Traded To The Don

Chapter 4

The club’s heartbeat pounded through the floors, a heavy, bass-driven thrum that seemed to pulse in sync with the flickering neon lights overhead. My leather chair groaned beneath me as I shifted, feeling the cold of the seat press against my back while the warmth of the crowded room left a film of sweat all over my skin. The air was thick — cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and the undeniable scent of sweat clung to everything.

I let my eyes drift lazily over the stage, where the latest dancer moved like she owned the place, her oiled skin shimmering under the colored lights on stage. The way her body glistened, hips swaying to the beat, was mesmerizing. Damn, she had the moves. If only she hadn’t opened her mouth during the interview. A body like that could make a man forget a lot, but that voice? It was like nails on a chalkboard.

Shrill as ever!

I smirked to myself as she landed in a split, her breasts bouncing into her hands for effect. Nice touch, sweetheart.

"Not bad," I called, loud enough to cut through the music as she came to the edge of the stage, her breath heavy from the routine. "But before you say anything, let’s see what else that mouth can do."

Her eyes widened slightly, glossy lips parting in shock as my fingers moved to the zipper of my pants. I leaned back in the chair, legs wide open, the cold metal of the zipper brushing against me, offering a brief respite from the heat that had been building inside. Her lips formed an uncertain “O,” and for a moment, she just stared.

"Is that part of the interview?" she asked, her voice shaky as she tried to find some footing for herself.

I didn’t bother hiding my grin. "Yep. Let’s see how committed you are to the job."

Her hesitation was brief. She started to kneel, her n*****s bouncing a little as she moved, but just as I was about to enjoy the show, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.

Huh..

"Boss, we got a problem out front," Caz’s voice rumbled behind me, his grip like a f*****g bear trap enclosed on a game. He had a way of cutting through whatever mood I was in, and not always in the best way. A typical party pooper!

I bit my lip and tucked myself back into my pants, my body still pounding with annoyance. Even though my c**k was still half-hard, I could not help but notice how urgent Caz's tone was. Glancing at the dancer, I quickly stood up and zipped up. She appeared to be attempting to choose between staying and running.

"Next time, honey," I said dismissively. "Go see Marco, he’ll get you scheduled."

As she slipped back into the dressing room's shadows, she nodded and lightly clicked her red nails against the pole. What a shame. However, I am anticipating the finale.

Though it would be unfortunate if I could not make it

Already, Caz was moving forward, his broad shoulders slicing through the crowds of people like a bulldozer. The music grew muted the farther we went from the main room, until the bass's steady throb was reduced to a mere background hum. The lobby's air was still thick with the odor of cheap perfume and perspiration, but it was colder. I could hear the rowdy chatter from the crowd outside before we even hit the doors.

"What the hell’s going on?" I snapped as soon as I spotted Marco standing at the entrance, his thick arms crossed over his chest.

"Fraternity convention at the casino," Marco said, his graying mustache twitching with irritation. "They all wanna get in, but we’re at capacity."

I clenched my jaw. The crowd outside was buzzing, all of them jostling and shouting, trying to push their way in. On one hand, more bodies meant more cash, but the inspector had already been breathing down our necks of recent. Last thing I needed was some fire code violation shutting me down for the night or even more.

Marco shook his head. "Only fifteen more can fit, boss. There’s over fifty out there."

I scanned the crowd through the glass doors. Bunch of frat boys, their faces flushed from too much booze, looking for a place to throw their money. We’d rake it in tonight, no question about it — if it weren’t for the damn fire codes.

"f*****g inspector," I muttered. The thought of turning all that cash away made my skin crawl and prick me, but there wasn’t a way around it. Not tonight, anyway.

I pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool night air, raising my hands to get the crowd’s attention drawn. Heads turned to me expectantly, as if I were going to hand out golden tickets or some other crap with high tags attached, as the commotion subsided a little.

"Listen up!" I shouted, voice carrying over the chaos. "We’ve only got room for fifteen more. Either you lot figure it out amongst yourselves, or I’ll do it at random."

That got a few grumbles, but my presence demanded their attention. I let a grin spread across my face as I added, "For those who don’t make it in tonight, I’ll personally give you a discount voucher for tomorrow."

The crowd erupted in mixed reactions. Some looked like they were ready to start throwing punches to get inside, while others grumbled under their breath. Marco and Caz started ushering the lucky fifteen through the doors, and I watched as their eager faces lit up like Christmas had come earlier on for them.

As the last of the chosen ones disappeared inside, I couldn’t help but think, This crowd’s gonna be a pain in the ass, but hell, I need the cash if I’m gonna make the next big move.

Once things settled down and the usual rhythm of the club resumed, I turned to Marco. "We’re going to the Empire tomorrow."

Marco’s mustache twitched as he glanced at me. "What’s the plan, boss?"

I said, my voice low and sharp, "We are going to make them an offer, an offer so tempting that they can not refuse." The Empire was the next step, a much larger game. In comparison to my expectations, tonight was nothing at all, really.

With that, I stepped outside again, the Vegas night alive with flashing lights and the steady buzz of traffic. I took a deep breath, the cool air hitting my face and clearing some of the lingering tension from the club.

"Tomorrow’s the day," I thought with a smirk. "Let’s see what the Empire’s made out to be.”

The sun was ruthless, beating down hard like it had a personal grudge. Salvatore’s suit clung to him like plastic wrap, sweat dripping down his smooth neck. The heat was almost unbearable, but the CLOSED sign on the club’s door was what really pissed him off the most. He stood there, squinting into the sunlight, feeling the heat rising from the asphalt, mixing with the stench of exhaust and bad luck.

Bad luck indeed!

"s**t," Salvatore muttered, wiping his glossy wet forehead. This was the third spot today, and just like the others, another dead end. His slicked-back hair was starting to stick, sweat making everything feel ten times worse than it already is.

Marco, looking like he was ready to drop, stood beside him, scratching at the crumbs on his face. His eyes were bloodshot and deep, the kind of tiredness that makes you want to sleep while standing up. He dragged a hand over his face, barely staying awake.

"So, uh, how do you want me to do that?" Marco asked, voice rough and sluggish, dreamy even. He looked like he might pass out any second to sleep.

Salvatore’s patience snapped finally giving in. As he threw his hands up, stomping back toward his Maserati, his shoes slapping against the pavement with malice. "Jesus, Marco, use f*****g Google!" Salvatore’s voice was sharp. "You’re not some dinosaur. Even my old man knows how to work a computer!"

Marco rubbed his eyes, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry, boss," he mumbled. "Only caught, like, two hours of sleep after that college gig last night. I’m dead."

Salvatore rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, we’re all running on fumes." He tugged open the driver’s side door of the Maserati and slid in, the cool leather instantly soothing his back giving him salvation from hell outside. He let out a long sigh as the waves of cold air from the AC caresses his face.

As he started the engine, Salvatore’s mind was already racing before his car would ."If I owned this place, we could’ve bussed that crowd over. Would’ve made a damn fortune," he muttered to himself, gripping the wheel tighter as if to show his disappointment.

Marco shuffled into the passenger seat, his head resting back. "What’s the next move, boss?"

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts shifting elsewhere. "We need to find Athlea. If I can get her to sell, I’ll have her whole empire under my thumb soon enough."

Marco glanced over, his eyelids half closed but still paying attention. "You think she’ll sell?"

Salvatore smirked, revving the engine. "Everyone’s got a price."