Double park your Maybach and dine with freshly polished trophy companion on what’s left of your ginormous Xmas bonus. (Is that Beyoncé, four Victoria’s Secret angels in see-through minis, a gaggle of smarmy, overly tan Italian businessmen, and, like, Jay-Z one table down?) Ridiculous scene. Boldface brashness. And some food, too. Classic Italian, cooked with flair and costing a pretty penny. Recently remodeled to make the best of shwank crystal, soaring ceilings, and windows opening to the street. Upstairs hosts most exclusive attic party ever.