13. Jazz
13
JAZZ
I lean against the bar, scanning the pulsing crowd as the bass reverberates through my bones. The club's energy is electric tonight - bodies moving in sync, drinks flowing, money changing hands.
But beneath the surface glamour, I catch glimpses of the real operation: Dante by the VIP section, his jacket bulging slightly where his piece sits. Marco near the emergency exit, pretending to check his phone while surveying the room.
"Everything good, Jazz?" Oliver slides behind the bar, stacking fresh glasses.
"Just peachy." I tap my nails against my clipboard. "Though table six needs attention. They've been waving for service for three minutes."
"On it." He hesitates. "The boss called. Said he'll be stopping by later."
My stomach does a little flip. "Thanks for the heads up."
Working for Nerio means living in a constant state of anticipation. Never knowing when he'll materialize, what mood he'll be in, or what games he wants to play. The security he's put in place is both comforting and suffocating - like being wrapped in silk that could turn to steel at any moment.
"Jazz." The low rumble of his voice sends electricity down my spine. I turn to find him standing there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, looking dangerous and delicious.
"You're early." I keep my voice neutral, professional.
"My club. My schedule." His eyes rake over me, lingering on the curve of my hip. "Walk with me."
It's not a request. I fall into step beside him as we weave through the crowd. People part automatically, sensing his presence even if they don't know who he is.
"The numbers are up this month," I report, focusing on business. Our interactions here have been limited, and I don't know how else to act. When he comes to the penthouse…it feels different. "Bar revenue especially-"
"I know." He guides me toward his private office with a hand at the small of my back. "That's not why I'm here."
"Care to enlighten me then?"
His lips curve into that predatory smile that makes my pulse race. "Maybe I just wanted to see how my favorite manager is handling things." His thumb traces small circles against my spine.
"You usually check on me at the penthouse," I murmur, not sure why I'm protesting. I want him. The nights he misses, I miss him. But for some reason, I'm still trying to pull back.
Probably because I know better than to trust him with my heart.
"I can check on you wherever you like." We've made it to the VIP section by now and there's a lot of people staring at us. Or at Nerio. He just sighs and says, "I have to go attend to some business but I can take you home after."
I nod, holding back the words I want to say. I'd like that.
He just gives me a grin that feels me with the wrong kind of warmth and stalks off, leaving me staring at him. I quickly compose myself, refocusing on my job.
The night flows smooth as silk until Oliver comes up to me when I'm standing at the bar, package in hand. "This came for you, Jazz."
"Thanks." I reach for the plain brown box, noting the lack of return address. Just my name in blocky letters.
"Want me to open it?"
"I got it." I wave him off, but something makes me pause before tearing into it. The weight feels wrong. The size is unsettling.
I slice through the tape with a pair of scissors, lift the flaps. The smell hits me first – metallic and wrong. Inside lies a silver locket on a delicate chain, crusted with what can only be dried blood. My hands shake as I lift out the note beneath it.
Pretty things break so easily. Just like you will.
"Everything okay?" Marco materializes at my side, probably alerted by Oliver when I seemed uncertain about the package, sharp eyes taking in my expression.
"I-" The word sticks in my throat as I notice something else in the box. It's a picture of me working here at The Vault. My job is no secret, but I didn't know they were watching me here.
Marco crosses the room in two strides, looking over my shoulder. His whole demeanor shifts. "Don't touch anything else." He pulls out his phone. "Boss?" He's calling Nerio? Did he leave the club and I didn't notice? "We've got a situation. Mantiones left Jazz a message." He listens for a moment. "Yeah. It's bad."
I lean against the bar, staring at the bloody locket. "They're still watching me."
"They won't get close." Marco's voice carries steel. "I'm taking you to him now."
"I can handle-"
"This isn't a debate." He starts gathering my belongings. "Nerio's orders. He wants you in a more secure spot."
I want to argue, but the photo keeps drawing my eyes. They got close enough to take it without me noticing. Close enough to make me a target. But they don't have a picture of me at the penthouse, which means they might not know about it. The locket gleams dully under the office lights, its message crystal clear - I'm in their crosshairs now.
