Page 8 of The Consigliere

“Here. Wear this and enjoy. If you don’t want to do anything, tell them. Nobody can force you into anything in this club. If you’d rather just watch, that’s fine too but be prepared for more than one person’s interest. This could be the night of your dreams or your worst nightmare. You have been warned.”

She presses something and the door swings open behind her and as the sultry music wafts toward me, I shiver as I step inside.

CHAPTER3

MATTEO

Jefferson returns to his friends like a conquering hero. From the animated conversation, I can tell he’s relaying every sordid second of his encounter with Sherrie and his friends appear impressed. They slap him on the back and hang off his words, and I itch to wipe that smug grin off his face with my fist.

Cesare heads back to the office and for a moment we both stare at the group of privileged kids who have never done a hard day’s work in their life and Cesare says roughly, “I can’t wait to see that smug shit’s smile wiped off his face.”

“Agreed.”

Sighing, I grab my jacket and shrug it on, before turning to Cesare and grinning, “It’s time to greet our guests.”

We head out of my office and make the short walk to the door at the end that leads into my club, and even though Cesare walks beside me, it’s Abigail Kensington who follows me there. I am intrigued by her. She was nothing like I expected her to be, and I’m surprised by that. That alone piques my interest because I am never surprised by a person’s character. I have an ability to sum them up with one conversation and a dark look, but not her. Far from being the pampered princess I gave her credit for, she is way more layered than that.

“Did you put eyes on our departing guest?”

For some reason, I need to know that happened and Cesare nods. “Kris and Harry. They followed the cab and are under instruction not to let her out of their sight.”

“Good.”

My heart settles now she is protected, although that’s a fucking joke because I am her biggest threat and nothing can protect that woman from what I have in mind for her.

My security guard opens the door to the club with a respectful nod and as soon as we step inside, the stench of alcohol and depravation hits me.

I’m home.

Curious eyes follow us as we make our way through the club, my soldiers falling into line to give us an unrestricted path to our destination. Men fear me, women want me, and I can’t ever remember it being any different. However, there has only ever been one woman I let inside my heart, and she rewarded me by screwing my two brothers before marrying our father. I never thought I’d recover from that, but what’s left is a white-hot fury that drives my revenge. Abigail will help me with that, and Jefferson is the insurance policy I drew up to get me what I want.

We reach his table and I note my girls draped across his friends like fashion accessories. As we stop at the table, the girls sit a little straighter and pout in my direction, but they never interest me.

Where’s the fun of a woman giving it up freely? I like my women curious, slightly afraid, and fresh from the wrapper. Subsequently, my sex life is controlled and indulged infrequently. Chance encounters that end up with their lips wrapped around my cock or bent over my desk.

Usually, women who flock to my club to taste a bad boy on an unexpected night out with their friends. They accept my champagne and adore my attention and when I make my choice, we retreat to my private room at the club. I treat them like whores out of revenge for the biggest one of them all and as I ruin them, I picture her traitorous face in place of theirs.

Emotion only knocked on my door once and now that door is locked to it. I will never allow a woman inside again because that only leads to damnation.

Drunken eyes stare at our arrival and I smile politely. “Gentlemen. I trust you found everything to your liking.”

Jefferson nods smugly and rubs Sherrie’s arm with an ownership that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Perfect” he grins, with all the smug satisfaction of the cat who got the cream, and his friends nod their thanks as they enjoy the attention of the girls on their laps and at their feet, all wearing scraps of fabric that barely cover their modesty.

“May I have a private word, Mr. Stevenson?”

The air goes still, and the light mood is extinguished like a dancing flame against the breeze.

Sherrie shifts off his lap, signaling the end to the evening and as she moves away, the other girls follow, leaving the guys with a sense of bewilderment that things have changed so fast.

My men move behind Jefferson, and I turn on my heel and head back the way I came, knowing that my men will ensure he is sitting in my office within the next five minutes.

We cut through the club like the sword of Damocles, which means something terrible is going to happen. That what looks like an enviable life, a life of wealth, a life of power, a life of luxury is, in fact, fraught with anxiety, terror and possibly death. Jefferson is about to discover the full meaning of that, and I can’t fucking wait to watch his smug grin disappear replaced by one of desperation.

We reach my office and by the time I’ve taken my seat behind my desk, Jefferson is sitting in the one opposite with two of my soldiers behind him like avenging demons on his shoulder. Cesare is leaning against the wall, regarding the proceedings with his usual enigmatic look and I smile at my guest, who appears to have misplaced his swagger.

“Happy birthday, Jefferson.”

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