Chapter Sixteen
Nico
The bass hits me in the chest the second I step through the main doors.
This place is one of the nicer ones. Not a sticky-floor, neon-sign kind of club. Dark velvet. Low gold light. Clean lines. Expensive bottles behind the bar that nobody actually buys unless they want to be seen buying them.
It’s still loud. It’s still sweaty. It’s still a job.
Antonio is a half-step behind me, moving slower than he wants to admit. He’s dressed like himself—sharp but relaxed. But there’s a carefulness to him now, an extra beat before he turns, the way his hand brushes his side as if he’s checking that everything is still where it should be.
He wanted an excuse to get out of the house. I’m only here because I have to be.
I don’t mind managing the clubs. I even like it sometimes. But visiting the clubs during the busy hours is something I have to be in the mood for. And I am definitely not this week.
Not when I’ve spent the whole week on edge because of Erica and her “yes, sirs.” Looking at her ass as she walks away in those skirts she wears. Not when I know exactly what her tits feel like in my hands.
Not when I just got her email request for days off for her dad’s surgery—all next week.
And especially not when I know she still has a major breakdown coming, and she won’t even be in the office so I can monitor her.
It has me on edge and irritable.
But here I am.
We do a lap. Quick checks. Eyes on security. Eyes on the bar. Eyes on management. Money is moving. People are smiling. Nothing is on fire.
Good.
Antonio leans in close enough that I can hear him. “You look thrilled.”
“I’m glowing,” I say.
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Come on. VIP. I want to see who’s back there tonight.”
I gesture toward the hall, and we slip past the rope.
The VIP rooms are quieter, which is a relief, but the privacy invites other expectations. The bass is muffled, the air is colder, and the people back here are the kind who think privacy means permission. Men with watches that cost more than most cars. Women in dresses that are barely there.
Some of them are guests.
Some of them work.
They all look at us when we walk in.
It’s automatic.
Antonio drops into a seat with a careful exhale and tries to make it look like nothing. I take the chair across from him, back to the wall. Habit. I scan corners. Doors. Faces.
One of the women drifts closer like she’s been waiting.
I know her.
Everyone knows her.
And she usually knows to steer clear of me.
Alana is one of the girls who “works” the club and pays us a cut for the privilege. She’s good at it. Smart enough not to cause problems. Pretty enough that men hand her money with a smile and walk away satisfied.
Tonight, she’s in black lace and heels that make her legs look endless. Hair glossy. Mouth red. Eyes trained on me like it’s already been decided.
There’s no denying she’s gorgeous and very good at her job.
She slides onto the edge of the seat beside me without asking.
Her thigh presses against mine.
Her perfume is sweet and sharp.
“Nico,” she purrs. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Didn’t know I needed to inform you,” I say coolly.
She laughs softly, like that’s adorable. Her hand lands on my thigh.
Antonio watches over the rim of his glass, amusement in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word.
I don’t move away at first.
Not because I want her there.
Because I don’t want a scene in my own club.
“Well, now that you’re here…” Alana bites her lip seductively.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
Her fingers trail up and down slowly. “You don’t look fine.”
I turn my head just enough to meet her eyes.
Flat. Controlled.
She doesn’t take the hint. Of course she doesn’t. She’s built a living on men who say no with their mouths and yes with everything else.
She leans in closer. “Come on,” she whispers. “I’ll take you somewhere private.”
“I’m already in a private room,” I say.
She smiles like I’m flirting.
Antonio shifts, hand brushing his side again, and I see him wince before he hides it. He looks away, jaw tight, like he’s annoyed with his own body for betraying him.
Alana’s hand slides up my thigh.
I catch her wrist.
Not hard.
Just firm enough.
Her smile falters for half a second, then she puts it back on.
“You’re hurting my feelings,” she says.
“I don’t care,” I answer.
Her eyes narrow, but she keeps her voice sweet. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is you’re not listening.”
She tilts her head. “Maybe you just need convincing.”
I remove her hand from my leg and release her wrist.
She laughs again, lower this time. “You never used to be so serious.”
“You’re thinking of someone else,” I say, dry.
Her gaze flicks over my mouth, my throat, like she’s imagining what she can get away with anyway. She puts her hand on my chest.
I feel Antonio’s stare now. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
I lean forward a fraction, voice dropping. “Walk away,” I say slowly.
She holds my gaze.
Then she smirks. “What, you don’t want to pay?”
That does it.
Something cold slides into place behind my ribs.
I lean back, slow, and let my eyes cut through her. “You know I don’t pay for it.”
Her brows lift like she’s entertained. Like I just told her a joke.
“Really?” she says, dragging the word out. “Well, I heard you do now.”
My jaw tightens.
Antonio’s posture changes across from me, the humor gone. His attention sharpens.
