2. Jazz
2
JAZZ
T he click of my heels echoes through the empty club as I survey the space, adjusting a crystal vase filled with white orchids. Tonight's launch has to be perfect. I've spent months planning every detail, from the custom lighting to the artisanal cocktail menu.
And I have a lot to prove tonight.
"More to the left." I direct one of the staff members positioning a velvet lounge chair. "We need clear paths to the dance floor."
My fingers trail along the sleek marble bar top, checking for any imperfections. This job is my stepping stone. One day, I'll run my own place, call my own shots. No more answering to anyone else.
"The ice delivery's late." Oliver, my head bartender, approaches with a worried expression.
"I already called them. They'll be here in twenty." I check my watch. "Start prepping the garnishes."
The staff door opens in the back of the room, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Nerio Bueti strides in like he owns the place — which he does.
But there is just something about the way confidence rolls off of him. His presence fills the space, demanding attention without saying a word. That sharp gray suit hugs his frame in all the right places, and those eyes...
I force myself to look away, pretending to study my clipboard. I know he's a Bueti, and I've heard the rumors about that crime family. I've heard whispers, seen things that don't add up. But thinking about that is a dangerous road.
Even if danger seems to roll off this man in the most intoxicating way.
"How are we looking?" His voice carries across the room, deep and smooth like aged whiskey.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze, and I try not to melt under it. Unlike most people, I'm not intimidated. But I also shouldn't be so attracted to my boss. "Everything's on schedule."
He moves closer, and my skin prickles with awareness. "Show me."
I lead him through the space, pointing out the features we've added. "Private booths along this wall, VIP section elevated for optimal views, and-" I stop when I realize he's not looking at the club anymore. He's looking at me.
"You've outdone yourself."
His eyes hold mine, intense and unreadable. The air between us crackles with tension. I know I should step back, maintain professional distance. But something about him pulls at me, like gravity.
But then memories flash through my mind of another man I found irresistible, another one who seemed deadly and dangerous in a way that I liked. Until I was at the receiving end of it.
It shakes me out of whatever trance Nerio had me in.
"Just doing my job," I manage to say, proud that my voice stays steady.
"I better go to my spot." He nods toward the front doors that the bouncers are opening. "Looks like it's time to start."
I nod, hating that I can't seem to stay in control where this man is involved. "I'll filter the people that come up to you."
He touches my arm as he walks away, and the fleeting warmth is enough to make me want to beg for more. "Perfect."
It doesn't take long for the room to fill. The club pulses with energy as Chicago's elite filter through the doors. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the dance floor while servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne.
I adjust the sound levels, making sure the music hits that sweet spot between ambient and overwhelming. A flash of movement catches my eye — Nerio greeting a group of sharp-dressed businessmen who were on the approved list near the VIP section.
His presence commands attention, and I'm not the only one who notices. Women pause mid-conversation to watch him pass. But I should know better than to stare at him — or feel jealous that others are.
"Looking good in here." Tiranna appears beside me, stunning in a red dress. "Though I'm not sure if you're monitoring the crowd or just one particular person."
"I'm working." I tear my gaze away from where Nerio's hand rests on some politician's shoulder, his smile calculated and cold.
"Right. Working very hard at not staring."
A commotion near the entrance draws my attention. Two guys arguing over a spilled drink. I start moving in that direction, but one of the bouncers is already handling it.
"Mr. Bueti wants you at the owner's table." One of the security guys appears at my elbow.
My stomach tightens as I cross the floor. Nerio sits with three men I don't recognize, their suits probably worth more than my yearly salary.
"Jazz." Nerio's eyes lock onto mine. "These gentlemen were just commenting on the exceptional service tonight."
"We're impressed," one man says, swirling his scotch. "The Block could learn something from this place."
"That's all thanks to Ms. Holliday here." Nerio's hand brushes my lower back as he guides me to sit beside him. "She has quite the eye for detail."
The touch burns through my dress. I force a professional smile, even as his thigh presses against mine under the table. "We aim to exceed expectations."
"And exceed them you do." His voice drops lower, meant just for me. "Stay close tonight. I may need you."
The weight of his words settles in my chest. I know he means for club business, but the way he says it feels like something else entirely. Something dangerous and thrilling and absolutely off limits. And I undeniably want.
