This bottle girl, new to the club, always demanded I serve her. And only me.

She was good for business, so I let it slide.

Then, one weekend, two in the morning. I’m in bed in the penthouse. She calls, barking orders at me.

“I’m in the ‘Paradise’ suite. Get up here with a bottle and get me right.”

I almost laughed. The girl was an idiot.

“It’s 2 AM. Are you ordering me around? I’m not your bodyguard or your dealer.”

She sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance.

“My cousin is the club manager. You should feel honored to serve me. By the way, your ‘protection fee’ is late this month. Get your ass over here now, or I’ll have my cousin dump you in the Chicago River.”

Oh.

She had no idea. The docks along the Chicago River… they’re mine. All of them.

Woken up in the middle of the night by a dead girl walking. She had no idea she was threatening the Don who owned every dock on the Chicago River.

“Nico, are you fucking deaf? I said bring two bottles of Ace of Spades. Now!”

On the other end of the line, Bianca’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

I leaned back against the headboard in the penthouse, phone in hand, a cold smirk on my face.

“Are you giving me an order?”

“What do you think?” she scoffed. “Nico, don’t push your luck. You haven’t paid your protection money this month. You think my cousin can’t have you feeding the fishes by sunrise?”

The bottom of the Chicago River.

I looked out the window at the river, a silver ribbon in the dark. Three years ago, every dock along that water became property of the Grimaldi family.

She was threatening to dump me in my own river.

“It’s 2:17 AM, Bianca,” I said slowly. “I’m going to sleep.”

“You wouldn’t da—”

I tossed the phone aside. Didn’t hang up. Just let her curses echo in the empty suite.

My mind flashed back to a month ago.

I’d just come up from the wine cellar three floors down, smelling of mildew and cigars.

The elevator doors opened, and a young woman in a Chanel suit stepped in, pinching her nose.

She recoiled.

In the club, everyone steps aside for me. Out of respect. Or fear. So I thought nothing of it.

The next night, I had my Dodge parked by the back door, about to start the engine.

The passenger door was pulled open.

She slid in, crossed her legs, and didn't even give me a glance.

“Fifth and Oakley. It’s on your way.”

I froze for a second.

As the man who controlled half of Chicago’s underworld, I’ve heard every kind of request, plea, and beg.

But no one had ever dared to order me.

I could have snapped her neck right there. But I didn’t.

She was a newbie who didn’t know the rules. A nobody. I couldn’t be bothered.

Besides, it was on my way.

When we got to her apartment on Fifth, she didn’t even say thanks. Just slammed the door and walked off.

I figured it was a one-time thing.

I was wrong. It was just the beginning.

She started treating me like her personal chauffeur.

First, she’d ask me to make detours to pick her up. Then she forbade me from smoking cigars in my own car. Said the smoke “clashed” with her expensive perfume.

Last week, she was in the passenger seat, putting on bright red lipstick.

In a condescending tone, she said, “Your leather seats are too hard. Go get me a cashmere cushion. Nico, you’re lucky to be able to serve a woman like me.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

I watched her arrogant face in the rearview mirror.

That was the first time I didn’t see her as just some stupid annoyance.

I saw her as a curiosity. An experiment.

I became curious.

What kind of world, what kind of backup, creates a creature so ignorant and so fearless?

I had a hundred ways to make her disappear from my world. But I didn’t.

A lion doesn’t get angry at a yapping chihuahua.

I just wanted to see how stupid she could get.

I never understood how someone could take advantage of you while acting like they were doing you a favor.

Now I knew.

It was because the club manager was her cousin.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

“Are you on your way or not?”

Bianca’s impatient voice crackled through the phone.

I yawned. “No. I’m going to sleep. You’re on your own.”

With that, I hung up.

The phone immediately started ringing again.

The second I answered, Bianca’s scream almost blew out my eardrum.

“You fucking hung up on me?!”

I could hear men laughing in the background, the clinking of glasses.

“My cousin is right here with me!” Bianca’s voice was hysterical with triumph. “Marco, say something to this bartender who doesn’t know his place!”

The phone was passed over.

“Kid, this is Marco,” a rough voice growled. “Get your ass to the Phantom Lounge. Now. You’re covering our tab, then you’re driving us home. Do that, and I might put you on the VIP floor.”

The VIP section?

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “And you have the authority for that, Manager Marco?”

According to family rules, the VIP section is for our most important allies. Any staff change for that area has to be approved by me.

“Authority?” Marco grunted. “Kid, you know how long I’ve been here? Five years, three months! I can make or break anyone I want in this place.”

Bianca chimed in loudly, “Yeah! That old bartender Sal, the one who was here for twenty years? He talked back to my cousin, and Marco had his legs broken and got him thrown in the warehouse!”

My smile froze.

Sal?

The air in the penthouse turned ice-cold. My blood went hot, then froze in my veins.

Sal. Salvatore Moretti. An old bartender who had served the Grimaldi family for twenty years. He’d even worked for my father.

He wasn’t the smartest, not the most capable, but he was loyal.

Last month, Vincent reported to me that old Sal had an “accident” moving liquor in the cellar. Hurt his leg. Requested a transfer to guard the warehouse himself.

I saw the report. I even signed off on it.

An “accident”?

So that’s what they called it. A loyal soldier, a veteran, getting his legs broken by some piece-of-shit manager whose name I didn’t even know. All for “talking back.”

In my territory.

This wasn't just some manager pulling rank. This was spitting on the Grimaldi name. Poison in the foundations my father laid.

I took a deep breath. The air tasted like blood.

“Your cousin…” I said, my voice dangerously low, “he’s got balls.”

Bianca completely missed the murder in my tone. She just got cockier.

“Of course he does! I’m telling you, my cousin plans to bring our whole family into the club! All the men, women, everyone!” she cackled. “The whole club will be ours, and my cousin will be king!”

I took a slow breath. “Your cousin’s a real operator in his family, huh?”

She didn’t catch my drift. She just kept bragging.

“You’re just figuring that out?”

“My cousin said that after a while, he’s going to get our family into all the Grimaldi businesses. We’ll be in every part of the operation. Forget the club, even the docks will be ours to run!”

One hell of a club manager.

The man had ambition.

I smirked. “And your cousin isn’t afraid the Don will find out?”

Bianca let out a short, sharp laugh.

“My cousin says the new Don is just some kid back from college. He’s all mysterious and quiet, with a dozen other businesses to run. He’ll never notice a small club like this.”

“As long as the Don’s not around, my cousin can do whatever he wants!”

I smiled.

It was true, I had a lot of businesses. But they were all running smoothly.

I only stepped in for major decisions. The rest of it ran itself.

But this club, the one tied so closely to the docks, was different.

I had high hopes for it. I wanted it to be the main hub for the family and our allies.

But it’s been underperforming for years.

That’s why I’d been spending all my time here lately.

Even going undercover as a bartender, just to watch.

I wanted to find the problem.

And now, I finally had.

The rot started from within. We had rats.

“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.