Stroke: A Bad Boy Romance

by Gabby Grace

  Entering the large main area of the club, I can see the place is filling up. The crowd is mostly made up of men, though there is a smattering of women dressed to the nines escorted by what looks like either sugar daddies or arm candy, depending on their age. In every corner, sharp-dressed men are showing off their trophy wives – or mistresses – with pomp and vigor before settling into conversations with old friends and new acquaintances over drinks and cigars.

  I see Teague across the room, eyeing me from a distance, not seeming to know what to do next. I’m not ready to talk to him yet, so I decide to mingle with a few women who are standing in a small group off to the side. One woman who is wearing a classically cut, flowing white gown that’s perfect for her tall, slim figure, stands out in particular. The best I can describe it is that she looks like a Hollywood starlet on Oscar night.

  “You look so beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She addresses me with a distant cool glance, and then looks away.

  Okay. Let’s try this again. “I’m Bella. My firm is coordinating this event…” I would have continued, but she was obviously not interested in what I had to say, so I decided to let us both off the hook.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I nodded, and then walked off as if I had to attend to an imaginary task. I went about my business, taking note of whether things were flowing smoothly leading up to the big event, perfectly happy not to speak to anyone, lest I should feel insignificant.

  I take the time to review the schedule, as more people continue filtering in through the main entrance. My personal assistant Veranda has been assigned to check people off the confirmed guest list as they arrive. It’s then that a mysterious man catches my attention as he enters. He doesn’t bother to wait behind the people casually waiting in line to check in with Veranda, nor does he acknowledge her request to check in, period. He simply waves her off with a flick of his hand and wrist, his palm to her, and walks right past her and through the entrance.

  He continues into the main area, stopping when he’s about twenty steps away from me. He looks directly at me and proceeds to undress me with his eyes, making no attempt to hide his obvious interest. As his eyes troll over my body from head to toe, he reminds me of a big cat stalking its prey. The shiver rocketing down my spine and the visible goosebumps on my arms tells the bigger story. I feel disgusted and totally violated.

  This guy is a predator and he has just marked me as his prey.

  ____

  The mystifying man is dressed in an all-white suit that is baggy in the pants. The accompanying black shirt, slim white tie, and wing-tip shoes reminds me of someone straight out of a classic black and white mobster film. There’s no doubt what he does for a living.

  He stands front and center. His entourage of three big burly guys with no necks look like they were ordered out of the BadAss mail order catalog. They flank him, surrounding him on both sides and from behind, and their eyes take in everything that’s happening in the room, creating a protective bubble around the mobster in the ridiculous white suit.

  I’ve joined my client, the owner of the club, up on the stage. He’s dressed as dapper as ever in a sporty gray pinstripe suit, the pink handkerchief in his left breast pocket matching his silk tie. He hit on me again a few minutes ago, telling me I looked “good enough to eat” while he was scooping some antipasto onto his plate. Saying “no” was easy because that breaks my never-date-a-client rule, he is a client, and I don’t ever go there. It’s his persistence and the sense I get that he will never stop that unnerves me.

  I hand him the scissors and he says a few words. “I’d like to thank you all for coming today to kick off my first venture into this area of business. For many years, I’ve studied the hottest, most colorful, gentleman’s clubs all over the world… and let me tell you, I didn’t enjoy a second of it.”

  This draws a burst of laughter and a few loud claps. Looking out into the audience, there are maybe thirty or so of the forty-five people who were invited in attendance. Not a bad turnout overall. I know now what Teague was saying about the large Italian contingent here.

  I heard more “How are ya’s” and “How you doin’s” in the last thirty minutes than I ever heard in my life. This was mafia central and I was right in the center of it.

  He continues. “I did it for all of you’s because I love ya’… and… because I want to make a shitload of dough.” On that last part, he rubs his fingers together like he was flipping through a wad of cash. He more than makes up for his short stature and bulbous nose with his over-the-top personality, I’ll give him that.

  “So bring your hard-earned cash, bring your hard-ons, and leave your wives at home, because here at Fave, we’re going to treat you all like the kings that you are!” He slowly raised his voice with each word, yelling out the last one at the top of his lungs.

  “Without any further delay, I christen this place, this dwelling of sin and lust, Fave!” And with that, the worst speech of my event planning career is over, and then he snips the taut red ribbon with the giant, gold-plated ceremonial scissors I purchased many events ago for this sole purpose. He raises them above his head likes he’s holding a trophy, snipping them the whole time, until he gets bored with that and continues on – unfortunately with one hand now on my lower back – gesturing toward me with sharp scissors in the other.

  “I’d like to take a moment to thank the most beautiful woman I have ever met – who also happens to be my event planner – Bella Rojas.” The hoots and hollers coming from the crowd, along with the hungry looks eyeing me like I’m the most eligible piece of meat, leaves me mortified, yet I keep smiling because it’s good for business.

  I am utterly thankful that the music comes on – thanks for the timing, Teague – while the high-end strippers make their way onto the stage. I use it as my chance to shyly slink my way off. I’m met by a few guys who want to talk to me, their heat apparently still up from ogling me on stage.

