Lethal Lover
1. Liam
Iknow that sooner or later, my father will hear about this. The neon lights flash and swirl across the dancefloor, illuminating the bodies of the women as they move with the pulsing beat of the music. They swing around their poles, their toned limbs glistening with sweat and their skimpy outfits leaving little to the imagination.
But for me, it’s all too familiar. The thrill has long since faded, and I find myself yearning for something new. This place needs a fresh injection of energy, whether it be in the form of new dancers or perhaps even allowing for lap dances again. It used to be a regular feature until some sleazy patron ruined it by getting handsy with one of the strippers. Ignorant men like that always seem to ruin things for everyone else.
The topless waitress struts through the crowded room, her tray held high in a practiced balance to avoid obstructing the view of her ample assets. The scents of expensive perfume and sweat mingle in the air as she makes her way to my table. She seems to glide effortlessly through the sea of bodies, her bodyguard trailing closely behind. I can’t help but notice his watchful gaze as he surveys the room for any potential threats.
As the waitress approaches, I raise a finger and give a subtle nod to my ever-present bodyguard, who promptly takes the glass from her tray and presents it to me with a respectful bow. It’s just another night at the exclusive club that my father owns, where everything is for sale—including people”s attention and loyalty.
“Thanks, hon.” With a grateful smile, I reach into my pocket and pull out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, waving it in the air to get her attention. She eagerly snatches it from my hand and discreetly tucks it into her tiny G-string without missing a beat. The leggy blonde may not be my usual type, but I can”t help but watch her curvaceous figure as she saunters away. Her hips sway with each step, accentuating her plump, voluptuous backside that I find irresistible.
“So, you seen the trailers for that new movie this weekend?” Slick takes slow, deliberate sips from his wine cooler as I nurse my smooth Jameson. His movements are fluid and graceful, almost effeminate, causing me to wonder if there”s a hint of femininity in him. He chatters on excitedly about the latest romantic comedy he”s seen, completely absorbed in the storyline. I haven”t had time to catch any trailers lately, too busy living life and chasing opportunities for financial success.
“No, but you know what I have seen? The new lady of Broadway.” My eyes wash over the dark club, catching glimpses of faces I recognize in the mass of bodies moving about. The music is so loud, we have to shout to hear each other, but that’s better than no music and listening to the catcalls of perverts trying to get the women to go full nude.
“Yeah, I seen her. She’s alright…” Slick shrugs a single shoulder nonchalantly as if acquiescing out of obedience to me. I don’t care if he has different taste in women than I do. It’s better for him that way, anyway. He knows I get my pick of the ladies I want and he gets the leftovers. It’s in his best interests to like the ones I’d pass on.
“Well, I’m gonna go see the show on opening night. I think she’s hot, and I’m gonna introduce her to the New York nightlife.” I nod at an acquaintance I know who passes by me. He raises his glass and sways as he walks, a little too tipsy to notice or care. Then I turn my attention to Slick, whose eyes are locked on the dancer closest to us. “The posters say she’s from the Midwest. You know what that means?”
Slick doesn’t look at me, but he does shake his head and say, “Nah, what?”
“Innocence, my man. She’s probably a farmer’s daughter who grew up in some backwoods rural school. I bet she’s never been kissed.” A grin stretches across my lips as I have another sip of my drink and imagine plucking her ripe fruit. Even her name, Elena Cortez, sounds innocent, like she’s fresh off the cover of Home and GardenMagazine or something.
“What’s the show?” he asks, but I know he doesn’t care. I don’t even care. Broadway isn’t my thing. Give me fast cars, hot women, and a line of cocaine on the table every day and I’ll be happy the rest of my life.
“Ah, I’m not sure. Some sappy thing. I’m not going for the show, though. I’m going for the girl.” My same half-drunken acquaintance stumbles past again, and this time, he plops onto the sofa next to me. The red leather squeaks as he lowers himself onto it and grins like a lunatic.
“Yo, Dom, I got this amazing score.” He opens his jacket and shows me his bulging inner breast pocket. “It’s so hot. Good stuff. Wanna run a line?” He starts to reach into his pocket, and I grab his wrist. We can’t string out lines on this table and run them in front of all these people.
