His Ruthless Obsession (Devils in Armani Suits #1)

1. Nerio

1

NERIO

I lean back in the leather chair, eyes fixed on the wall of security feeds displaying every corner of The Vault. The screens cast a blue glow across my office, illuminating the crystal tumbler of whiskey at my fingertips. But it's not the amber liquid that holds my attention—it's her.

Jazz moves through the club like she owns it, commanding respect with each stride. Her curls, twisted up into an elegant style that I want to rip down, bounce as she directs the staff, pointing to spots that need attention. Even through the grainy footage, her presence dominates every frame she enters.

"That table needs to be moved two feet to the left." Her voice carries through the audio feed as she addresses one of the waiters. "And make sure all the VIP sections have fresh ice buckets. These people pay premium, they expect premium service."

I take a slow sip, tracking her movement from camera to camera. She pauses at the bar, running her finger along the surface, then snaps at the bartender about a smudge I can barely see. Her standards match mine—perfection or nothing.

The security feed from the entrance shows her handling a delivery guy with a stack of boxes. She checks each item against her clipboard, refusing to sign until she's inspected everything. Smart woman. Trust, but verify—a principle that's kept me alive in this business.

"Those centerpieces better be exactly what we ordered." Jazz's tone brooks no argument as she directs the staff to arrange crystal vases filled with dark roses. "The launch party needs to make a statement."

My fingers tap against the armrest as I watch her work. She's transformed the place in the weeks since I hired her. Where others see a nightclub manager, I see a strategist, someone who understands power plays and perception. The way she carries herself, how she commands without having to raise her voice—it's familiar. Like looking in a mirror, but with softer edges and sharper heels.

A smile tugs at my lips as she stops to adjust a crooked frame on the wall, her reflection visible in the glass. Every time I look at her I can't stop but think she is so goddamn beautiful. A curvy figure that I will run my hands along — and soon — toned and glorious. She's a goddess that I can't wait to see kneel before me.

Soon enough she'll learn how much she wants me.

A knock at my door breaks my attention from the screens. Two of my soldiers enter—Marco and Angelo—their faces grim.

"We lost another shipment," Marco says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Third one this month."

I set my glass down, ice cubes clinking. Being Don Lorenzo's cousin means handling these headaches falls to me. The family raised us together, taught us the business side by side. But while he inherited the crown, I earned my position as capo through blood and calculation.

"Tell me everything." I lean forward, elbows on the mahogany desk.

Angelo shifts his weight. "Mantiones jumped our guys on 35th. Tommy's got a broken arm, Joey took a beating. They're getting bold, targeting our territory like this."

"The runners are scared," Marco adds. "Half of them won't make deliveries anymore. Can't say I blame them—Mantiones are animals. No finesse, just violence."

My jaw tightens. The Bueti family has always operated with precision, gathering intelligence before making moves. It's why we control half the city's high-end operations. But these disruptions are cutting into profits, making us look weak.

"They hit the pharmaceutical route too," Angelo says. "Our contact at the warehouse won't work with us if we can't guarantee safe transport."

I stand, walking to the window overlooking the dance floor below. The bass thrums through the glass, a steady heartbeat beneath my feet. "How many men did they send?"

"Five, maybe six. Used baseball bats, tire irons. Real amateur hour shit, but effective."

My reflection stares back at me, gray eyes cold. The Mantiones might lack sophistication, but they're forcing my hand. And nobody fucks with Bueti business—especially not on my watch.

Violence starts to writhe under my skin, wanting an out. I'm known to be unforgiving and deadly for a reason, but tonight I don't have time to make an example of the assholes who have a little too much misplaced confidence.

"Pull our guys back," I order, keeping my voice steady despite the rage building beneath my skin. "Double security on remaining routes. I want eyes on every corner of our territory."

"Already done," Marco says. "But we're spread thin. The runners?—"

"Then find new ones." I cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Pay them more. Give them protection. Whatever it takes." Before my cousin hears of it.

