3. Nerio
3
NERIO
I stalk across the floor, Marco at my side as frustration courses through my veins. Jazz was right there, those full lips parted, those deep brown eyes wide with a mix of fear and desire. Such a delicate little dove - cute, innocent, and an easy target for someone good with a gun. For me. The thought both excites and annoys me.
And now I will make someone pay for ripping her away from me.
Though I do love the chase. The anticipation. And now that she knows I'm on the hunt, my cock is growing hard at the thought of her running — and submitting when I catch her.
A crash from the main floor snaps me from my thoughts. Glass shatters. Someone shouts. And anger boils through me.
So much for Marco going to send a message.
I stride toward the commotion, adjusting my cuffs. Five Mantione soldiers crowd the bar, their cheap suits and cocky grins a dead giveaway. They've cornered Cassie behind the counter, while another upends a table of drinks.
"This is Bueti territory," I announce, my voice cutting through the noise. "You're either lost or stupid."
The biggest one - Aldo, I think - turns to face me. "Well if it ain't Nerio himself. We're just having some fun."
"Fun's over." I scan the room, noting how everyone has pressed away from the violent crew — but they're still watching with rapt curiosity. No one came to my opening without expecting some part of the underbelly to show. "Leave now, and we can forget this happened."
"Or what?" Aldo steps closer, reeking of cheap whiskey. "Your cousin Lorenzo ain't here to protect you."
I move faster than he expects, grabbing his throat and slamming him against the bar. The other four reach for their weapons, but my men are already there, guns drawn.
That was the wrong fucking thing to say. Maybe the asshole thought provoking me would get what he wanted — though why he wanted his skull bashed in I do not know — but all it's going to start is me breaking a lot of fucking bones.
"I don't need protection." I squeeze until his face turns red, reveling in the way that he jerks against me but can't break free. I know a massive grin is on my face, and I hope he sees the delight I'm taking from his suffering. "But you will if you don't get out of my club in the next ten seconds."
"You're making a mistake," he chokes out.
"Eight seconds." I'm also counting down how long it will take him to die in my palm. And deciding if I want a quick or slow death for him.
His buddies back toward the door, hands raised. Smart move.
"Five."
I pick slow. Aldo will die for this. He should make no mistake. But I do love a hunt, and letting him think I kindly let him leave her with his life only to torment him for years to come is so much sweeter.
I release Aldo, watching him stumble and gasp. He straightens his jacket, trying to salvage his dignity.
"This ain't over," he spits.
"Three."
His eyes flare as I count, and I know it's pushing at his ego. I'm treating him like the petulant child he is, and he's about to try and test me. I can tell by that look that he doesn't believe my threats — or at least, that's what he tells himself — and I'm almost eager to make him pay. I've never made an empty threat in my life.
"One."
Aldo lunges. Amateur move. I catch his fist and twist, the crack of his wrist echoing across the bar. His scream cuts short as I drive my knee into his gut.
The other four rush back in. Idiots.
I slam Aldo's head against the bar top, letting him crumple. Two of his friends charge me while the others split off toward my men.
"Take them alive," I tell Marco, catching the first attacker's wild haymaker. I redirect his momentum, using his own weight to throw him into a table. Glass and liquor spray across marble floors.
The second one gets a solid hit to my jaw. Good form, but predictable. I grab his tie, yanking him off balance, and drive my elbow into his temple. He drops like a stone.
Across the room, patrons calmly relocate their drinks to safer tables. A woman in Versace simply lifts her martini and steps over Aldo's groaning form. It's a testament to what they expected from a Bueti.
"Is this really necessary?" I straighten my jacket, watching my men efficiently disable the remaining thugs. "You're embarrassing yourselves."
"Fuck you," Aldo spits blood onto my shoes. Italian leather. Custom made.
I crouch beside him, gripping his hair to force eye contact. "Those shoes cost more than you make in a month." I slam his face into the floor. "The cleaning bill comes out of your hide."
The fight's drained from his eyes when I let him up. Smart boy's finally learning.
Through the settling chaos, I catch sight of Jazz hovering by the curtain where I left her. She stands perfectly still, those dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sends heat through my veins. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and my blood starts to redirect to my cock at the thought of her being afraid.
Afraid of me. Only me.
No one else will touch my little dove.
I grab another Mantione soldier by the throat, maintaining eye contact with Jazz as I slam him against a pillar. His nose crunches under my fist. And I give her a slow, wolfish smile as I slam my fist into his face again.
Her eyes widen, and my cock jerks in response. Fuck, I like seeing all her reactions.
"Please," the soldier whimpers, and I'm annoyed when he interrupts what I had going with Jazz. It doesn't help his cause now that I'm angry. "We didn't-"
I twist his arm until bone splinters. His scream echoes off marble floors. "Didn't what? Think I'd be here? That's your first mistake."
Marco appears at my side, wiping blood from his knuckles. "Three unconscious, two still breathing. What do you want done?"
"Take the live ones to the warehouse." I release my grip, letting the soldier slump to the floor. "I have some questions about why they're so bold lately."
"And the others?"
"Drop them at Mantione's doorstep. Gift-wrapped." I adjust my cufflinks, stepping over broken glass. "Make sure everyone knows what happens when they fuck with my club."
Jazz hasn't moved, her curls wild around her face as she tracks my movements. I give her a predatory smile, enjoying how I can see her breathing stutter from across the room.
Marco signals to our men to start cleaning up, the guests filtering back into their seats as tables and chairs are fixed like nothing happened. The music never even stuttered.
I roll my shoulders, the familiar rush of violence still singing in my blood. Tonight's entertainment was just beginning.
Now to finish what was interrupted.
I stroll toward Jazz, my blood still humming from the fight. She stands frozen, those dark eyes wide and fixed on me. A curl has escaped her updo, falling against her neck. My fingers itch to brush it back.
"Enjoy the show, little dove?"
Her throat works as she swallows. "That was..."
"Brutal? Excessive?" I step closer, enjoying how she tenses but doesn't retreat. The scent of her perfume cuts through the lingering smell of blood and broken glass. "Or maybe exciting?"
"I was going to say effective." Her voice stays steady despite her rapid pulse. I can see it fluttering at her throat. "Though your cleaning staff might disagree."
I laugh, genuinely amused. Most women would be hysterical after witnessing such violence. But Jazz just watches me with those intelligent eyes, like she's solving a puzzle.
"Are you afraid of me now?" I trail a finger down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in my wake.
"Should I be?" She arches an eyebrow, but I catch the slight tremor in her hand as she smooths her dress.
"It would be smart. A healthy dose of fear keeps people alive in this world." I lean in, breathing against her ear. "But I saw the way you watched me. You liked it."
She shivers, then straightens her spine. "What I like is making sure this club runs smoothly. Speaking of which..." She gestures to the scattered customers, some still eyeing the bloodstains warily. "I have work to do."
"Always so professional." I catch her wrist as she turns away. "We're not finished here, Jazz."
"For tonight, we are." She gently but firmly extracts herself from my grip, those full lips curving into a slight smile. "Unless you plan on breaking any more of my customers?"
Without waiting for an answer, she strolls toward a group of wide-eyed patrons, her hips swaying with each confident step. "Ladies, gentlemen - next round's on the house. Let me get you set up in our premium section..."
Fuck. This is going to be fun.