The Mafia Vampire's Mistress

Chapter 10: A Delectable Discussion, Pt. 2

Sebastian

He nods, already moving from the booth and to the front of the line, speaking with the two bodyguards and reviewing the list to see who has requested a meeting.

I may have been known as the head of our family and the face of the operations, but the truth was I did not make any decisions without my two oldest and most loyal friends. The three of us have been together so long, have seen each other through countless tragedies and suffering, and have built an unbreakable bond of trust not often seen in the dark world of crime and supernatural creatures in which we dwell.

Without having to say a word, I know that Charles will keep Layla occupied beside me without raising any suspicion. I know that Otis will be selective about who is permitted to meet with me tonight, choosing the ones that will be both brief and will not expose Layla to any of our more…unsavory…dealings.

Otis returns, one of his large hands resting on a thin, seedy-looking man’s neck. While Otis’ body language remains relaxed, the man’s is tense, the whites of his eyes practically glowing in the dim club light, a hat crumbled and twisting nervously in his twitchy hands.

Otis guides the man’s body into the booth, and though I know he is being as gentle as he can, the man still grimaces in pain, falling too quickly to his seat for the motion to be entirely voluntary. He immediately begins speaking, his voice a high pitched squeak that seems an octave too high for him.

It's an annoying voice, grating on my already frazzled nerves. I have no desire to listen to the drivel he is spouting, instead letting my senses drift elsewhere- specifically, to the conversation carrying on behind me, taking in the words and her addictive scent as I continue staring down the nervous man seated at the booth with us.

“We have a few open positions as a hostess that you could begin at, to help you get comfortable with working in a club environment before moving you to one of our more lucrative positions. Our waitresses can make a very good living, even on slower nights. Unless there is another position you might be interested in, like bartending?”

For a moment, she doesn’t respond. I can feel her fidgeting beside me, and it becomes clear that whatever words she is holding inside have announced their presence on her face as well as in her fidgeting.

“Don’t be too afraid to ask, darling. If there is something you’re wanting, speak up now. The worst he can do is tell you no.”

Charles’ words are just the right amount of teasing, flirtatious, and dismissive- exactly how we would speak to a woman as beautiful as Layla who had been invited to our table for a “strictly business” discussion. The twitchy man is still rambling on, taking an obnoxiously long time to make his case and get to his request. He wants money, they always want, what is it with humans and money-

“Do any of your clubs need a singer?”

I hold my finger up, cutting the man off in an instant, turning back to Layla. A singer? Charles has offered her a life changing, massive money making opportunity, and she asks if she can sing for us instead? The desire to learn more about this captivating woman is quickly becoming all-consuming. Undeniable. Unrelenting. But I could not allow myself to give in to these growing desires.

Not here, not now…

“Charles, The Service Lounge just lost their singer two days ago. Please see to it that Miss Rivers is given an audition first thing Monday morning,” I say, not even waiting long enough to see Charles stand up and leave before turning back to the man impatiently waiting, “Continue.”

Apparently, I cut him off only halfway through his spiel. It was fortunate for him, considering I had not listened to a word he said before I interrupted him, but unfortunate for me, given all I wanted was a few moments alone with the woman behind me. He blurts out his request just as Charles is returning.

“If I could just have a small loan-”

“A bank gives small loans. You would not have come here if your request was something as simple as receiving a loan of a few thousand dollars,” I choose my words carefully, aware that Layla is listening intently behind me.

“Well, it is a slightly larger amount than a bank would be willing to loan someone like me, but I can assure you that my idea is sound and will be more than profitable-”

“After a few years in operation. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be able to afford the repayments until the business became profitable. We are not in the business of allowing people to freely borrow our money and hope that one day, they’ll be able to afford to pay us back.”

“Well, of course, but I had hoped that-”

I held up my finger, silencing him again. With business dealings like this, it was vital to control every piece of the conversation, including the final solution both parties would agree on. If too many people thought they could dictate the terms of doing business with us, it would make them bold, make them willing to ask for outlandish requests that leaned heavily in their favor.

Negotiations were for banks, not us.

“You’ll receive the requested amount in your bank account via wire transfer tomorrow and a two year grace period on your repayments. In exchange, we will receive a 35% stake in the company and 35% of all profits distributed to us annually as soon as the business is profitable. In cash.”

