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Jimmy let his body sway to the rhythm, his eyes wandering over the audience. He never really looked at anyone in particular, letting his voice carry throughout the theater and losing himself in the music.

As the song drew to a close, he could feel someone looking at him, more potent than anyone else. It was a distinct sensation that made him shiver and all the little hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

Jimmy’s gaze searched upward as he finished, and he grinned upon seeing that the private booth was now occupied by Boss Cold and Jules Price. His heart flipped when he realized that they were talking to each other, and Cold didn’t seem to be paying Jimmy any attention.

Gulping nervously, Jimmy nearly flubbed the opening for “Since I Don’t Have You.” He sang it flawlessly though, the full swing of the band behind him, and he was so very proud of how well he was performing.

And yet, Cold continued to talk to Jules.

Jimmy took a shaky breath as the lights on the stage dimmed, the only illumination now on Dario and himself. Dario’s fingers moved to play once more, and Jimmy swore he was playing in time with the dull, wretched thumping of his own heart. If Dario was right, Cold had planned all of this for Jimmy.

To get him on this stage, to perform.

Jimmy thought he had been doing a good job, but deep inside he knew he could do better. He didn’t want to disappoint Cold, and he made up his mind to give this last song everything he had.

Jimmy began with a soft purr, the song speaking of demons and making a deal with the devil. Self-doubt and insecurity were keeping the narrator down, but there was a man who would help lift him up, for the price of his obedience.

Cold visibly shifted in his seat, glancing down at Jimmy. Their eyes met, and suddenly there was no one else in the theater. Jimmy could hear the piano behind him, but everything else vanished. The theater was empty except for the two of them.

When Jimmy belted out the first line of the chorus, singing of selling his soul to the man in a three-piece suit, he grasped the microphone and pointed right at Cold. He smiled slyly, continuing on in a soulful rumble. Holding the final note of that line, Jimmy heard several cheers erupting prematurely from the audience. Dario held off for a beat so Jimmy could really show off his voice.

Cold leaned farther forward, his hand clutching the railing in front of him, completely entranced.

Jimmy swept a hand through his hair, his voice dropping back down to a seductive drawl as he dove into the next verse. Behind him, another spotlight lit up, a violinist getting into position. Both of Cold’s hands were on the railing now, his icy eyes positively on fire as he looked down at Jimmy. His lips were parted in awe as if witnessing something divine, and that was all the confidence Jimmy needed to finish strong.

He sang passionately, his soul threatening to leave his body as his emotions carried his voice louder and stronger than ever. The words declared the narrator property of the man in the three-piece suit, down on both knees for him as his holy servant. The violinist jumped in then, she and Dario playing a fantastic and intense crescendo as Jimmy continued to push himself to new heights.

Breathing deep to push out the raw power of his voice for the last part of the bridge, Jimmy then sang more softly, joined only by the violin. He held the last note as long as he could, basking in the whistling and gasping bubbling up from the audience.

But Jimmy didn’t hear any of them.

It was only him and Cold still, the gangster utterly spellbound. It didn’t seem like there was a single increment of space between them despite Cold being in the balcony, and Jimmy would swear that he could smell Cold’s cologne and feel the sweet touch of his breath at his neck in that moment.

Dario’s piano came back in when Jimmy had to let the note he’d been holding go, guiding them through the chorus for the final time. Wrapping both of his hands around the microphone, Jimmy put his whole heart into the remaining lines, whipping his head back and moving his body as he sang—all for Cold.

The audience erupted into a furious round of applause the second Dario hit the last chord, and Jimmy stared all around as he came back to reality. He looked quickly back to Cold, laughing like a fool.

Cold was up on his feet clapping. His face was calm as always, but there was a spark in his eye as he smirked down at Jimmy.

The rest of the audience rose to their feet too, prompting Jimmy to take a bow. He grinned bashfully, mostly up at Cold, and a warm sensation filled him from his scalp to his toes when the gangster winked at him. Taking a few more bows, he floated off the stage to the continued roar of vigorous applause and fervent cheering. The band had one more set to play without him, and he only then realized he had no idea where to go.

Luckily Rowena was there to meet him as he came out, squealing and hollering excitedly. “Oh my God! Absolutely fuckin’ panty-droppin’ shit! Good shit!”

Jimmy was flushed, his senses tingling with adrenaline and the thrill of performing. “I did it. Holy crap, I did it!”

“Fuck, yes!” Rowena cheered. “Let’s go get you a drink!”

One drink turned into several, and Jimmy was stunned by how many people came up to him to compliment him on his performance. He kept an eye out for Cold, but he hadn’t seen him since the end of his last song. He’d disappeared, leaving Jimmy wanting of the man’s company more than ever.

Dario came to congratulate him too and stare longingly at Rowena while they shared a toast. The patrons dwindled as the club got ready for closing, and the band packed up for the night as well. Jimmy was buzzed, content, his bow tie askew and his cheeks rosy.

Tonight had been fantastic.

The last of the staff were getting ready to leave and most of the lights had been turned off except for the globes that lined the bottom of the stage and the neons of the bar. Dario had to tap out when Rowena broke out the shots, and that left Rowena and Jimmy, with Jerry no doubt lingering somewhere nearby.

“You think you can do that at least three times a week?” Rowena giggled. “Because holy shit, sweetie. I’ve never seen a fuckin’ standing ovation like that. Not, like, ever.”

“I can try.” Jimmy giggled back. “I gotta ask your brother first to make sure it’s okay. Fuck! Your brother. It’s so not midnight. It’s, like, three in the morning. Crap. Do you know where he is? Oh, I still gotta get my mom’s stuff. Did he go back home?”