Chapter 4
ALESSIO
Seven Years Later
The bass line thrums through my chest like a second heartbeat.
I’ve been managing this strip club for seven years, and the sound still gets to me. Not in a sentimental way, but in the way that tells me business is good. Tonight’s theme is Leather and Lace, which sounds cheesy as hell but draws crowds like honey draws flies.
This is Vegas. Tacky sells.
On stage, two of my top earners work their magic. The brunette’s wrapped in black leather that makes her look like every man’s fantasy of danger, while the blonde glides around her pole in white lace that screams innocence.
Dark and light. Sin and innocence. It’s Vegas theater at its finest—and complete bullshit, of course.
They’re both trouble, which is exactly the point.
I lean back in my corner booth, nursing an expensive scotch while I survey the club.
It’s the same top-shelf stuff I drank when I ran the casino.
The first thing I did when I took over this place was upgrade the liquor selection, even though I’m probably the only one here with taste expensive enough to appreciate it.
From here, I can see everything, including the bar where my bartenders are slinging overpriced drinks, the private rooms where the real money gets made, and every jackass who thinks he can cause problems in my club.
Most people assume I run this place because I’m some kind of perverted bastard who gets off on watching half-naked women dance. They’re not entirely wrong. I appreciate the view when the mood strikes, but I don’t sleep with any of my employees. That’s just bad business.
I was surprised when my Uncle Lorenzo asked if I wanted to manage this club instead of the casino, but I’ve come to prefer it. Three dozen employees instead of hundreds. Clear rules. Clean business, relatively speaking. I look out for my people and run a tight ship.
Matteo slides into the booth across from me like a shadow made flesh.
The man’s built like a linebacker and twice as mean, which makes him one of our best enforcers.
Ink covers both arms, and his buzz cut makes his skull look like a weapon.
He doesn’t even glance at the stage. When Matteo’s on business, nothing else exists.
“Lewis is five minutes out,” he says, cutting straight to the point.
I nod and take another sip of scotch. Lewis is what you’d call an independent contractor—a drug dealer who works our streets but isn’t officially part of the family.
Sometimes these bottom-feeders hear things that never make it up the chain to us.
Tonight, hopefully, he’s got answers about the new shit that’s been killing people in our territory.
“Lorenzo’s back from Mexico,” I tell Matteo.
My uncle, the don of the Andretti family, got married a few months ago to a cartel leader’s daughter, and he’s been playing diplomat with his new in-laws ever since, solidifying the alliance that’s supposed to give us the muscle we need in our war against the Bratva.
Time to crush those Russian bastards once and for all.
“Good timing. The hotel renovation’s nearly done.” Matteo’s referring to our legitimate front, a four-star hotel that makes Lorenzo look like a respectable businessman when the cameras are rolling.
The club door opens, and I spot our guy immediately. Lewis looks exactly like what he is: a twitchy junkie who deals to pay for his own habit. His hands shake as he weaves through the tables, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
As long as he’s not stealing from us, he can pickle his brain however he wants.
He drops into the chair next to Matteo and immediately starts fishing around in his jacket pockets. The man can’t sit still for two seconds without looking like he’s having some kind of seizure.
“There it is,” Lewis says, producing a small baggie filled with white powder and sliding it across the table.
I pick up the baggie and examine it. Lightning, they’re calling it. Supposed to be a new kind of ecstasy, but four people have died from this shit in the past month. Their bodies overheated until their organs shut down.
Not the kind of high most people are looking for.
“Where’d you get it?” Matteo’s voice is hard.
Lewis drums his fingers against the table. “College kid at some club. That’s how most of it moves. Parties, clubs, young crowd.”
“Yeah, but who’s dealing?” I lean forward, letting an edge creep into my voice.
The junkie shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Changes hands too fast to track, you know? Everyone’s selling to everyone.”
Christ. This is why I hate working with bottom-feeders. They see the trees but miss the forest every damn time.
I wave Lewis off, and he scrambles away like his chair’s on fire. I stare at the baggie. Four people dead from this shit already.
“Take this to The Chemist,” I tell Matteo, sliding the drugs across to him. “I want to know exactly what cocktail some asshole is cooking up.”
Matteo pockets the baggie and disappears into the crowd. I’m alone again, watching Cherry take the stage. She’s one of my most popular girls, and tonight she’s wearing a leather number that shows why she draws such crowds. She knows how to work a room, I’ll give her that.
But my mind’s not on the show.
Someone’s manufacturing death in our territory, and if the cops start paying attention to the body count, it’s going to complicate all our lives. I need to find the source, which means I need someone who can blend in with the college crowd.
At thirty-five, I’d stick out like a sore thumb at some freshman kegger.
I scan the room until I spot Joey Barone laughing with some of the other soldiers near the bar. Twenty-two years old, born into this life just like me. His father’s an enforcer, which means the kid’s got something to prove.
Perfect.
I catch his eye and gesture him over. He’s all business by the time he reaches my table, the laughter gone from his face.
“What can I do for you, boss?”
I explain the Lightning situation, what little I know anyway. Joey listens intently, nodding at all the right places. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“I need you to get close to that scene,” I tell him. “University parties, clubs, wherever these kids are getting high. Make friends. Find someone who knows something. I want the source, but I’ll settle for a dealer I can squeeze information out of.”
“You got it.” Joey’s practically vibrating with excitement. This is his chance to prove he belongs in this family because of what he can do, not just because of who his father is.
I know the feeling.
“Start tomorrow. Check in with me every few days.”
He doesn’t even go back to his friends. Just heads straight for the door, probably already planning his strategy. Good. That’s the kind of initiative I like to see.
I settle back into my booth and take another sip of scotch, letting the burn ground me while I think through what comes next.
Lightning is a problem, but problems can be solved.
We’re in a stronger position now than we’ve been in months. Lorenzo’s alliance with the cartel has given us extra muscle. I can see Miguel Cardenas’s men scattered throughout my club tonight, and their presence on our streets has the Bratva running scared.
Or maybe they’ve just changed tactics.
I wouldn’t put it past those Russian pricks to try poisoning our territory from the inside. If they’re behind Lightning, I’ll find out. And when I do, there’s going to be hell to pay.
My cousin Dario assigned me this mess as he took on more responsibility in preparation for leading the family one day. I’m not going to let him down.
The stage lights dim as Cherry finishes her set, and the crowd erupts in appreciation. Money rains down like confetti, and I allow myself a small smile.
Business is good. The family is strong.
Which means whoever thought they could slip poison into my city just signed their own death warrant.