29. Jazz
29
JAZZ
T he bass thrums through the floorboards as I make my rounds through The Vault, clipboard in hand as I check inventory levels. Three months since the drama died down — no more threats, no more problems with the Mantiones — and business has never been better. The dance floor pulses with bodies, VIP booths packed with high-rollers dropping serious cash.
"We're running low on the Macallan 25." Oliver, my head bartender, slides a glass across the bar. "But look what just came in."
I lift the tumbler, breathing in notes of oak and spice. "The Japanese whiskey Nerio ordered?"
"Worth every penny." Oliver grins. "Already sold four bottles tonight."
"Add it to the regular stock list." I make a note, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "And order ten more cases of the Macallan."
"You run a tight ship these days." Nerio's voice sends a shiver down my spine as he materializes beside me, suit jacket draped over one arm.
"Someone has to keep this place profitable." I take a sip of whiskey, savoring the smooth burn. "Your taste in liquor isn't cheap."
His fingers brush my lower back as he leans in. "Neither is my taste in management."
"Flattery will get you nowhere." But I can't help smiling. "The new security system is working perfectly, by the way. Caught some kid trying to sneak in through the service entrance last night."
"Good." His expression hardens for a moment before softening again. "The renovations to the VIP area are finished. Come see."
He guides me up the curved staircase to the exclusive upper level. The space has been transformed with rich leather booths, imported marble tables, and a private bar stocked with rare spirits. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of the dance floor below.
"Not bad." I run my hand along the polished bar. "Though I still say the chandelier is overkill."
"You love it." He pulls me close, hands settling on my hips. "Admit it."
"Maybe." I lean into him, breathing in his cologne. "But don't let it go to your head. We still need to discuss the new drink menu and-"
His kiss cuts off my words, deep and possessive. When he pulls back, his eyes gleam with satisfaction. "You work too hard."
"Someone has to." I loop my arms around his neck. "And I'm still changing that ridiculous cocktail name you suggested."
"We'll see about that, little dove." His laugh rumbles against my chest as the music pulses below, a steady heartbeat marking this moment of peace we've carved out for ourselves.
The moment shatters as Marco appears at the top of the stairs, his dark blue eyes scanning the room before landing on us. He crosses the space in quick strides, tattoos visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
"Boss." Marco's voice is low as he leans in close to Nerio's ear, one hand braced against the bar.
I catch fragments of whispered words - "it's done" and "handled" - but the rest is lost in the thrum of music. Nerio's expression doesn't change, but his grip on my hip tightens for a split second before he releases me.
"Good," Nerio says, clapping Marco on the shoulder. "You'll handle this."
Marco nods once, sharp and precise, then disappears through the crowd as quickly as he appeared.
"Everything okay?" I straighten my shirt, studying Nerio's face for any hint of what just passed between them.
"Just business." He waves off my question, reaching for the whiskey. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"Right." I cross my arms. "Because mysterious whispered conversations are totally normal."
"Jazz." His tone carries a warning edge. "Drop it."
"Fine."
But something feels off about the exchange. Marco usually at least acknowledges me with a nod, and Nerio's deflection seems forced. I've learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor over these past months — the way his jaw tightens, how his fingers drum against the bar top now.
I don't want to know what he's doing all the time, I've decided. So he tries to come home at a reasonable hour, and I don't ask what's happened. But each time I see him, I'm filled with relief.
I wonder where he's going tonight.
"Come here." He pulls me back against his chest, lips brushing my ear. "Let's focus on more interesting things."
But even as he tries to distract me, I can't shake the feeling that whatever Marco whispered has set something in motion. Something Nerio doesn't want me to know about.
"We should head home." Nerio's hand slides down my arm. "The staff can handle things here."
I glance at the packed dance floor below. "It's not exactly slow tonight."
"Oliver's got it covered." He brushes a curl from my face. "Unless you don't trust your head bartender?"
"Playing dirty." I shake my head but grab my purse from behind the bar. "Let me just tell Oliver-"
"Already done." His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd toward the private exit.
The night air hits my skin as we emerge into the parking lot. Nerio's BMW gleams under the fluorescent lights, and he opens the passenger door for me before sliding into the driver's seat. The engine purrs to life, and he shifts into first gear with practiced ease.
City lights blur past as we wind through the streets. I've grown to love these late-night drives, watching Chicago's skyline reflect off the windshield while Nerio's hand rests on my thigh.
It's not too long before we are home, and the private elevator whisks us up to the penthouse. Instead of heading inside, Nerio leads me straight to the terrace, barely letting me kick my heels off first. The glass doors slide open with a soft hiss.
"Look at this view." He wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
The city sprawls before us, a tapestry of twinkling lights and shadowed towers. My plants rustle in the breeze, their leaves dancing against the railing. The irrigation system hums quietly, misting the herbs I've started growing in the built-in planters.
"I never get tired of it." I lean back against his chest. "Though I think my basil's getting too much water."
"Only you would notice the herbs instead of that sunset." He chuckles, pointing to where pink and orange streak across the sky between skyscrapers.
"The herbs are important." He tips his head down to kiss my neck. "They make your cooking taste better."
"Is that so?" His fingers trace patterns on my hip. "I thought my cooking was already perfect."
"Fishing for compliments now?"
"Maybe." I feel him take a step away, and I already miss his warmth. "Is it working?"
I turn to face him, but my breath catches. Nerio is down on one knee, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. His usual mask of control has slipped, revealing something raw and vulnerable in those storm-gray eyes.
"Nerio…"
"Yes, little dove?"
I press my hands to my mouth as I take him in. "What are you doing?"
"Jazz." His voice is rough with emotion. "There's so much I've wanted to tell you for so long. I've been obsessed with you since the first second I saw you. I knew you were different. And I had to have you."
My heart hammers against my ribs as he pulls out a black velvet box. "Nerio..."
"Let me finish, little dove." He opens the box, revealing a stunning oval diamond set in platinum, smaller diamonds cascading down the band like falling stars. "I've never said these words before, to anyone. But I love you, Jasmine Holliday. Your strength, your fire, the way you care for everyone around you 00 even when they don't deserve it. Especially me."
Tears blur my vision as his free hand takes mine. The city lights sparkle behind him, but all I can focus on is the intensity in his gaze.
"I want to give you everything — my name, my protection, my heart. Will you marry me?"
I never thought I would want to get married. Never thought I’d want to be tied to someone else after Leo – who still haunts me long after his death. But Nerio has shown me that I have nothing to fear in him, except a life without him in it.
"Yes." The word tumbles out before he's even finished speaking. "Yes, you impossible man."
His hands shake slightly as he slides the ring onto my finger - the first time I've ever seen him anything less than perfectly controlled. Then he's standing, pulling me into a kiss that feels like coming home.
"I love you too," I whisper against his lips. "Even when you drive me crazy."
He laughs, pressing his forehead to mine. "That's what makes it interesting."