Chapter 3

You’re Slipping, Darling..

The city peeled past the tinted windows in a blur of red lights and steel towers, my driver weaving through traffic like a man with something to prove. I barely registered it. My mind was already in the chaos ahead. Interno was one of my cleanest operations, a high-end club, sleek and discreet, where deals were sealed over hundred dollar shots and half lidded glances. A neutral zone. No fights. No blood. No bullshit. So when Liam called with “a situation,” I knew it was bad. We pulled up to the back entrance, a few blocks off the main strip. A crowd had already formed near the front, flashes of blue and red bouncing off the mirrored glass façade. The usual Friday-night line had scattered, replaced by uniforms and wide-eyed onlookers with phones out. I spotted two of our security boys trying to keep a low profile, ushering civilians away while pretending not to be associated with the scene at all. Smart. I stepped out into the night, my boots hitting the pavement with purpose. The cold wrapped around me like an old friend. I adjusted my cuffs and headed straight for the staff entrance, Liam already waiting by the door.

“Inside’s a mess,” he said without preamble. “Couple of our guys tried to push back on a group that came in flashing colors. They said they were just customers, but you don’t walk into Inferno wearing that shit unless you’re looking for something.”

“And they found it,” I muttered, brushing past him.

The music was still going, muffled and pulsing, trying to keep the illusion alive. But the tension in the air cracked like static. I stepped onto the floor and scanned the room. Tables overturned. A broken glass glinting like a dropped diamond. One of the dancers stood frozen on her platform, arms wrapped around herself, eyes flicking to the group of men in the far left VIP section. Three of mine were holding them off, barely. I could see blood already staining the collar of one’s shirt. Another had a knife at his belt, fingers twitching like he wanted an excuse to use it. I stepped into the fray.

“Enough,” I said, voice cold and carrying.

It cut through the music like a blade. All eyes turned. I didn’t yell. I didn’t have to. My name had weight. And when I walked into a room, it demanded silence.