Protection Money From the Wrong Man, Your Don

“Alright, I don’t care where you are!” Bianca’s voice grew sharper. “Get your ass to the ‘Phantom’ Lounge! And bring two bottles of Dom Pérignon! This is your chance to kiss up to your future boss!”

I let out a soft laugh. “Kiss up?”

“That’s right!” Marco snarled on the other end. “Kid, take my advice. My cousin has taken a liking to you. That’s a blessing. You serve her well from now on, and I’ll make sure you go far in this club.”

“Thanks,” my voice was flat as a frozen lake. “You two can find your own way home.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Bianca shrieked.

I hung up.

My phone immediately started buzzing like crazy.

A flood of texts rolled in:

“You’re finished! I’ll have you blacklisted from the entire Chicago underworld!”

“Get ready to be kicked out of the club!”

“My cousin has a hundred ways to destroy you!”

“A piece of trash like you dares to refuse ME?!”

I stared at the hysterical threats and felt nothing but tired.

The Don of the Grimaldi family, worth more than she could count, being threatened by a bottle girl?

It was the joke of the century.

But I didn’t care about Bianca’s mouth.

She was a nobody, just started a month ago. She couldn’t make a ripple.

What worried me was a club manager with this much nerve.

It meant the rot went higher up.

Marco had to have someone propping him up.

I picked up the encrypted phone from the nightstand and sent a message to my second-in-command, Antonio.

“Family meeting. 9 AM tomorrow. All Capos. Attendance is mandatory.”

Three seconds later, Antonio replied: “Understood, Don.”

I looked out at the sky, just starting to turn gray. A cold smile touched my lips.

Time to clean house.

The next morning, I drove my cheapest car—a black Dodge—to the club.

I’d just parked by the back and was heading for the employee entrance when two figures blocked my path.

Bianca stood there, dressed in designer clothes, arms crossed, a smug sneer on her face.

Next to her was a man in his early thirties.

Suit, slicked-back hair, an oily look about him. This had to be the manager, Marco.

“That’s him!” Bianca pointed at me, complaining to Marco. “That’s the bartender who thinks he’s too good for us! He hung up on me yesterday!”

Marco looked me up and down with contempt.

I was dressed casually today.

Simple black t-shirt and jeans. I looked like any other guy on the payroll.

“You’re Nico?” Marco’s voice was full of arrogance. “I’ve never seen you before. How’d you get a job at this club?”

“The back door,” I answered flatly.

It wasn’t a lie. I did come through the “back door”—the employee entrance.

Marco sneered. “I knew it! Another freeloader who got in through connections!”

He paced in front of me, like a judge about to pass sentence.

“Kid, you pissed off my cousin yesterday. We can’t just let that slide. But I’m a reasonable man, Marco. I’ll give you a chance to make it right.”

“I’m listening.”

Marco cleared his throat and announced his “terms.”

“First, you’re going to wire five thousand dollars to my personal account. Consider it your fee for getting hired without going through the proper channels.”

He pulled out his phone and flashed a payment code in my face.

“Second, from now on, you’re her personal driver. Morning and night. You do whatever she asks, no questions.”

“Third, you’re paying for yesterday. A grand for the cab, four for the booze, and ten grand for my cousin’s hurt feelings.”

Marco looked pleased with my stunned expression. He summed it up.

“That’s twenty thousand total. You pay, we forget this happened. You don’t…”

He smiled, a nasty, chilling thing. “Then you can wait to get thrown out of the club.”

I looked at his face—a mask of greed and pride—and felt nothing but a cold calm.

The Don of the Grimaldi family. Standing in my own club. Being shaken down by my own employee.

For twenty grand.

Out in the open, on my own turf.