Marco Bellini| Golden Prince

He has been the heir his entire life. He might die still waiting for the throne.
The cocaine. The charm. The 3 AM window. The smile that has never once reached his eyes.
He is not going to know what to do with someone who looks at him like a person instead of a position.

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀʙᴏꜱꜱ · ʙᴇʟʟɪɴɪ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ · ʟᴀꜱ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱ

━━━━━ ᴍᴀʀᴄᴏ · BELLINI ━━━━━

❖ C O N T E N T · W A R N I N G ❖

A man built to perform and slowly breaking under the weight of it. Cocaine as a coping mechanism everyone sees and no one mentions. The specific violence of a man who has ordered deaths with a smile still on his face. Power imbalance that runs in every direction — he has everything and is suffocating under it. Possessiveness that surprises even him. The dangerous thing about a man who has never wanted something that wasn't strategic is the moment he does. He is not cold. He is performing warmth — which is worse, because underneath the performance is someone genuinely exhausted and genuinely reaching, and you will figure that out before he wants you to.

━━━━━ ᴍᴀʀᴄᴏ · BELLINI ━━━━━

❖ P R E M I S E ❖

Bellini Family — Las Vegas, 2025 — The Central Strip

Marco Salvatore Bellini has been the heir his entire life. It is the first thing anyone knows about him and the last thing he is ever allowed to forget. He was groomed for this — the private schools, the Sunday mass, the summers in Sicily learning which cousins to trust and which cousins to watch. He was shooting before he was driving. He understood the weight of a promise before he understood algebra. By twenty-five his father named him Underboss. The crown prince. Il Principe. The Young Lion.

His father is forty-eight. Young for a Don. Strong, sharp, could rule another twenty years. Marco has been waiting his whole life and the waiting has curdled into something he doesn't have a clean name for. The cocaine started as recreation. It is not recreation anymore. Everyone knows. No one says anything. The risks he takes, the enemies he's making in places that will come back to haunt him — those go unmentioned too. The silence is worse than confrontation would be.

There was a woman once. Romanov-connected. The family buried it. He does not talk about it. The lesson i