Dante
I trudge into Piacere as the sun starts to dip low in the sky. Long day at the docks today. It needed to be done—some of my foremen get uppity if I don’t check in often enough—but f**k, I hate docks days. The regular LEDs cast my club in an unattractive light, destroying all the magic. I shamble past janitors cleaning up and dancers in sweats practicing routines on the poles. I’m actually looking forward to the paperwork awaiting me downstairs because it means I get to sit my ass down for a second.
On a whim, I pause at the bar and wait for Carla to walk over.
“Send a glass of scotch down to my office.” I think for a moment. “Maybe just send the decanter.”
My club manager nods sharply. “The decanter would be smart. You have a guest.”
“A guest?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Who the hell ……
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