DAMON’S POV
I stepped into the club and the smell of smoke, alcohol, and something far worse hit me immediately.
Neon lights bounced off the polished floors, glinting off expensive watches and champagne glasses. Some of the strippers were dressed, some weren’t.
A fight broke out near the bar—a man threw a punch, and another retaliated with a bottle. Then laughter and screams collided into one as they cheered on the fight.
I walked past them to the private area where the real danger was.
Rocco Bellini.
The guards opened the door and I stepped into a room reserved for men who never waited in lines and never answered to anyone. Some of the most powerful Italian mafia dons.
At the center sat Rocco Bellini.
He leaned back in his chair, his suit jacket open, a gold chain visible agai
