We stand in sullen silence as the music inside the club seems to taunt us.
“I can’t fire him. I can’t kill him. I can’t beat his sorry ass,” I say into my phone. “What can I do?”
“Beyond talking to him? Sweet nothing.”
I glance over at Martino, who shrugs right back—his eyes gleaming mischievously.
“Good enough for me.”
“Rocco, don’t…”
I hang up on him, much to Martino’s amusement.
We’re at the doors a moment later, pushing past the line of disgruntled partygoers who have likely been standing in line all night.
I waste no time admiring the crush of bodies in the main hall and make my way up to the second floor. As decadent as it appears to be—the building was modeled after ancient Greek temples—the pillars here are hollow, and the stonework is merely manipulated styrofoam.
When we reach the illustrious “party rooms”upstairs, we head toward the staff corridor around the back. Though bare and sterile, it offers a back door into each of the private rooms for discreet package delivery—a hold over from the previous don, who liked to run meetings and handle deliveries here.
“Boss?” Martino calls out when we’re halfway down the corridor, gesturing toward the two-way mirror a few doors down.
I approach with no small amount of trepidation.
Lazzaro. Sprawled out on the pleather couch, he watches two girls dance before him. All are in various states of undress—and sobriety if the lines of white powder on the table are any indication.
He fumbles lazily at his crotch as the movements of the girl closest to him become more lurid. His tongue licks up her neck and a manicured hand slips down into her lacy white panties. I notice a lipstick stain over her bare nipple.
They all approach Lazzaro, swaying their hips as they go. Hands immediately stroke over his chest, his arms, his…
I finally see their faces. I don’t bother knocking. I just kick down the door.
Danny and Teresa scream in shock.
I straighten my suit. “Martino. Make sure no one disturbs us.”
“Rocco! Baby, please. It’s not what it looks like,” Danny runs up to me as she desperately tries to put her clothes back on.
I recoil when she tries to touch me. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You can fuck whomever you like. We’re over.”
“You don’t mean that, come on.” She shoves her head through what I assume must be Lazzaro’s T-shirt. “Claudio said you came to theCandelabratonight. You came to see me.”
Her words reek of desperation. It never mattered how beautiful she was, how perfectly symmetrical her features were, or how beautifully she sang; it always came back to the desperate desire to be more, to have more, to be wanted.
She was always desperate for something I would never be able to give her.
“Let me be very clear.” I step further into the room. The blood pounding in my ears intensifies the closer I get to that bastard Lazzaro. “We are done.”
“Rocco, please.” Her eyes brim with tears.
I tell myself it’s for her own good. That I’m saving her further heartache down the line. Because if she was worth my affection, I would be in an unstoppable rage right now. And I’m not.
“I’m not here for you.”
My words finally seem to connect. She backs away into the corner to where Teresa seems to be consoling herself with another line of coke.
My vision narrows the second I set my eyes on Lazzaro.
“Moretti!” he slurs, not bothering to sit up. “Come to join the party?”
