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God, he hated this place. Cheap drinks, cheap drunks—no, it wasn't exactly his jam.
He had a dream. This was just a stepping stone to get to it. Until he reached it, he'd do his best by everyone that was underneath his protection.
An order was just an order. When Angelo Toscano gave him the order to manage this place, Marco simply nodded and took the responsibility. Tony had had the bad luck to get merced by a dirty cop, and so until Angelo found someone to take over Tony's businesses, all of his responsibilities were finding new hands.
Marco snorted. Not that that was going to happen any time soon.
He'd never say a bad word about his boss, but ever since Angelo had found a boytoy of his own, he was a little more interested with his new boy's ass than business matters.
As he entered Sinsation, Marco looked out over the club that had become his responsibility. But that night, it wasn't the usual debauchery that caught his attention. Instead, it was the tension hanging heavy in the air like a suffocating fog.
"Hey," he murmured to Gina as she walked past him, clutching a tray of empty glasses. "What's going on?"
"Over there," she whispered, nodding her head toward a corner booth where a group of burly men sat, surrounded by a group of frightened girls. Marco watched as one man grabbed himself a handful of boob, and Marco didn't need to be able to hear him over the music to know the sort of remark the man was making to the girl.
His blood boiled. "Who's dealing with this?" he asked. "Where's the goddamn bouncer?"
"As soon as they started causing trouble, he went out to have a smoke," she said, sneering. "Piece of shit."
"And no-one else is doing anything?"
"That's the problem," she said. "One person did…"
And then Marco saw him.
Joey, his face contorted with anger, stepped into the club from backstage. Marco's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the darkening bruise around Joey's eye, a stark contrast against his usual flawless complexion.
Anger surged within Marco, an uncontrollable fire fueled by the protectiveness he felt towards Joey.
This kid washis.
And no-one had the right to touch what was his.
Joey wasn't alone. Some of the club's girls were holding him back, talking to him with worried expressions. Their hands clung to his arms, desperately trying to prevent him from making the same mistake he's clearly already made once. But Joey's rage was palpable, stepping forward despite the girls' attempts to calm him down and hold him back.
Despite his obvious fear, Joey stood tall, his jaw set with determination. Marco admired his courage—he hadn't pegged Joey for the confrontational type.
"Hey!" Joey called out, storming back over to the group of assholes. His voice was steady despite everything. "I thought I told you guys, leave the girls alone. They're just doing their jobs."
The ringleader of the little group turned his sneer onto Joey, sizing him up with a predatory glint in his eyes. "Aw, ain't that cute?" he mocked, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked at Joey. "Little boy thinks he can play with the big dogs."
He stood up from his seat, standing tall.
"Touch me, and you'll regret it," Joey warned, his voice low and fierce despite the pounding of his heart in his chest.
"Listen, loser," the thug snarled, stepping towards Joey and towering over him. "You can't tell me what to do."
"Maybe not," Joey replied, swallowing hard but maintaining eye contact. "But I'm not going to stand by while you treat these girls like shit."
Shit, this kid. Marco felt a sudden surge of attraction towards Joey, his heart swelling with admiration. He couldn't help but be drawn to this young man who was willing to stand up to a mafia thug in defense of others, even when he was visibly afraid. It was a rare trait, and one that Marco found both intriguing and intoxicating.
Marco's possessiveness flared, igniting a fierce protectiveness. It burned like a white-hot flame.
Pushing through the crowd, Marco strode purposefully towards Joey, his eyes locked on the injured man. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only Joey in his vision. Marco's world narrowed, his focus solely on Joey—the fire in his eyes, the
As Marco drew closer, the girls reluctantly released their hold on Joey, sensing the brewing storm within Marco. Their eyes cast downwards, a mix of fear and respect emanating from them. They knew better than to challenge Marco's claim.
Marco halted in front of Joey, his voice a low growl laced with possessiveness. "Joey," he uttered, the name a declaration of ownership, a command that demanded attention.