  But then they scatter. Just like that. I can feel eyes closing in on me from behind, scanning up and down my body, and the sensation of rancid hot breath on the back of my neck.

  I spin around. Not a foot away is the man in the white suit, flipping a quarter in the fingers of one hand while his other is in his pocket jiggling change. The rank odor of cigarettes, expertly blended with too much garlic, pervades my space and sickens my stomach.

  A chewed-up toothpick dangles from his thick lips. His smile slowly contorts into a vision of something out of a horror movie, striking icy fear in my heart.

  27

  Vito

  “Alright guys. We all agree on this?” We’ve been over the plan once already, but I can tell Lucenzo needs some clarifying.

  “Lucenzo, listen carefully. You and Frankie are going to sneak around the back of the club and find a back entrance. There’s always a back door to these places. This is a VIP event. I know, because my girl is running it. They’re not going to let just anyone come waltzing through the front door.”

  “Why me, Vito?”

  “Were you fucking listening the first time? Petrone knows what I look like. Considering how badly Frankie fucked his family over by stealing from his personal safe a month back, I’m pretty sure some wanted posters have been distributed around the family once or twice with Frankie’s ugly mug on it.”

  “I pulled almost a mil off him, and fuck you, Vito.”

  “Don’t mention it, Frankie. That’s why Frankie is just going to get you in the back door, breaking and entering being his specialty, and once you’re in, you know what to do.”

  “Just go over it with me one more time.”

  “Cazzo!” I take a deep breath and try not to choke him, spitting out an old Italian curse word while I’m at it. “Alright, once you’re in, make your way to the main area. You’re dressed pretty nice so you should blend in. Figure out what Petrone is up to and keep an eye on my girl. Remember, she’s Latina, curvy with beautiful black hair, a tight package,
and hot as shit. You got that?”

  “Hot as shit… I got it.”

  “What are you, fucking nervous?”

  “No. I’m just walking into a room of mobsters, and if any of them spot me as out of place, or recognize me as being with the Tortelli’s, they’ll string me up by my balls and fry ‘em up as an appetizer. Nah, I’m not fucking nervous.”

  I grasp him firmly by both shoulders. “You can do this, Lucenzo. Alright?”

  He nods nervously. “Yeah… I’m good.”

  “Alright. Frankie, make sure you have something to pick a lock, and stay out of sight. Anyone sees you, our cover is blown.

  28

  Lucenzo

  I kiss my 18K gold Italian Horn. It’s been hanging around my neck from the age when I barely had hair on my chest, maybe sixteen. It’s always been my good luck charm, and kissing it has always kept me safe from harm.

  I was shot once in the shoulder a few years back trying to protect one of my buddies, and even though it hurt like hell, it wasn’t life-threatening or anything. I’m going in there armed. I don’t care what anyone says.

  Me and Frankie exit my Escalade and meet at the back bumper. “You have what you need?”

  He pats his front pocket. “I always keep a basic kit on me at all times. You never know when an opportunity might come along.”

  “I know what you mean, Frankie.” I look over my shoulder and all around to survey the surrounding area before we start moving in. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  There’s no need to crouch down low as we make our way over to the back of the club. The bush and tree cover separating the two parking lots keeps us hidden, then we’ll cross through once we’re behind the building. Back there, nobody will be watching.

  Frankie moves like a cat, so I mirror his movements and try to keep up with him without raising any alarms. We duck behind a green metal dumpster. Frankie peeks around the corner, and then moves toward the back steel door, slightly hidden behind a brand new wood fence. The fence will help keep us hidden from any prying eyes until Frankie can get the door open.

  He lays out a small canvas case on the ground at our feet, flips it open and pulls out two small metal devices that look like something you might see at the dentist’s office. A cavity I’ve been putting off aches in my mouth at the thought of it. He inserts them into the tumbler and starts working them. After maybe fifteen seconds, I hear a click, and we’re in.

  Frankie packs up in record time, and then pats me on the shoulder as he moves past me with a, “Good luck.”

  Alright, Lucenzo. Let’s see what kind of balls you got.

  I spin the knob, it feels smooth in my sweaty palm. I push open the heavy metal door just a few inches and peek in. It looks like a back hallway. I see no sign of movement, so I slip inside, closing the door as quietly as possible behind me, and then slide along the wall to a corner.

  Peering around, I see the entrance to the kitchen, its industrial grade appliances, pots and pans hanging from a humongous rack over a stainless steel preparation table.

  I slide along the wall toward the kitchen, listening intently for any sound that would alert me to other people, but I hear nothing but my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.

  Slipping into the kitchen and staying low, I’m surprised by a young woman just off to my right who is bending over to grab something off the low shelf of an open refrigerator. As she stands up, closes the door and turns around carrying a big white bowl of something in her hand, I shoot straight up, walking like I own the place.

  I stop when she spots me and eyes me suspiciously. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Think quick, Lucenzo, it could be your ass. “Yeah, I’m looking for the john.” I try to look like a hopelessly clueless fuck.