But soon, I have to excuse myself to deal with a delivery and then a problem at the door. Every time I look up, though, Nerio's are on me, and I ignore the warmth that washes over me. So many women in this club and yet…
I rip myself from my thoughts and go check on tables. I'm not sure what has gotten into me tonight. I never lose myself over a guy.
But Nerio is not just some guy.
I spot some of our high spenders finishing off a bottle and I make sure they don't go without for long. "Another round for the VIP section?" I ask them.
The guy in the middle of the couch looks up at me, letting his eyes trial down my body. I don't like it the way I do when Nerio does. "I'll take whatever you're offering."
I signal the server, maintaining my professional smile despite the increasingly rowdy group of men.
"Hey sweetheart, why don't you bring it yourself?" One of them, a thick-necked guy in an ill-fitting suit, reaches for my wrist. "Give us a private show while you're at it."
I pull back, but another man blocks my path. "Come on, just one dance. We're spending good money here."
"I'm the manager, not entertainment." I keep my voice firm. "Please remove your hand."
"Playing hard to get?" The first guy's fingers dig into my skin. "I like that."
"What's the matter? Too good for us?" His friend's breath reeks of expensive bourbon as he leans in. "Bet Bueti would let us take a run at you. Go tell him that the Rossi brothers will pay handsomely for his b-"
"His what, exactly?"
The temperature seems to plummet. Nerio materializes behind them, his expression carved from ice. The man releases my wrist instantly.
"Mr. Bueti, we were just-"
"Just discussing how you'd like me to separate your fingers from your hands?" Nerio's voice stays conversational, almost pleasant. "Or perhaps you'd prefer I start with your intestines? I could arrange that right here. The marble floors make cleanup so convenient."
My breath catches. The casual way he describes violence shouldn't affect me like this, but heat pools in my core.
"I know an excellent spot to dump what's left of you in the river." He straightens their leader's crooked tie, his movements deliberate. "The current's strong enough that by the time they find pieces of you, the fish will have done most of my work. Would you like to test that theory?"
The men pale, stumbling over themselves to apologize. Sweat beads on their foreheads.
"Leave." One word, spoken softly, but they practically trip over each other rushing to the exit.
Nerio's hand settles on my lower back, burning through my dress. I try to ignore how his proximity makes my pulse race. The dangerous glint still lingers in his eyes, and God help me, but it's doing things to me I don't want to examine too closely.
He guides me through the crowded club with the light press of his hand, and I can't seem to focus on anything else. The bass pounds through the floor as we slip behind a heavy velvet curtain into the employee corridor. The music muffles, replaced by the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
Nerio backs me against the wall, caging me in with his arms. The dim light catches the dangerous glint in his eyes as he scans me. "Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine." My voice comes out breathier than intended. "Nothing I haven't handled before."
"That's not what I asked." His thumb traces where that guy grabbed me, leaving trails of fire on my skin. "Show me."
I hold up my wrist, his eyes falling to the bruising marks I can still feel. Nerio's jaw tightens as he takes my arm, though, rubbing his thumb over the sore spot on my wrist.
"I should have done worse to them." The cold edge in his voice makes me shiver.
"You scared them plenty." I try for lightness, but it falls flat when his intense gaze locks onto mine.
"Nobody touches what's mine."
The possessive growl in his words shoots straight to my core. "I'm not yours."
"No?" He leans closer, his breath fanning across my lips. "You work for me, do you not?"
"Yes, but-"
"You are clinging to me now. You are watching me all night. You are always taunting and teasing me."
My breath catches in my throat. "No, I- I don't do that."
"No?" A smirk curls up his lips. "Then why are you trembling right now, little dove?"
My back presses harder against the wall as he crowds me. The scent of his cologne fills my lungs — it's smokey and dangerous. His hand slides up my arm, across my shoulder, settling at the base of my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there. Claiming.
"Tell me to stop." His lips brush my ear. "I dare you to try and lie again. You'll see I'm not always so forgiving."
I part my lips, but no words come out. I don't want him to stop and I don't want to admit the truth. But I do want to fucking taste him even if I shouldn't.
His mouth hovers over mine, so close I can taste his breath. The world narrows to this moment, this space between heartbeats-
The curtain yanks back. "Boss! We got trouble up front-" The guard's voice cuts off as he takes in our position.
Nerio's expression hardens as he straightens, though his hand lingers on my skin for a moment longer. "This better be important."
And then he's gone.