I lower my voice and speak dangerously soft. “And what the hell does that mean?” Alana is smart enough to know she pushed me too far. But, unfortunately, not smart enough to get herself out of it.
She licks her lips, eyes bright. “Rumor has it you paid for some blonde whore the other night at Ralphie’s auction.”
Her voice dies away by the end, and she swallows, looking between Antonio and me quickly.
I don’t move, but everything in me locks in on her.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, real quiet. “Say that again.”
Alana’s throat bobs. She tries to smile like she can laugh her way out of it, but her eyes are wild with panic. “I’m just saying what people are saying,” she whispers. “That you went to Ralphie’s on Friday and dropped a ton of dough for some virgin, and—”
Antonio’s voice cuts in, low and hard. “Alana.” One word. A warning. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. She flinches.
I keep my eyes on her. “Who told you that?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She swallows again, hands lifting like she’s innocent. “I don’t know, okay? It’s just… it’s talk. The girls talk. The guys talk. Everybody talks.”
I reach up to take her jaw, very gently, and bring her face real close to mine. If a stranger were to see us, they might mistake us for lovers. “Not you. Not anymore.”
Alana’s lips part. Her eyes shine with panic now, but she still tries. “Nico, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care what you meant,” I say quietly. “You’re done for the night. Go. And if I hear anything else about this again from your direction, you don’t step foot in any of our buildings or streets again.”
I release her jaw, and she scrambles off the seat like it’s on fire. She doesn’t argue. No more smirk. No more performance. She doesn’t try to flirt her way back into my good graces. She just nods once, fast, and backs away with her hands half raised, eyes darting between Antonio and me.
Then she turns and slips out of the VIP room, heels quiet on the carpet, disappearing through the door like she was never here.
Antonio watches the door until it shuts. When he looks back at me, the humor is gone.
“So,” he says. He shifts in his seat, and the movement costs him; I see it in the small hitch of his breath, the way his hand goes to his side without him thinking. He ignores it and tips his chin at me. “You want to tell me why my nephew is getting his gossip from a prostitute in our VIP room?”
I stare at the empty spot on the couch where she was sitting, and I make my hands relax on my knees because I can feel the urge to break something humming under my skin.
Erica’s face flashes in my head—her eyes too bright, her voice too careful, the way she said Mr. Conti like it was a wall she could hide behind.
“It’s a long story,” I say finally, quietly. “And one that shouldn’t be going around.” I lift my gaze to Antonio. “It doesn’t belong with this crowd.”
I flick my gaze around at all the money-hungry, attention-seekers.
Antonio follows my gaze like he’s cataloging the room the way I do—faces, intentions, what they’ll repeat the second they’re out of earshot.
He gives a small, tired exhale and shifts again like he’s trying to find a position that doesn’t pull.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says and eases out of his seat.
I fight the urge to help him because he wouldn’t want it. Once he’s up, we make our way out of the VIP room and, as quickly as we can manage in this crowd, get outside and into my car.
Once we’ve driven off and left all of that behind, I exhale.
“I don’t know how you thrive in crowds like that,” I tell Antonio.
“I like the energy,” he says. “I don’t know how you spend so much time alone.”
“I like the energy,” I say.
We’re silent for a moment before I feel him look at me.
“So, it’s true then,” he says. “You went to Ralphie’s and bought a girl off a stage.”
“I did,” I admit. “But not the way they’re saying it.” My throat tightens around the next part. “She’s not one of them. She never should’ve been there.”
Quickly, I tell him the whole story.
After I’m done, Antonio is silent, mulling it over.
“Okay,” he says finally.
“That’s all you’ve got to say about it? Okay?” I say.
“Obviously, it’s out. People saw you there, now it’s just about putting out the story we want out there,” he says, shifting in his seat. “What does Luca think?”
“He thinks I should keep fucking her so people think it was some sort of kinky game,” I say, my tone dry.
“Hm,” Antonio says, thoughtfully.
“Not you too,” I say.
“It could work,” he says. “I know you keep your sex life private, but it’s not like you’ve got to go around saying it. We whisper in some ears.”
“And what if those whispers get back to Erica?” I ask, irritated. “Despite everything, she’s a nice, good person and has nothing to do with all of this shit.”
“How would they get back to her?” Antonio asks. “It’s not like she frequents our clubs.”
At the red light, I turn and give Antonio a deadpan look.
“What?” he asks, a bit whiny.
“She’s my assistant, genius. She’s going to be frequenting our clubs. All of them. It’s literally her job now.”
Antonio’s face falls. “Oh.” Then he perks up because you can’t keep Antonio down long. “Well, it’s still the best plan so far. Better kinky than whore, right?”
“What fucking choices,” I mumble.
Antonio laughs as we take off again.