Page 1 of Lukas

Chapter One

Lukas Rinaldi sat backin his office chair of his New Orleans nightclub—far enough on the edge of the French Quarter to not attract tourists, just locals—with a grin on his face. Being known as the most easygoing of the Rinaldi brothers worked in his favor a lot of times. Most people assumed he was a pushover.

They’d be wrong.

Take Peter Torres, sitting across from Lukas right now, annoyance clear on the older man’s face. He’d thought talking to Lukas—making demands barely veiled as requests—would be easier than talking to Dominic or Roman, that Lukas would be an easier in with La Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mafia that operated throughout the Big Easy and large chunks of the Southeast.

Again, wrong.

It didn’t take most people long to realize the charming smile hid the mind and determination of a cold-hearted bastard.

Maybe he wasn’t as outwardly gruff as Roman or Dominic, the other two-thirds of the Rinaldi triplets, but inwardly? Just as ruthless.

“You’re making a mistake here,” Torres argued as Lukas took another sip of his scotch. “One I’m sure La Cosa Nostra won’t be happy about when they hear.”

Lukas raised one eyebrow as the music from the club thumped through the window of his office that looked down on everything. “I’m fairly certain the cosca isn’t going to start doubting my decisions in this area.” The Rinaldi family had multiple business organizations, some completely legitimate, others not quite as much so. Modern mafia was less about breaking fingers and more about breaking even. Cash flow. Diversification. Bottom lines. All things Lukas excelled at.

“That’s because they don’t know what I’m offering because you won’t move from my sample to the full software system. They don’t know that a number of other family businesses are already using it with the improvements I personally made. They don’t know this because neither you nor your bastard brothers will tell them.”

Maybe breaking some fingers.

Lukas tilted his head at the older man. “I’ve got multiple points of contention here, Torres. I don’t know you. I knew your dead brother and respected him, his opinion, and business savvy, but you’re not Jonathan, and I don’t know you.”

And, from the rumors he’d heard, Peter was not making such savvy decisions with the money and business he’d inherited—inherited because Peter had married his dead brother’s wife. Not helping with the dislike factor.

Of course, it also now made him stepfather to Reina Torres, by far the most interesting asset Peter had going for him. Emphasis on the ass.

The other man swallowed, realizing he’d gone too far. “But you can know me, Lukas—”

“And—” Lukas didn’t feel bad about the interruption because he honestly didn’t care what Peter was going to say. “You come into my own club and insult me and my brothers.”

Lukas took another sip of his whiskey as Peter’s nostrils flared in annoyance. He didn’t like someone half his age speaking to him in this way. And hell, most of the time Lukas wouldn’t to someone from the older generation with such disrespect—his mama had taught him better.

Of course, his papa had also told him not to take disrespect from anyone, no matter what the age.

“Lukas…” Peter held out his hand in front in a gesture of peace, obviously deciding insults and threats weren’t going to work. Damn straight. “Just hear me out. I know you’ve been running the software sample, but I think you would find the full package to be highly beneficial for the Rinaldi family businesses.”

Peter looked a lot like his brother Jonathan and niece Reina. Dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and olive-toned skin obviously ran in the family. Maybe he would give Peter a chance since he was Reina’s kin, even though she’d moved out of town right after high school and hadn’t been back for more than a few days at a time since.

“Okay, Peter, listen. Send me everything. I will look it over. No promises, but I’ll give it a shot.”

The man smiled, the expression a little slimy. Obviously, he thought it was his powers of persuasion that had tipped the scales in his favor. Peter said his goodbyes a few minutes later, and Lukas waited until the other man was gone before dragging a weary hand through his hair.

He needed to get out of this office and downstairs. Not downstairs on the dance floor of Triple Threat, the club packed with twentysomethings enjoying their weekend and each other. The floor below that.

Very private. Very exclusive. Where a hell of a lot more than dancing was going on.

It took an hour to sort through all the things that needed his attention as partial owner of the club before Lukas was finally able to make his way down a private stairwell in the back.

As he opened the door at the bottom, the Peach Kings playing low and thick through the speakers had a smile spreading over his face.

Tic, tic, boom.Indeed.

It was a perfect soundtrack for what was happening throughout the open floor plan of the club. Triple Threat—the nightclub on the street level above them—was known by just about every local as the ultimate place to see and be seen—to dance, party, mingle. If you could get in.

Deeper Threat, down here below, was known by just about nobody. Those who did know about it guarded the secret with their very lives—La Cosa Nostra ready to step in to make sure that happened.

This wasn’t the place you came if you wanted to dance, party, mingle. The was the place you came if you wanted to fuck. Hard.

---