Chapter 002

The taxi dropped me two blocks from Club Verona. I didn’t want anyone to see me getting out in front. The bouncers had a habit of touching and talking, and in this city, gossip spread faster than disease. The moment I stepped onto the pavement, the air changed. The night smelled like extremely expensive perfume, cigarette smoke, and sweat. Neon lights from the sign above shimmered against puddles, turning everything pink and gold.

Inside, the bass thumped so deep it rattled in my ribs. Laughter mixed with the metallic clink of glasses, and the place already pulsed with money, the kind of money people spent when they wanted to forget something, or maybe just the type they spent because they had more than enough.

I smiled at Dani, the girl at the counter, then slipped into the back room, a would-be storage space that was turned into the girl’s dressing area, which was small and always crowded, mirrors lined with bulbs, air thick with hairspray and chatter, barely any space for leg movement.

“You’re late again,” someone muttered.

“I'm always late, it's kinda my thing now,” I replied, hanging my jacket up and sliding into my uniform—a black velvet bodysuit and short skirt. The manager said the outfit was “classy,” but the neckline and skirt length disagreed. I adjusted the straps, checked my reflection, and gave myself one last tired smile.

When I stepped back into the main room, the atmosphere hit me like warm smoke. I grabbed my tray from the bar, balancing four glasses of whiskey, and made my way through the crowd.

. “Collins!” Tony, the floor supervisor, waved me over “Tables four and five, now. High rollers on four, keep them sweet.”

“Got it”

The roulette corner was always busy; the high-rollers liked it there. I slipped behind the table, setting down drinks and brushing stray chips into neat piles.

“Another round, sir?” I asked one of the men, forcing my polite smile.

He smirked, sliding a fifty across the green felt. “Only if you bring it yourself.”

It was against the club’s policy for customers to interact on be physical with us doing working hours, even though our stupid uniforms suggested otherwise, some men still tried to push their luck every once in a while.

"I'll have my colleague bring up your order, sir," I said, mustering up the sweetest smile ever at the bald man.

"I don't want your f*ck*ng colleague, I need you to serve me as the sweet little c*nt you are."

Right now, I'm trying to remember what chapter in my anger management book said, "Do not hit a stupid man for attempting to be stupid."

I smile, keeping up the facade even though I desperately wanted to punch his nose. Before I could even step back, his heavy hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with a tight, bruising grip, pulling me uncomfortably close across the table.

My temper flared, hot and sharp. I opened my mouth to snap at him, ready to risk the job, when the air in the entire section abruptly went dead.

The heavy thumping of the bass didn’t stop, but the crowd around table four parted instantly like the Red Sea. Whispers dropped to absolute zero. Even the dealer froze, his face draining completely of color.

A shadow fell over the table.

A man had appeared behind the groping customer—tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating an aura so freezing it made my breath hitch. His suit was impeccably tailored, his jaw carved from granite, and his eyes were cold, calculating steel.

Adrian Holt.

I knew the face instantly from the sparse digital footprints online, though photos didn't do justice to the terrifying, magnetic presence he carried. He owned this club. He owned half the high-end real estate in the city.

The customer let go of my wrist as if he’d been burned, stammering, “Mr... Mr. Holt—I didn’t realize—"

Adrian didn't blink. “Hello Dennis, you seem to be having fun seeing that you owe me an awful amount of money.”

“Mr Holt I can explain—this isn’t what it looks like.”

With a fluid, unhurried motion, the man behind him reached inside his jacket, pulled out a sleek, silenced firearm, and pressed the barrel directly against the center of the man's forehead.

The restaurant around us seemed to hold its collective breath. My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

Bang.

The sound was muffled, yet really loud, and instantaneous. The man slumped forward onto the green felt, blood spraying across my uniform then pooling sharply against the roulette chips, as his heavy body thumped onto me he ground.”

A few women near the adjacent bar shrieked, but before panic could erupt, Adrian casually lowered the gun, slipping it back into his holster. The music kept thumping overhead, entirely oblivious to the execution.

With two fingers, Adrian signaled the terrified security guards standing frozen nearby. “Clean this up,” he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

As the guards scrambled forward to drag the body away, Adrian turned his cold, steel-grey eyes entirely onto me. I was frozen to the spot, shell-shocked, my lungs refusing to draw air.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could smell the faint scent of expensive sandalwood and mint. He looked down at me, unreadable, and reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from my face with chilling casualness.

“Don’t ever let nasty bastards get away with what they shouldn't, it’s bad for business.” he growled, low enough for only me to hear.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out through the VIP exit, my hands trembling violently. I stayed rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the empty space where he had just stood, and where the man’s body had just been.

He was dead.

A man was killed here today. my hands trembling more as tears streaked down my face.

“Mara!”

A frantic voice cut through the ringing in my ears. Dani came running through the scattered crowd, her face pale under her heavy stage makeup, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me gently.

“Mara, oh my God, are you okay? Did you see that? What the hell just happened? Are you hurt?!”

Dani’s voice pitched high with panic, her eyes darting from my pale face to the blood-stained felt of the table.

I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe. All I could feel was the phantom weight of his hand and the echo of his voice burning in my mind.