Page 16 of His Ruthless Obsession

I pull out my phone, typing quick notes. "Names?"

"Only caught one - Ace, they call him. Built like a tank, full sleeve tattoos."

"Time?"

"Around midnight. They're paying off the night supervisor to clear the dock."

The pieces click into place. Young Luca thinks he can muscle in before his dad's even in the ground. Time to teach him about Chicago hospitality.

"Good work." I slide an envelope across the console. "Keep your ears open, especially about these New York guys. And Carlo? You didn't hear this from me, but stay away from the port next Tuesday."

He nods, pocketing the cash before climbing back in his car. I wait until he's gone before making two calls – one to my crew chief to prep for a welcoming party, another to my contact at the port. Time to set up a proper Chicago reception for Luca's new friends.

After I'm done, I guide the BMW through familiar streets, heading back to the Vault. The evening air carries a hint of autumn, reminding me of last night - Jazz's perfume filling my car, her lips inches from mine.

She was going to give in to me. I saw it all over her face. She was leaning in, cupping my jaw, and as much as I love the thrill of the chase, I wanted her sweet, sweet surrender. I wanted her to kiss me so she couldn't deny how much she wanted it.

And then my fucking phone rang because my cousin has the worst mother fucking timing. Yeah, I'm still pretty pissed about that.

I grip the wheel tighter, recalling how I'd watched her all night at the club. The way she commanded attention, working the room in that black dress that hugged every curve. How she'd lean over the bar to talk with regulars, laugh with the staff, handle any issue that came up with effortless grace.

Just then my phone buzzes — text from my mechanic confirming he'd fixed her car this morning. Good. I like taking care of problems before they become issues, especially where Jazz is concerned.

I park behind the Vault, still caught up in the memory of her fingers brushing along my chest, so featherlight and perfect that all I could think was what will they feel like wrapped around my cock. My hand was no replacement for hers last night no matter how many times I've tried to soothe this ache in my balls.

Running the Buetis' interests should be my focus right now, especially with the Mantione situation. Instead, I'm replaying every interaction with my club manager, analyzing each loaded glance and sharp comeback. The chase is intoxicating - more than any whiskey in my private stock.

"Getting soft, Bueti," I mutter, but there's no heat behind it.

Jazz is a distraction I crave. And soon I am going to have to give into this addiction because staying away from her is driving me insane.

I step into the Vault, the familiar bass thrum vibrating through my shoes. The usual Thursday crowd fills the space — suits unwinding after work, regulars at the bar, couples hidden in shadowy booths.

My gaze finds Jazz immediately. She's behind the bar, spine straight, shoulders tense. A drunk in an ill-fitting suit leans over the polished surface, invading her space.

"Come on, beautiful. One drink with me." His words slur together. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Sir, I've already explained I'm working." Jazz's voice carries that edge I recognize — the one that says she's reaching her limit. "Perhaps you'd like to close out your tab?"

"Don't be like that." He reaches for her wrist. "I'm a good tipper."

I cross the floor in four strides. My hand clamps down on his shoulder, fingers digging into pressure points. "Remove your hand."

He twists, face flushed. "Who the fuck-"

"Now." I increase the pressure until he releases Jazz with a grunt.

"We were just talking," he sputters, trying to shrug me off.

I spin him around, keeping my voice low. "You're done talking. You're done drinking. You're done being in my club."

"Your club?" His eyes widen with recognition.

"Leo." I snap my fingers and my bouncer appears. In reality, I'd like to take this guy downstairs and show him just how little I care for his hand by cutting it off, but my desire for Jazz outweighs my need for violence. He's lucky really. "Show our friend out. Make sure he understands he's not welcome back."

Leo grabs the drunk's arm. "This way, sir."

"I didn't mean any-" His protests fade as Leo escorts him toward the door.

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