Chapter 15
Felix
The neon lights buzzed like a memory I didn’t want to revisit.
I pushed through the entrance of the strip club I owned, the scent of alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume hitting me like it always had.
Used to be I’d spend hours here, watching, calculating, enjoying the pulse of the place, but not anymore.
The music thumped in my chest, rhythmic and hypnotic, but it didn’t reach me.
The club was still the same—flashy, loud, full of movement—but I wasn’t.
I had stopped caring, stopped feeling the thrill that used to come with it.
This scene, these people, these women dancing under the lights, had all lost its pull.
Within moments, a girl who had worked here for years was pressed up against me like she always had when she was performing for someone she thought she knew. Her hands slid over my chest, hips nudging against mine, her breath warm and perfumed.
“Felix,” she pouted. “Where have you been?”
The old thrill that used to come with this—fucking whatever girl I wanted in the back office—was gone. I had fucked every single one of them. The thought didn’t thrill me the way it used to. It was ownership, control, familiarity. Nothing more. They don’t excite me anymore. None of this does.
I let her hands linger for a moment, letting her think she had me, before I stepped back slightly, just enough to remind her she didn’t. “Been busy with business.”
She leaned in, eyes flashing with practiced seduction. “It’s not the same without you. Cosimo is fun, but…”
I had left my cousin in charge to run things here. I was sure he had gone through the girls even faster than I had. Doesn’t matter, I thought, letting the words hang in my mind. They’re all interchangeable. All inventory.
Her attempt at seduction, the practiced lean, the whisper in my ear—it should have sparked something. But it didn’t.
“Get to work,” I said, walking away from her and towards the back office.
The hallway was quieter, the pulsing music fading behind me, but the faint sounds of movement and muffled noises grew louder as I approached the office. I pushed the door open and froze.
A girl I didn’t recognize was on her knees, sucking my cousin’s dick. She looked up at me, face flushed with both arousal and fear. She knew who I was. Everyone did.
"Get out," I said to the girl. Even though it was only two words it carried the weight of authority, of consequences waiting to land.
She scrambled for her clothes, eyes wide, flushed with both shame and desire, and fled the room in a whirlwind of confusion and fear.
Cosimo remained, frozen, too aware of exactly who I was and what I represented. I stepped closer, letting the silence stretch, letting him feel the weight of my presence like a physical force pressing down on him.
“Buckle your fucking belt so we can get to work,” I snapped at him.
He hesitated, eyes wide, fumbling slightly as he obeyed. I wouldn’t discipline him for having sex on the job; that would just make me a hypocrite.
I strode past him toward the desk and began pulling stacks of paper copies of invoices from the filing cabinet. Each sheet was a reminder of the work that actually mattered—the business side of the club, the numbers that ran everything, the control I wielded quietly but absolutely.
I tossed a stack of invoices toward him, eyes narrowing. “Go through these carefully,” I said, voice low, deliberate. “Check every one over $5,000. Make sure there’s nothing fraudulent. Any slip-ups, any missing numbers, any funny business—and you’ll answer to me.”
Cosimo caught the papers with ease, his shoulders squared confidently. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Everything’s in order. You know me—I don’t miss a thing.”
I leaned over the desk, scanning a few myself, letting him feel my presence like a shadow pressing down on him. I could see the way his eyes flicked over certain invoices, sharp, calculating. He thinks he’s clever. He was still wrong.
“Really? I have some accounting records that say otherwise.”
“Records can be misleading,” he said, leaning back slightly. “You know how messy this place gets. Probably just a clerical error, or a a bartender skimming money.”
I let the words hang in the air, letting him feel my scrutiny, letting him know I didn’t buy it for a second. He was calm, confident, but he knew I could see right through the deflection.
“Fine,” I said, my words laced with a sharp bite. “Then get to the bottom of it. Leave no stone unturned. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure it’s fixed—and fast.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Cosimo responded. “How are things over at the brownstone?”
“Fine.” My tone was clipped, not wanting to let Cosimo know anymore than he needed to.
“That maid you have, Tessa,” Cosimo said, voice casual, leaning back slightly. “She’s super hot. Great pick up.”
My hand clenched into a fist at my side, every muscle coiling. “Don’t,” I said, voice low and deadly, cutting him off before he could finish another word.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t talk about her. Don’t say things about her like you own her,” I said, stepping closer, letting the air between us tighten like a wire. “She’s mine. Forget that, and you’ll pay.”
“…Got it,” he said finally, voice even, but with a trace of deference. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
I didn’t respond, letting the silence underline the weight of my words. He knew I meant every one of them.
The papers on the desk waited, the club hummed faintly in the background, and the rules—my rules—hung in the air, unbroken.
I turned back to the invoices, letting Cosimo settle into the uncomfortable knowledge that nothing here was his to take lightly. And in that quiet, controlled dominance, the room felt entirely mine.