CHAPTER 1
Present
21 years old
Manhattan,New York City
SMOOTH JAZZ MUSIC FLOODED OUT of the club’s speakers. I stood behind the bar, wiping freshly washed glasses and silently judging tonight’s guests.
Only two men sat at the bar, each drinking in solitude, while the rest occupied armchairs and booths. Some played chess, others discussed business, and every single one had a tumbler of alcohol they either sipped on from time to time or threw back like there was no tomorrow.
The space was dimly lit; enough for a gloomy atmosphere, yet not too much it became exhausting to remain awake. Cigar smoke formed little clouds around the club and the smell of Italian leather and expensive cologne filled the air.
Somecucarachain a suit signaled over one of the waitresses. Despite his clothes being custom-made, he looked like a little boy in his father’s blazer – terrified, clueless, and lost – while still managing to appear ten years older than his actual age of thirty-something. As if hewasn’t embarrassing enough, he leaned in to whisper in the worker’s ear – probably ordering another drink.
He was a useless idiot who lacked anything society required. A waste of life. Born rich, never having to work a day in his life. He was even too pathetic to appreciate his wealth: the type who downed his alcohol, and probably fucked his money while snorting his memories away.
I watched as an oily smile spread across his face – at what I assumed was a joke another man at his table told. His eyes were red, his pupils large and black, yet only one word came to mind when our gazes happened to meet for a moment.
Empty.
I continued with my tasks for the night, the detailed gold clock on the wall reading almost one in the morning. One more hour and I could go home.
My eyes drifted to the logo on the back of a booth;Renato. New York City’s exclusive club, only for the most elite multi-millionaires and billionaires.
At twenty-one years old, this was my only job; bartending and waitressing. And it came with a nice enough paycheck. But I didn’t get paid that much for making and serving drinks. I got paid to keep my mouth shut about who andwhatwent in and out of this place. The world saw Renato as just some elitist private club. They didn’t see what I saw; snorting, racks of cash, escorts, empty souls.
Tips weren’t bad either. Just this year, only one of the club members’ tips covered my rent for months – until he went to prison for embezzlement or fraud, or something like that.
I never even sniffed his dick.
“Okay, don’t look now,” Natalia leaned in, brushing a strand of caramel-blonde hair from her soft brown eyes. “But there’s a ridiculously hot guy staring at you…”
Without hesitation, I abruptly turned my head; indifferent to being obvious. I quickly searched the crowd but didn’t see who she was referring to.
We were in the VIP section of a nightclub, sitting at one of the booths with other people. A close friend, Francesca DeMone, who was with us at the table, was the owner. Her father was Boss of one of the five families of New York; a well-known businessman in the underworld. She took after him; at twenty-four, she owned half of New York.
Tonight was the big opening. The place was packed only with important guests, and there was not a single person not enjoying themselves.
I turned my head back to Natalia. “Who?”
She sighed before subtly pointing somewhere behind me. I followed her direction and sure enough, there was a ridiculously attractive man looking straight at me.
Dark hair. Black suit. Tattoos.
A bored expression coasted his features.
He was at the same table as Francesca’s older brother – Gìovanni DeMone, future Don of the five families. That couldn’t mean anything good.
Almost as if he hadn’t realized I was looking back at him, a lazy smirk upturned his lips before he winked at me and drank from his tumbler.
Asshole.
With my expression still uninterested, I turned back to my table. I wasn’t going to react. The idea of emotion repulsed me, let alone expressing it voluntarily.
“And…He’s coming over.” Natalia smirked into her glass, taking a sip.
“And…I’m going to the bathroom.”