  She motions with her head, considering her hands are both holding the large bowl. “It’s over that way and down the hall.”

  “Thanks, doll.” I smile and walk right past her, relieved she didn’t scream or question me further.

  I decide to drain my lizard after all, taking a quick left into the men’s room. It has that clean urinal smell, but give this place a few months of guys pissing and shittin’ God knows what in these toilets, and it will take on a whole new personality, no matter how many times you clean it.

  Breathing in deep, I release and ready myself for what may be a tough situation. I wash my hands and eye myself in the mirror, psyching myself up for the unknown.

  You can do this, Lucenzo. You have the balls, you have the experience, and you frequent these places more than any fuck out there, so make pretend you’re coming to see some ass, have a drink, and blend in. One last breath, walk to the door, then exit and walk around like you belong here.

  Nobody pays attention to me as I make my way out of the bathroom, merging into the crowd, navigating suits mostly, but also by a few nice quality, uppity-up broads, eye candy for the suits, no doubt.

  The bar is as good of a place as any to start. I plant my hands firmly on the edge of the bar. “Bourbon, straight up.” I grab for my bank roll as the middle-aged female bartender, an average-looking broad with dyed blonde hair and too much makeup, pours me a glass to the brim. Atta’ girl.

  I slap a ten on the bar. “Keep it”, I say, and then turn slowly to survey the room. I spot a hot piece of Latina ass, jet black hair, right at ten o’clock from where I’m standing. That’s Vito’s girl. It has to be. I see an open seat next to the stage – some prime real estate that some dumb schmuck just gave up – and move in to claim my spot. Here I can see the whole room and survey some top talent while I’m at it.

  The girls here are a few notches up from what I’m used to, and as I take my seat in the black patent leather chair that leans back for extra comfort, a shaved pussy appears right in my face, the property of a buxom blonde who wants one of my twenties. Why not? She collects it between her tits, but before I release it, she’ll have to shake them for me a little more. That’s it, darling.

  She shakes her ass as she heads off to my right to bankrupt somebody else with her God-given talents, and I take a moment to assess the situation here.

  Then I spot him. Nero Petrone, that sleazeball fuck. I don’t know him personally, but everything I’ve heard tells me he’s a dangerous man and can’t be trusted. That’s a Molotov cocktail and nitroglycerin combination right there. Dangerous and unstable.

  Look at him over there with his white pimp’s outfit, wingtips, and that creepy smile. That’s not the worst of it, though. He’s moving in on Vito’s girl, and she’s in more danger than she can imagine.

  Question is, what the fuck am I going to do about it?

  29

  Bella

  To say this guy was creeping me out would be an understatement. He just oozes darkness, and the vibe I was catching off him was not good. It’s almost as if an inner alarm was going off telling me to run for your life or get away now.

  Despite how I felt, where was I going to go? I was still on the clock for this event, and as the owner of this business, I had a responsibility to my client.

  “Hey, doll.”

  I try to ignore him by turning away.

  “Hey, doll. I’m talking to you.” His slow drawl is enough to put me over the edge, but then that smile, if you can even call it that, unsettles me like nothing ever has in my life and sends a chill down my spine. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I think I’ll vomit. I try to pull away, but he won’t let me go.

  Something emanates from him. It’s dark and vile. I need to get away. Now. I turn to walk, but instead, he tightens his grip and won’t let me move.

  “Where you going, doll? I thought you and I could get acquainted later.” The way he enunciated that last word meant only one thing, and that was never going to happen.

  Vito would protect me from this monster… if he was here.

  “Oh, there you are. I really need you, Bella. We have some stuff that needs wrapping up.” Te
ague’s eyes go from me, to the creep, then back to me.

  “Take a hike, pretty boy.” His hand falls from my shoulder, and I’m thankful for that.

  “This will just take a minute sir.” I can’t believe Teague is standing up to this guy.

  “I don’t think you understand. The lady and I were having a nice conversation. I’d like you to leave. Now.” He growls that last word, and there was no doubt what lay just beneath that comment. Leave, or get hurt.

  Teague said nothing, but rather pursed his lips, as if trying to hold something in, and then he walked away.

  “Where were we? I never introduced myself. I’m Nero Petrone. If you ask around, people know me. They know to say yes to me. You’d do well to follow suit.” His voice is like flinty sandpaper mixed with a serpent, and he has a pronounced lisp on certain words. Then he grabbed me by my arm again, this time by the elbow, and I thought I’d be sick right there, the fear rising inside my gut and threatening to overtake me.

  30

  Vito

  My phone buzzes. It’s Lucenzo. He’s texting me from inside, the ballsy fuck.

  “Your girl is in here. Petrone’s taking a special liking to her.”

  “What do you mean?” I can feel the anger rising up in me and know there’s no stopping it.

  “He’s putting the moves on her, but she doesn’t look real happy about it.”

  “Did he touch her?” My blood is boiling over and my fists are tucked into tight balls ready to hit something.

  “He’s got his hand on her shoulder now. It looks like she was trying to pull away.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “No… I’ll handle it.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll get her out.”