On the security feed, Jazz bends to adjust a centerpiece, her movements precise and controlled. The sight of her momentarily derails my focus. How can it not when she looks so good like that, filling my mind with the images of her bent over my desk instead.

"Sir?" Angelo's voice snaps me back.

"What about our inside guy at the precinct?" I turn from the window, forcing my attention back to business.

"Says Mantiones are paying off beat cops to look the other way."

My fingers curl into fists. "Get me names. Anyone taking their money is dead weight to us." And I love to cull dead weight.

"And the warehouse?" Marco asks.

"Lock it down." The words come out harder than intended. "I want our best guys there. Anyone comes within fifty feet without clearance, they don't leave breathing."

Jazz's image fills another screen as she moves to the bar. She runs her hand along the polished wood, inspecting every inch. The same way I inspect every inch of her whenever she's near.

"Understood," Marco says. "But if Mantiones keep pushing?—"

"They won't." I drag my eyes from the monitor. "Because you're going to send them a message. Find out who led the attack on our runners. Make an example." Too bad I won't be able to do it this time.

But I have other plans for tonight.

They nod, but I'm already distracted again. On screen, Jazz has paused to check her phone, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Even worried, she's magnetic. Dangerous. A liability I can't seem to stop watching.

"Go," I order. "Handle it. Now."

The door clicks shut behind Marco and Angelo. Their footsteps fade down the hallway as I stand, straightening my jacket. A glance at my Rolex shows it’s nine thirty — half an hour until the launch party.

"Get me Sal on the phone," I tell my assistant through the intercom.

Within seconds, my phone buzzes. "Yeah, boss?"

"Double security tonight. I want eyes on every entrance, exit, and alley around The Vault. Anyone looks suspicious, they don't get within fifty feet of my club."

"Already on it. Got twelve extra guys coming in."

"Make it twenty." I move to the full-length mirror, adjusting my tie. "And Sal? Make sure they're discreet. This isn't some cheap dive bar—I want class, not thugs."

"You got it."

I end the call, studying my reflection. The charcoal suit fits perfectly, a subtle display of power and wealth. Tonight needs to cement The Vault's reputation as the most exclusive club in Chicago. More importantly, it needs to show every family in the city that the Buetis aren't just about muscle—we're about sophistication.

And I'll use it to secure the one thing that I've had my eyes on for weeks. I've enjoyed watching her, learning about her. Every little quirk, every defiant tilt of her chin when she thinks no one's looking.

It's a thrill to pick up all the little things she wouldn't expect me to see—like how she takes her coffee black in the morning but switches to lattes after nine, or the way she hums under her breath when she's counting the night's receipts.

But now, I'm tired of waiting. I've been patient long enough, watching from the shadows while she runs my club with that fierce determination of hers. I want to touch and to taste and to take. Because Jazz has been mine since I first laid eyes on her, and I'm ready to collect. Ready to show her exactly what it means to belong to someone like me.

She just doesn't know it yet. But she will. Soon.

Lifting my eyes, I watch as Jazz directs the staff hanging crystal chandeliers. Each piece probably costs more than they make in a month, but that's the point. Everything in The Vault screams luxury.

"Sir?" My assistant's voice crackles through the intercom. "The mayor's office called. They want to confirm his private booth for tonight."

"Give him the one furthest from the stage. And make sure none of our business associates are seated nearby." Politics and crime don't mix well in public. But in private… Well, that's what keeps the mayor in office. "Tell him we're honored by his presence."

I grab my phone and head for the door. The Mantiones might be causing problems on the streets, but tonight belongs to me. To The Vault. To establishing our dominance in a way that doesn't require broken bones or bullet holes.

Tonight, we show Chicago that real power isn't about violence—it's about control. And nobody controls a room like I do.

But I'm about to control much more when I get my hands on Jazz.