Page 22 of Ruthless Arrangement

Nico

I pacethe length of my private VIP lounge, a caged predator finally unleashed, though no suitable prey is immediately apparent within these four walls. The club is alive beneath me, bass throbbing through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, a familiar rhythm that usually soothes the savage beast. Tonight, it merely amplifies the electric tension humming through me.

The past two days have been a crucible of focused intensity, dedicated solely to executing a delicate directive from my uncle, Alessandro. The old patriarch doesn’t make requests lightly, and navigating the intricate power dynamics involved requires absolute discretion, the kind that precludes even the most observant shadow. It is done now, concluded successfully, another knot tied securely in the complex web of influence the Varela family maintains. But settling accounts for Alessandro, while necessary, hasn’t sated the restless energy coiling deep within me. Power demands control, and control requires sacrifice, but the residual static of the operation leaves a sharp, primal itch that demands a different kind of release. Whiskey isn’t touching it.

Marco enters, silent as ever, offering a brief nod that confirms the final loose ends from Alessandro’s business are tied off. He then shifts focus, his expression neutral as he consults his phone. “Ms. Song arrived promptly when summoned, Boss,” he reports, his tone flat, betraying nothing. “She’s downstairs at the main bar. Observing.”

Promptly. Good. She followed orders after her two-day dismissal, returning to the fold the moment the leash was tugged. I like it. That outward compliance is crucial, even if I suspect a storm of conflicting thoughts likely rages beneath her composed surface. Marco continues, “She’s already been taking extensive notes on staff interactions with customers. She’s thorough.”

Thorough. Yes, Lea Song approaches everything with that same intense focus: her research, her questions, the way her dark eyes track movements across a room, cataloging details others would miss. I saw it during the lunch two days prior, even after the clarification with Abernathy. I’ve watched her mind work, quick and ruthless in its pursuit of truth, a quality I both respect and intend to leverage fully.

And then there’s the other quality she possesses, the one that has flickered insistently at the edge of my thoughts even while handling Alessandro’s sensitive affairs. The flush that crawls up her neck when our gazes lock for too long. The subtle catch in her breath when I step into her personal space. The defiance in her posture that can’t quite disguise her body’s unwilling response to my proximity.

She wants me. She hates that she wants me. And that delicious conflict makes her infinitely more intriguing than the countless women who make their availability painfully obvious.

Taking her now would be simple. A word, a look, a touch, and she would follow me to my private rooms upstairs, her body betraying her principles even as her mind rebels. The animalistic urge to do just that claws at me now, sharper than usual after the constraints of the past two days. But Lea Song is not a fleeting distraction to be consumed and discarded. She’s an investment. A strategic piece to be carefully positioned before I make my ultimate move. Patience is required. Discipline.

My body, however, has different requirements tonight. Fortunately, there are other, more immediate options for visceral relief.

I check my watch. “Nine-fifteen,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “Time for something more entertaining.”

Marco adjusts his stance, his face impassive. He’s been with me long enough to understand that my appetites, like my business dealings, follow patterns only I fully comprehend, especially after concluding high pressure family matters.

“Tell Vivian I want to see her,” I say, moving to the private bar and pouring myself two fingers of Macallan 25. The amber liquid does little to soothe the underlying thrum. “And have someone bring Ms. Song up here. She might find this educational.”

Marco nods once and disappears, silent as always. That silence, that unquestioning loyalty, is why he’s survived beside me for over a decade in a world where loyalty is as rare as genuine innocence.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, enjoying the heat as it runs down my throat. The whiskey is excellent, deep and complex, satisfying on multiple levels. Like power. Like control. Like, the look in Lea’s eyes when I push her just beyond her comfort zone.

Vivian arrives first, elegant in a black dress that accentuates her curves while projecting professional competence. As my events coordinator, she handles the more exclusive entertainments Purgatorio offers to its most elite clientele. Private gambling. Exclusive performers. Discreet encounters that never appear on any official schedule.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Varela?” Her voice is smooth, confident. Another quality I value in those who serve me; the absence of unnecessary fear. Respect, yes. Caution, always. But never the paralyzing terror that leads to mistakes.

“The Velvet Room,” I say, setting down my glass. “Is it available tonight?”

A flash of understanding crosses her features. “Yes, sir. It’s been prepared for tomorrow’s private event, but we can have it ready within twenty minutes if you’d prefer to use it this evening.”

“I would. Arrange for the Martinez duo. The full demonstration, not the abbreviated version.” I pause, considering. “And make sure they understand this is an audition for potential future bookings. I expect their best work.”

Vivian nods, already tapping on her tablet. “Of course. Will you be bringing guests, or is this a private viewing?”

“One guest.” I smile slightly, picturing Lea’s reaction to what I’ve planned. “A potential business partner who needs to understand the full range of Purgatorio’s offerings.”

Another nod, no questions. That’s why Vivian earns twice what most club managers make. She executes without unnecessary inquiry. “Twenty minutes, then. I’ll have someone escort you when everything’s ready.”

She leaves just as Marco returns with Lea in tow. The contrast between the two women is striking. Vivian’s polished, practiced allure against Lea’s raw intensity. Both are beautiful, but where Vivian offers clinical charm, Lea radiates an energy that’s far more potent, especially now. Seeing her again after two days crystallizes the restlessness I’ve felt. My focus snaps solely to her. The forced distance hasn’t diluted her impact; if anything, it’s underscored the unique friction her presence creates in my space.

Lea eyes me warily as she enters, her gaze sweeping the room before settling on me. She’s dressed more formally tonight than in our previous encounters. Black trousers that trace the line of her curves just enough to be tantalizing without being obvious, a silky emerald blouse that brings out the hidden flecks of gold in her dark eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, emphasizing the elegant line of her neck.

I imagine wrapping that ponytail around my fist, using it to tilt her head back, exposing her throat to my mouth. The image sends a fresh wave of heat through my body, a low thrum that confirms the tension the brief separation did nothing to quell, perhaps even honed it.

“Ms. Song,” I greet her, my voice smooth, gesturing to the sofa across from where I stand.

She remains standing, her usual wariness perhaps edged with something else now, a flicker of the same charged awareness I feel after the silence between us. “My observations were rather solitary for the past two days, Mr. Varela,” she states, her tone neutral but direct. “You mentioned sensitive negotiations requiring your sole attention. I trust they concluded satisfactorily?”

There it is. The probe cloaked in professional courtesy. She hasn’t forgotten being dismissed, and she wants answers.

“Always focused on the business at hand, Ms. Song. Admirable.” A faint smile touches my lips as I hold her gaze. “My affairs concluded as planned.” I offer nothing more on the subject, deliberately closing that door. “But tonight isn’t about past negotiations. It’s about future prospects. And your perspective.”

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