We drive across the city, and I'm so lost in my feelings that I barely pay attention to where we are. I know Nerio has tons of offices and buildings, so I don't know where we're going.
Marco keeps checking his mirrors, taking a circuitous route while my mind spins with possibilities. Who had that locket belonged to? What message were they really trying to send?
Finally, we arrive at an office building in the downtown area, to my surprise. The elevator opens directly into Nerio's private office — not too unlike the one at The Vault. He stands at the window, phone to his ear, but turns the moment we enter.
"Out." His command sends his men scattering, leaving just the two of us.
I lift my chin. "Before you start-"
"Show me."
I place the box on his desk. His expression doesn't change as he examines the contents, but the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. The muscle in his jaw ticks. Once. Twice.
"You understand what this means." He picks up the photo with careful fingers.
"That the Mantiones are trying to spook me? Yeah, I got that memo."
His voice carries a lethal edge. "They're challenging my protection of you. Since you didn't spook at the texts."
I bristle at his possessiveness. "I don't want you to-"
The desk rattles as his fist connects with the surface. "They were close enough to photograph you. To follow you. To threaten you." Each word drips with barely contained violence. "I'm not trying to start a power struggle here with you, little dove. This is about keeping you alive."
"I'm…I'm okay." I say it more to myself than him.
He rounds the desk, invading my space. "These aren't empty threats. That locket belonged to Angela Romano. They found pieces of her scattered across three states."
My stomach lurches. "Jesus."
"So you're going to agree to whatever I have to say." His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "No arguments. No clever deflections." I remember when I tried to negotiate with him over the penthouse, and I know that he's thinking the same.
But this time, I don't get any options.
I just nod. "I'll do whatever you want."
A grin pulls on his lips. "That's my girl." My stomach flutters at the words. "Now let me take you home."
I don't know what I expected when we got to the penthouse. A part of me was seeking comfort, hoping that maybe Nerio would give me some. But I didn't think we would find his whole security team waiting for us.
An hour later, I pace the length of the penthouse terrace, my plants offering little comfort tonight. The city sprawls before me, but all I see are potential vantage points, possible threats. Nerio's security upgrades have transformed my new home into a fortress.
"The motion sensors are live." Nerio steps onto the terrace, his presence filling the space. "Marco's stationed a team on rotating shifts."
"This seems excessive." I gesture at the newly installed cameras. "What's next, a moat filled with piranhas?"
"Don't tempt me." He moves behind me, hands settling on my hips. "The club's getting reinforced too. New protocols, more men."
"The Vault's already locked down tight-"
"Not tight enough." His fingers dig in slightly. "I'm adding facial recognition at all entrances. Private security stationed at every access point. No one gets within twenty feet of you without clearance."
I turn to face him. "And what about actually running the club? I can't manage things properly if I'm trapped in a security bubble."
"You'll adapt." His tone brooks no argument. "Marco's handling the street operations. You focus on the legitimate side, stay where we can see you."
"That's not-"
"Jazz." He cups my face, eyes hard as steel. "They're watching. Waiting. One slip is all it takes."
"I know that." I pull away, frustrated. "But I won't live in a cage. I need to work."
I can't go back to that again. I can't be under someone's thumb, at their mercy.
"This isn't negotiable." He follows, backing me against the railing. "You're part of my world now. That means playing by my rules."
"Your rules?" I arch an eyebrow. "Since when do I follow anyone's rules but my own?"
His laugh is dark, dangerous. "Since someone put a target on what's mine." He leans in, breath hot against my ear. "I protect what belongs to me, little dove. Whatever it takes."
The possessiveness in his voice should anger me. Instead, it sends heat coursing through my veins. I'm being drawn deeper into his shadowy realm with every passing day, and the scariest part is how right it feels.
"Fine." I press my palm against his chest. "But I won't be sidelined completely. I need to do my job."
"You will." He captures my wrist. "Under my terms. My protection."
The city lights glitter behind him like stars, reminding me there's no going back now. I'm caught in his web, tangled in threads of danger and desire.