Page 18 of Souls and Sorrows

Never mind that there could be prying eyes and ears, ready to absorb company and client secrets. When you view yourself as untouchable, the distant chatter doesn’t really matter.

But I know better. I’ve seen more prestigious men fall.

“Nonsense. You might not be a people person on the surface, Cassius, but you know how to turn it on when you need to,” he says.

Hazard of the job, unfortunately.Playing nice with others is one of the few ways I’m able to get clients to open up upon introduction, so we don’t waste time leaving out details and potentially fucking up trials or cases.

Jay waves a hand at the bartender, a tall woman with gauged ears, and leans his elbows on the metal counter. “So, what do you think of Anteros, my boy?”

I steal a quick look around the club with its pulsing red lights and the circular stage directly in the center of the floor. It looks like most other nightclubs in the city, if not smaller and more intimate. Professional dancers sit in the laps of wealthy men—men who Iknowhave wives waiting for them at home, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find them here.

My father was a member, back in his day.

“I’m not sure I’ve been here long enough to pass judgment,” I say, sipping my beer just for something to do.

He chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Ah, but that’s what I’ve always loved most about you. Ten seconds into any meeting, and you can discern the sharks from the clownfish.”

“Is that what you brought me here for?” I push the beer back, looking out at the club patrons. “This your metaphorical sea tonight?”

“The entire world is the sea, Primrose. Full of undiscovered territories…” He pauses, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as the red lights morph into flashing blues and greens. They flicker across the stage, highlighting the platform as a woman is led out onto it. “And deep, dark secrets.”

“I do love how cryptic you’re being.” Rolling my eyes, I turn on the stool and lean my weight on the bar, matching Jay’s stance as he spins around.

“Ever heard of the Barbieris?” he asks, keeping his gaze on the stage. “Italian Mafia subfamily who pretty much silently runs the East Coast because of their political connections.”

“Don’t insult me,” I tell him.

My capstone thesis in undergrad was on the Mafia and their collective effects on climate change, and then there was always my own father’s ties to it. Thomas Primrose had a long history of buying up prime real estate and selling it to the mob, allowing them land monopolies in major sections of the state.

With them in that much control, imposing protection and infiltrating the government and law enforcement were easy.

My father might have eventually come to regret those ties, but he learned pretty quickly how resistant the Mafia was to people rescinding their word.

After his death, I made sure they knew I was nothing like that man. That if I promised them something—or someone—I’d deliver.

The woman onstage shakes bright red hair free from her ponytail and discards the sheer cover-up draped around her shoulders. A speaker crackles at the far corner of the club, and the music softens, followed by the abrasive tone of feedback piercing the room.

“Benvenuti nella notte infernale,” the man onstage says, making a sweeping gesture at the crowd with his free arm. “Our most favored members-only tradition. I hope you’ve come with your wallets stuffed because the talent backstage is some of the best I’ve seen in ages. We’ve got the sweet, the innocent, and the downrightdirty.Everything your heart desires, and she’s all yours once your payment goes through.”

The crowd cheers, sending an eerie sensation creeping up my spine.

I shift, somehow trying to shrink into myself more, as if the members’ presence might taint my already-darkened soul. “What the hell is going on, Cupid?”

“The Barbieris have their greedy little hands in everything these days, it seems. Even these auctions, which used to be cheaper to enter, by the way.” Reaching into the inside of his sports coat, Jay pulls out two shiny gold tickets, handing me one.

Turning it over, I read the number printed on the front along with the fine print:All sales are final.

“What is this? What are we buying?” I don’t know why I ask—maybe some sort of courtesy, giving Jay the opportunity to lie and say he didn’t bring me to a goddamn flesh auction.

Taking the cocktail that the bartender slides over, he lifts a shoulder, shrugging as the woman onstage begins her slinky little routine. Every eye in the club is glued to the shimmering pink teddy she has on, and she gyrates her hips slowly, grinding against the railing.

Raucous cheers erupt among the men surrounding her, making me flinch from their volume. It’s as if they’ve never been in the same room as an uninhibited woman and they don’t know how to control themselves otherwise.

Music kicks back up, a heavy bass note giving her a rhythm to follow, and after a few minutes, the man with the microphone returns.

He reaches out, grabbing the woman by the back of her head, and yanks her into his side. The crowd settles, the alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams perhaps diluted enough now for them to get a grip, but still, there’s a primal edge pulsing through the air.

These men aren’t unlike the ones I see in the courtroom; they’re bloodthirsty and single-minded, present for exactly one thing tonight.

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