' tagging along. We grab an empty booth big enough for all 6 of us, 2 girls and 4 guys. Quite the sausage fest.

Being on the end facing the bar, Darius waves over a passing waitress and has her take everyone's orders. I take a simple jack and coke, wanting to take things easy at first, while everyone else orders a round of shots of vodka and tequila, hitting the hard stuff right away. Angelo himself just orders a beer.

An hour in, everyone is already wasted. Half the party left to the dancefloor, leaving Darius, Angelo and I alone in the booth. I'm still nursing my third drink, having lived with my brother for quite some time, I have learned to handle my whiskey, especially if it's mixed.

My eyes scan the room, looking for a place with the least number of people. By this time in the night, everyone has migrated towards the dancefloor, causing a haze of heat and sweat to emanate around them.

The only place that looked like it had some breathing room, is the bar. Few groups of people go up every now and then to chug down more drinks, before they rush back off to the dancefloor. I try and yell to Angelo and Darius that I'm heading to the bar, but neither of them seems able to hear me. I walk off anyway, talking a seat near the end of the counter, and wait for the bartender to finish up with a group of girls.

I know it's going to be awhile, with the way he is flirtatiously smiling at them, so I sip the rest of my drink slowly and turn my eyes back to the dancefloor, not looking at anything in particular. Though there are flashing neon lights everywhere, the room is still too dim to make anything out, besides bright, tacky outfits and overly done hair-dos.

The bartender finally ushered the girls away, and spotted me at the end. I order another jack and coke, and ask him to mix it well, with a little more jack than coke this time. When he slides me the drink, I sip it lightly and almost reel back from the smell.

Perfect.

I pass over a bill and then some. He mixed it well.

My eyes return to the dancefloor, as if being pulled by an unknown force.

That's when I spot her.

A dash of red blurs past the corner of my eye, making my eyes lock on a petite dark-haired girl, pushing her way through the thick crowd, towards the other end of the bar. The dash of red is the 3-inch heels covering her feet, giving her long legs even more length, if that were possible. It clearly is.

I can't help but follow her as she makes her way up to the bar, waving down the bartender, with another small brunette popping up behind her. I watch as they shout their orders over the music, and he nods and rushes down the bar to grab their drinks.

She follows the bartender, and notices someone sitting at the end. Her eyes land on me, and even with the distance between us, and the dim lighting of the room, I am hypnotised by them. I can faintly make out their bright blue color, nailing me to the spot, before they quickly look away. She smiles gently at the bartender as he hands her a glass. My heart beats faster at the sight of her smile, her gorgeous, pouty lips looking so soft.

I need to know who this girl is.

I'm not leaving this club until I do, even if it takes me a few more drinks to work up the courage, I have to find out who she is before she leaves. The feelings she has given me, just seeing her and being in her presence slightly for 5 minutes, it isn't something I'm giving up.

Even if I accomplish as much as getting her in bed, that is good enough for me. I haven't slept with any girl since before entering University. My father forbade any distractions, and made some pretty heft threats about it, making me deter from any obvious obstacles, like messy relationships and drama, mostly caused from sleeping around, playing with feelings, etc.

Now, I have no obstacles.

And I'm down to play.

I stare at the girl from the corner of my eye, sipping casually at my drink and busying myself with my phone, though all my attention is on her. I can see her staring, whispering to her friend, but her eyes never leaving me. I try hard not to smile.

I gulp the rest of my drink down and signal over the bartender, using the excuse to steal another glance at her. The lights hit her face just right, and I get a glimpse of familiarity.

Have I seen her before?

Her face now seems familiar, but I can't place my finger on it. I don't recognize her friend at all, which doesn't help jog my memory.

The bartender slides down my drink, and I stop him before he rushes off again.

"I want an order of whatever that girl there is drinking, and have it served to her please, " I say and slip over an extra few bills. He flashes me a wink and disappears under the bar and returns with a few bottles, quickly mixing them, before he rushes back down the bar.

I watch in anticipation as he hands her the drink, and points down to me, shouting in her ear. I can sense the smile that spreads across her lips without needing to see it. I see her thank the bartender, then settle her blue eyes on me. My heart leaps on contact, and my palms start to sweat.

It has been so long since I was in the game, and of course the first girl I see is as eye-catching as the girl sauntering towards me, a cat-like smile on her face. Up close, her eyes are an even more striking blue than I thought, causing my breath to hitch when she hits me with them.

Paired with her dark locks, there is no way I'm leaving this place without her.

"What do I owe the lovely drink offer?" she asks, gesturing to her untouched drink I sent.

"A name to a beautiful face, and hopefully a dance." I don't know where my new-found confidence comes from, but I don't complain.

A smile slips on her lips. "It certainly merits a dance, but a name might take another drink, " she winks at me, and tips her glass back, downing it in one gulp. I watch with so many emotions, I have to adjust in my seat slightly, to hide the front of my pants.

I can tell that she is already slightly tipsy, which means I'll have to play my cards right, and make sure this doesn't end in disaster. One of the main reasons I avoided clubs and bars so much in school, besides the distractions, was the drunk, overly sensitive and dramatic girls who flung themselves at you, then flipped on you when you aren't as interested as they want you to be.