Page 1 of Tyrant (The Villetti Chronicles)

One

Zayn

The woman contorted her body around the pole like she was a snake wrapped around its prey. It was meant to be alluring, seductive even, but for me, it held no interest. Nothing seemed to pique it these days. I’d seen it all. Seen too fucking much if you asked me. Everything was mundane when it should have been arousing. The display in front of me should make my dick hard, but it lay flaccid like it had done for weeks… perhaps even months.

Life had become monotonous, and I was done experiencing it.

I was only out on the club floor of Desecration tonight because the king has to make an appearance. The image I’d laid out for myself needed to be upheld. Here I was, surrounded by women who did nothing for me, on one of the special nights the club ran for members.

You had to be someone to know of Desecration’s existence. It was a well-kept secret for a reason. The men and women of this city did not want their private business being aired to the public. Especially not business involving sex. And extreme versions of it at that. I provided them with a safe space to act out their most depraved fantasies. They paid me for the privilege. Win-win all around.

Except… I grew tired and weary of it all. The same faces and same bullshit day in, day out. This might be my club. My fucking house, but I was bored. So fucking bored, I was even considering getting further involved in the family business. However, it would only come with another set of responsibilities I had no interest in.

Gennaro Villetti understood, to an extent, I had my own aspirations. We’d been at odds since I was a child. I railed against his restrictions, but I never did it publicly. Never allowed anyone outside of the family to see the fractures between us. When he realised I wasn’t going to be the easily mouldable son he’d wanted, Gil quickly became his favourite. My younger brother, Gilberto, would be the better choice for our father to bequeath his crown to. Shit didn’t work like that in our world. I was the eldest. I would become the kingpin and that was fucking that.

The family didn’t deal in drugs and weapons here, but money laundering and property. London. The epicentre of the financial industry. A place where you had to know someone to be someone. You didn’t go around pissing in each other’s shoes unless you wanted to cut your face off to spite yourself.

It’s exactly what that cunt Frank Russo did and look where it got him. Dead. And rumoured to be by the girl he raised as his daughter. His death had rippled across the fucking city like a live wire. Now, there was trouble everywhere. I kept out of it unless my father summoned me. These days, it was rare for him to interfere with my business. I had made my own name for myself, even if everyone still referred to me as the kingpin’s prodigal son.

At least I wasn’t Enzo, who was the youngest and the fuck-up. He kept my father busy enough to stay the fuck out of my business. I had washed my hands of the situation a long time ago. If he wanted to cause our father trouble, on his own head be it.

Movement in my periphery tore me from my brooding thoughts. My men were walking through the club in a group, dragging along a figure behind them. I watched them as they approached before throwing the person down in front of me, startling the women around me. My patrons knew to turn a blind eye to my affairs, so no one else batted an eyelid, continuing to watch tonight’s show.

My eyes flicked down to the hooded figure they’d brought in. They had their head bowed and their fists dug into the pockets of their zip-up hoodie.

“Said he has business with you, boss,” Arlo, my right-hand man, said when I didn’t speak, waving at the “boy” on the floor.

I knew it wasn’t a fucking boy. Despite their baggy clothes, it was clear to me “he” was actually a “she”. The way her full hips and thighs clung to the tracksuit bottoms she wore gave her away.

I leant forward as I slid a blade from my pocket and pressed it under the chin of the girl who had somehow fooled my men into thinking she was a boy. Drawing her chin up, I stared down into a heart-shaped face with full bow lips, tawny brown skin and chestnut eyes holding a defiant look within them. I almost smiled but kept my expression neutral. Giving away what I suspected to my men wouldn’t be a good idea when it came to this girl.

Arianna Michaelson, the twenty-two-year-old daughter of Bennett Jerome Michaelson. A man I’d known since I was a teen. He ran a gang in Hackney. I’d met most of the big hitters in this city because of my father, not to mention I had dealings with Bennett. He used my land to run his underground fighting ring and other things. It suited me just fine. The site was derelict and had been since the accident that had happened during development. I’d bought it and the surrounding buildings after the developers went bankrupt. Property was often the best way to get rid of dirty money. It’s why my family owned so much of it. It wasn’t public knowledge. In this city, flying under the radar was the best way to go about your business. Didn’t need the police sniffing around.

This girl turning up in my club was something I hadn’t expected. I wasn’t the type of man one came running to when they were in trouble. Judging by the bruise forming on her jaw, Ari had got herself into some.

What did you do, Tink?

I leant back against the red velvet cushioned seat, placing my knife back in my pocket and waved a dismissive hand at her.

“Take the boy to my office. Make sure no one else enters other than me. I’ll deal with it later.”

I wasn’t going to talk to her out here where anyone could see us. There were questions I had for Ari. Ones I needed to ask in private.

“Are you sure, boss?” Arlo asked in a low voice.

I gave him a look. He scrambled to obey, pulling Ari up off the floor. She stared at me with no small amount of fear in her eyes, as if being alone with me was the last thing she wanted. Well, too fucking bad. She’d turned up in my club with a bruised face, pretending to be a boy. I wasn’t stupid enough to let on who she really was. It was clear she wanted to keep her identity a secret. It meant she was here without her father’s knowledge.

I may not owe Ari or her father any allegiances, but curiosity burnt in my chest like a fucking bomb had gone off. This was the most interesting thing to happen in weeks. I kept a lid on it. No one need know how fucking bored I was with my life.

I watched my men take Ari down to the back corridor leading to the private rooms and the back offices. Her eyes remained on me the whole way, leading me to believe this was a huge gamble on her part.

It took all my self-control to stay where I was and not question her immediately. When the fuck did I become so eager to deal with a problem? Never. In my world, you weren’t reactive. You were always twelve steps ahead. So this? This was something I needed to address as soon as possible. I didn’t like surprises. And Arianna Michaelson? She was a surprise I didn’t need.

My fingers drummed on my thigh as I tried to focus on the show. My men came back through a minute later, minus Arlo. He would watch my office for me. As long as no one found out about Ari, it would be okay. Until I knew what she was doing here, the fewer people who knew she’d turned up at my club, the better.

The moment the current girl finished dancing, I stood up, straightening my sleeves. I gave the pole dancer, Theia, a nod. Striding across the floor towards the back, I felt for my cigar case and extracted it from my pocket. I took out a cigarillo before slipping my case back into my inside pocket. I didn’t light it, merely holding it between my fingers as I strolled towards my office.

When I reached it, I found Arlo standing sentry outside. I rubbed my face with my free hand, eyeing him warily. His dark hair was swept back in a pompadour and faded at the sides, his dark brown eyes told me nothing of his feelings about the situation and his tanned skin was a similar shade to mine.

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