The man’s face has grown steadily redder as I continue, a twitch beginning in his eye by the time I am done as he sputters indignities.

“35%? Cash? But-”

“If you are even one minute late with your repayments at the end of the two year grace period, we will seize 100% of all company and personal assets.”

“But it's my company, it's my idea!”

“It was. And you have shared it with me, with no prior agreement or contract in place. What’s to stop me from using my money and starting this business myself? You’ll accept the 65%, or you’ll leave my booth without another word.”

The man visibly crumbles under my command, all the fight leaving his body a sagging and defeated puddle beside me. The sight is common here, where the only people who tend to visit this club are conducting business that is better kept to rumors, whispers, and the shadows.

I nod to Otis, who grabs the man’s arm, pulling him from the booth and passing him off to our assistant before moving to grab the next person. Given a small break from talk of business, I allow myself to give into the desires raging inside me, but only just. Nothing significant, nothing abnormal enough to raise any suspicions, but just enough to satisfy the beast roaring in my chest, demanding I touch her.

I lean forward to grab my glass, casually resting my hand on her knee. I’m immediately rewarded with the sounds of her heart racing and the scent of her desire ensnaring my senses. Her presence is intoxicating, threatening the control I have worked so hard to maintain for over a century. It's puzzling and mildly infuriating to have all this work completely undone by a near total stranger, but I only find myself growing more curious.

“Charles, were we able to get Miss Rivers scheduled for Monday?”

“Yes, she’s all set. First thing Monday morning with Ms. Stevens.”

“Excellent,” I respond, looking towards the line where Otis is grabbing the next person seeking an audience with me, and begin tracing small circles with my thumb along Layla’s knee, moving inch by precious inch along her soft, smooth skin.

The action might appear to any onlookers as abstinent minded, but the moment my skin connected with hers, it was anything but. I had thought her scent and her presence were all consuming…it was nothing compared to the feel of her bare skin against mine.

It was as if every thought, every breath, every fiber in my being had been reduced to nothing more than the tips of my fingers grazing lightly against her thigh. For that brief moment, I began and ended with her.

Otis returned, manhandling a new patron of the club into the booth, this time a fat man with three strands of hair sitting atop his head, large beads of sweat soaking through his pudgy neck and the collar of his sweat-stained shirt. He began speaking, much more confidently than the previous man, but it did not matter. Nothing could hold my attention with the sound of her racing heart filling my ears, her scent clouding my mind, and her skin driving me wild.

Still, I forced myself to nod as he spoke, forced my hand to remain by her knee, denying it the untouched skin that remained hidden beneath her dangerously sexy dress. I would not allow myself to test my crumbling control, not when she had so effortlessly made me come undone.

I heard Charles attempt to engage her in conversation several times, relishing the breathy, stilted answers she gave any time my fingers traced just below the hem of her skirt, not realizing until I caught Charles smirking at me and the tail end of Otis rolling his eyes that the man had finished his pitch. A subtle shake of Otis’ head was enough to save me from asking for him to repeat himself, but I let him sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment more.

“Not interested. Otis?”

And so it went. Patron after patron, request after request, I would try my best to listen, to focus, to be the head of our family and play the role that was expected of me. The night slipped through my fingers, which never ceased moving, never slowed, etching a heated memory into the contours of her flesh, and for the first time in many years, I was sad to see a night at this club come to an end.

Instead of feeling exhausted and sluggish as I usually would, I felt energized. I was like a spring, wound tight and ready to move, bursting with potential energy. My foot had begun to bounce slightly but I let it, needing to channel my pent up energy into something other than the body of the woman sitting next to me.

As the last patron is guided away, the late hour finally makes itself known. Only a handful of people remain on the dance floor, currently being ushered towards the doors by the waitresses. Our bar staff has begun cleaning and closing up, the booths around us are empty but still filled with evidence of a good time.

“You’ll need a ride home.”

It is not a question, not even a simple observation meant to draw attention to the empty booth across from us where her friends had been sitting. Instead, it comes out as a command, leaving no room for confusion or debate- she will need a ride home, and though she does not yet know it, that ride will be with me.