Page 167 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Bruno nods, nodding toward Enrico sitting in the backseat. “We’re ready.”

I push open the door and step onto the pavement, sliding my key and a fifty-dollar bill into the valet’s hand.

The valet nods and slides into the front seat, maneuvering it into an empty spot with all of the other high-roller cars — Maseratis, Lambos, Ferraris, and Bugattis.

There’s a shit ton of money here tonight, and plenty more for us to steal.

We just need total control of this place.

And that’s only the beginning.

Good God, the amount of cash we can funnel through this place and its sister clubs is staggering. And once I close the deal, I’m gonna be the one to run the whole operation. At least, that’s my plan.

How can they deny me if I’m the one who lays claim to it?

The shit with the cartel will fizzle out, and they can go and screw themselves if they don’t like my decision to opt out of their proposed partnership.

If I can get my hands on this goldmine, we won’t need the Becerra Cartel.

They, like everyone else here in Sin City, will needus.

It’s a very good position to be in.

I stare at the entrance of the Sapphire Lounge, my guys flanking me on each side. I take a deep breath. Dry desert air mixed with sex and wanton lust. It’s an intoxicating scent, one that seems to hang low and heavy over the very long line of anxious patron hopefuls looping around the corner.

It’s hard to believe that the guy running this place has transformed it into the hottest club in the city. It’s nestled at the far end of the Vegas strip, a little off the beaten path and in a location that gives it an exclusive allure. It’s all glamour with its sleek architecture, rich foliage, and nondescript signage.

You don’t need a sign to tell you you’re here.

The who’s who of Vegas make it damn clear that you’re in the ranks of the VIPs once you step through the signature double doors.

He who controls the Sapphire Lounge controls Las Vegas nightlife, especially with the sister lounges scattered around the city — Platinum, Ruby Red, and Emerald. This cluster of nightclubs makes more money in a given night than all of the others in Vegas put together for a whole week. Hottest bartenders and waitresses, sexiest dancers, tightest pussies.

There’s nothing off limits at these places.

And that’s why they ended up on our radar.

The future of our grand plan to command every last corner of Las Vegas lies just beyond those double doors.

I need to make this goddamn deal!

I walk right up to one of the security guys manning the door. “Sergio Villani, here to see Nate Torres.”

He looks at me, and suddenly the typical bouncer dickhead expression disappears from his face. “Mr. Villani,” he says. He pulls out his phone. “Mr. Torres mentioned you’d be joining us tonight. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I give him a swift nod and he ushers us into a roped-off area that’s just beyond the main doors. It’s a small lounge, empty with the exception of a bar.

“Hey,” I say to the bouncer. “We’re actually gonna take a walk around the main floor. He can find us out there.”

The bouncer nods and points us in the direction of the main area. Once he disappears, I turn to Bruno and Enrico.

“I’m going to take a lap. I wanna check a few things out. Go grab a drink but keep your hands to yourself.” The corners of my lips curl upward. “Show some self-control for once, yeah?”

Bruno snickers and he and Enrico head toward one of the bars, leaving me alone to take in the scene.

Pulsating music vibrates the floor under my feet, and on either side of me are darkened rooms brimming with bodies — drunk, high, and writhing against each other. But the room I’m in, the center room, doesn’t have a dance floor. It looks as if it is made entirely of glass. All of the ceiling beams, the columns, the bar — everything has a glossy sheen that glows blue under the flashing ceiling lights. There are white leather couches lining the perimeter of the room that take on a purple hue under the blacklights. The space is packed with men and women who came for the erotic entertainment, the line for the bar at least ten people deep.

And they’re all drooling at the people working behind the bar in the meantime.

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