Nico
The low roar of a motorcycle cut through the city noise outside Luxe, a sound I’d come to recognize as intimately as my own heartbeat.
Dominic.
Since the opening, Luxe had become more than a club. It was a front, an alibi, a fortress. My father still thought of it as a vanity project—something flashy to keep us occupied while he handled “real business.” That ignorance was intentional. Dominic and I had made this place ours. Headquarters. Neutral ground where money flowed clean on the surface and blood stayed hidden beneath it.
I stood from my chair and crossed to the window, hands clasped behind my back.
Dominic rolled to a stop below, his bike purring like a restrained predator. He wore black—of course he did. Leather jacket, dark jeans, boots worn soft with use. His helmet refl
