Page 17 of The Club

I’m not the only one with a mask.

But, shit, he wears his beautifully.

Of course, he wears cum beautifully too. Every time I look at those pictures I took, the sight of Rafael such a mess makesme ache with longing. I fucking love the sight of him like that. Debauched. Psychotic. Vulnerable.

I took those pictures for potential blackmail. I took them as evidence of my power over him. But it’s me those pictures seem to have power over.

Maybe that’s the real reason I dug up Nicole’s number.

It wasn’t my first boring evening with her. My father picked her. According to him, social climbing gold diggers are predictable and therefore controllable. He wasn’t wrong. Despite our tedious first date four months ago, she was plenty eager for a second try.

But then Rafael—

“Dominic.”

Moretti nudges me. It irritates me because I don’t like people randomly touching me, but he’s not someone I can slap down. Besides, I was obviously not paying attention to the new arrivals.

Moretti stirs from his cold, cramped position behind the shipping container like he’s not pushing fifty. He’s a tough motherfucker and not someone to cross. His brother Benito is about regret doing just that.

I’m not someone to cross either, and the assholes in one of my crews working with Benito are about to experience the consequences.

I knew there was shit going on, but it’s taken time to sniff it out. I’ve had so much to deal with the last few months.

I’ve got a multimillion dollar construction company operating throughout the state. It’s perfect for blending real business with a little money laundering for the likes of Gianni Moretti, but it requires intensive management. I’ve got the importation of antiques, where I slip in the occasional shipment of diamonds or stolen artwork. That requires management too.

What’s going on now, however, is that Gianni’s brother is skimming drugs from their South American shipments—andstoring them in my containers with the help of one of my street crews. Benito and that crew have been creating a nice little side line for themselves, fucking me and Gianni over in the process.

We’re here to catch them in the act—then put them in the ground. I’ve got Rocco and a few others me. Moretti has his own contingent.

My traitorous crew is already here making space in the shipping container. It’s Gianni’s brother Benito who’s just arrived in his Escalade with four men and several million dollars worth of Gianni’s drugs.

Vince, my crew leader, goes to meet them. He and Benito shake hands like chums while Benito’s men lug the duffel bags full of drugs.

Gianni and I wait until all of them enter the container, then one of Gianni’s men goes to take the Escalade, robbing Benito of his escape.

At the sound of the vehicle, everyone comes running out of the container. We start shooting. I get two of my traitorous crew before I have to duck back from the return fire. Rocco gets another, then everyone scatters.

I spot Vince making a run for it. I take off after him. He leads me through the maze of containers. I can’t get a clear shot—until he hits a dead end.

Vince spins and fires, but he’s sloppy as hell and misses me entirely. I shoot him in the shoulder. He screams and drops his gun. I get him in the leg. He hits the ground.

I stalk toward him. He scrambles away until he hits the metal wall of a container.

“Boss, I swear, I thought this was all legit! He’s Gianni’s brother! I thought—”

“If you’re gonna start out lying, we’re gonna have a very long night.”

I crack him in the head with my gun. He goes limp.

***

We do have a very long night, most of it at my family’s estate outside the city. There, in the hidden underground cell, we can work properly.

It’s 4 a.m. before Vince coughs up enough details about his arrangement with Benito that Gianni leaves in disgust to deal with his brother.

Vince is slumped in the chair, his body littered with burns, cuts, and a shit-ton of bruises. He’s coherent enough that I could play with him if I wanted to, maybe put him on the surgical table, but I’m tired. My hands hurt. I pull my gun from my shoulder holster.

Vince lifts his head, staring at me through his one good eye. His lip curls back from his bloody teeth.

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