Once in my Pagani Imola, a sports car that could rival just about any other, I speed down the driveway. The gates to the estate open the second they see my car coming and I don’t even stop. If they hadn’t opened when they did, I’d have hit them.
My knees bounce slightly as I drive. I need to get away from here. Anywhere.
I need some kind of release for the anger and irritation I feel. I need sex. Not just any kind of sex. Messy, intense, kinky sex. I need someone to keep me busy for the rest of the night. Someone to get my mind off the multiple someone’s that continue to deny me my right to do my fucking job for my family.
There’s a few places I could go, but the closest one is our family night club. I hit an illegal U-turn so fast that my tires screech, and I drive in the opposite direction that I was in the first place.
All the while Tessari flies by in my windows.
It’s a beautiful historic city on the coast of Tessari. The scent of lush pine trees and sea salt fill my nose, only seconded by the leather of the seat underneath my ass.
I pass car after car on the road and ignore the honks of annoyed drivers. If I were to stop, they’d be having a much worse night, that is for certain.
I ignore stop lights and rush through every single intersection until I pull into the back lot of the Notte Scarlatta. Scarlet Night. The night club that has been in my family’s name for several decades now. Upgraded through the times. At one point in the seventies, it was the hottest spot in all of Italy.
It’s still a popular club, but it tends to draw those interested in the darker side of things. They come hoping to spot a glance of one of us Dresvannis, or one of the other crime families we’re allied with that frequent the club. Some of the grifters and those unallied but smart enough to stay off our bad side.
When I get to the front entrance of the club, the bodyguard there taking IDs doesn’t even make a motion to ask for me.
“Mr. Tommaso, go on in,” he tells me and opens up the rope for me to get to the door.
I could’ve gone into the back entrance, but this is way more fun. The lustful eyes on my body, the murmuring of people who are guessing what I’m there for. Even more fun is what happens next.
“I’m with him!” a woman who looks barely eighteen says and tries to squeeze in beside me as I’m walking through the rope.
Her confidence is quite amusing to me, but I’m not in the mood for a woman tonight. “Yeah right, sweetheart,” I tell her, and put a hand on the front of her shoulder, shoving her back a foot. “Find someone else to get you in.”
The guard immediately motions her to the back of the line and she frowns.
“Oh, come on. Just because I don’t have my ID?” she asks in frustration. “Everyone knows what goes on here.”
If only she knew the rules. She clearly doesn’t. And clearly doesn’t have the money to pay her way in.
I let him handle it as I head to the door and enter the club. The sound of pulsing music fills my ears the second I’m inside. One half of the front of the club is the dance floor, the other half filled with booths and the long bar that is full up of people sitting and mingling at the stools.
The lighting is dim and grungy, and I immediately feel at home here. I remember being dragged here by my mother in the early days of my childhood, looking for our father who was in the back of the club.
Apparently, they met here. I can see that.
Her absence in my life is something I try to avoid thinking about. She’s not dead, not like Carmine and Alessio’s mother, no, she simply decided she didn’t want to be a part of this life anymore.
I brush the thought of my parents, both no longer around, out of my head and go to the bar.
“Whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender.
She pours me exactly what I ask for, top shelf, and slides it across the bar.
I take it down in one solid gulp, feeling the slight burn down my chest, warm and pleasant. Every little drop out of the cup is licked off my lips and drawn into my mouth. Then I slam the glass down onto the bar.
“Damn, that’s good.” I laugh and shake my head. I’m already starting to forget why I was upset in the first place.
I ask her to pour me another, but this second one I don’t immediately pour down my gullet. Instead I sip on this one as I observe the crowd tonight.
I watch the way they move on the dance floor, gyrating and grinding against each other. It gets my blood pumping harder in my veins for a different reason entirely than when I got here.
I finish off my drink with a delightfully fuzzy head and strut over to the dance floor. I don’t pick the first guy I see, no, I pickthe second. He’s wearing leather pants and a shirt made out of black fishnets, his arms covered in tattoos and a head of bright red and blue hair.
The choker around his neck makes my own neck feel empty and wanting. He’s not dancing with anyone, so I immediately slide up to him on the dance floor and start to dance closer and closer to him. Testing the waters.