“Man, Dink, you can’t do that shit, man. You’ll get the cops called.” At my admonishment, his expression sours and he jerks away from me.
“You’re weak, Salvatore. Your daddy has made you soft.” He scowls and shakes his head at me, and I roll my eyes.
My father, Luciantonio Salvatore, is the formidable and feared Don of the Italian Mafia. As his son, it is expected that I will one day inherit his position, but for now, he makes my life difficult with endless rules and expectations. And yes, he has some seemingly nonsensical rules for me to follow, including one that states never to engage in illegal activities while already involved in another illegal activity.
This particular afternoon, we have a large sum of laundered money to collect, so indulging in crack cocaine would be foolish and dangerous. My father”s influence looms over my every move, reminding me of the consequences of crossing him or disobeying his strict code of honor within our criminal world.
“Watch your mouth, Dink. You know my dad will gut you from sternum to pubic bone for saying shit like that.” I push him away, and he jerks his jacket shut in the front, glaring at me. Like I said, he’s an acquaintance. My friends would never do something so stupid in public. But he is someone I can’t just cut off. He’s the best supplier on the East Coast.
“Look, buddy, you don’t wanna cross me.” His words are slurred, and I know he’ll never remember any of this. Still, if someone who knows me sees me lay this bastard out for bothering me, he’ll get wind of it and make my life hell.
“Later. Right now, I am enjoying my drink. I think we can arrange a time to run some lines at my place.” I stand, and he stands in my way, clearly too inebriated to understand he’s messing with the wrong person here. I wanna be nice to the guy, but I just don’t have the patience today. Besides, I have places to go.
I down the last of my drink, feeling the fiery burn of alcohol as it slides down my throat. I hand the empty glass to Slick, who stands behind me with a smug grin on his face. Dink gives me a playful shove, causing me to stumble backward. I clench my fists, resisting the urge to launch at the guy and pummel his smug expression into oblivion. He postures, puffing out his chest in an attempt to intimidate me. But I refuse to fight him here, in this dimly lit bar filled with rowdy patrons. I’d rather buy him another drink, hoping that he”ll pass out and forget about our encounter altogether. This place reeks of stale beer and sweat, but it”s still better than getting arrested for assault.
“You can’t just shove me around.”
With a forceful push, Dink’s hands come down hard on my chest, propelling me backward. I stumble and take several large strides before colliding with the towering figure of a bouncer. His burly arms catch me before I fall, his stern expression betraying no emotion as he steadies me on my feet.
The burly, imposing figure towers over me, his massive frame encased in form-fitting black attire. Bold white lettering across his back proudly proclaims him as ”security”. With a rough grasp, he seizes the back of my jacket and jerks me forward, propelling me a few steps ahead. The force behind his grip is enough to send a shiver down my spine. “You’re fuckin’ with the wrong person, buddy.”
“Look, me and my friend here were just playin’ around. Let me go.” I peel his hand off my coat, and he curls his fingers into a fist.
Before he even has a chance to react, I swiftly pull out my knife, ready to strike. With precise aim and expert precision, I drive the blade into his side, just below the ribs and away from any vital organs. The feeling of flesh being sliced encourages me as my hand is guided by years of practice and knowledge of anatomy. Each time I perform this move, it”s like second nature to me—as if I could easily become a doctor with my intimate understanding of the human body. The metallic tang of blood fills my nostrils as I watch my opponent recoil in pain, knowing that this battle is now in my favor.
“I said, me and my friend were playin’. You shoulda let it be.”
He doubles over and collapses on the couch, and I push Dink so he falls onto the couch opposite the fallen bouncer. “Come on, Slick, we gotta roll.” I gesture to him over my shoulder, and we weave through the crowd of people toward the exit. I don’t even look back.
Outside, the cool night air hits my face and I inhale deeply, feeling adrenaline pumping through my veins. We hop into the waiting car and speed off into the darkness, the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. I know that sooner or later, my father will hear about this and I’ll have to pay the piper, but tonight, we finish our tasks and find some women to satisfy our cravings. And later this week, I plan to find out if this Elena Cortez is everything those posters say she is. I have a feeling she’s that and more.