"You like it, don't you?"
"What?" I managed to breathe.
"The fear, Miss Night," he mused, "you crave it."
_______________________________________
Sabina Night owes Antonio Marafi her life.
But when he asks her to spy on the Russo crime family, Sabin...
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The nightclubs in Vegas have a hierarchy of their own.
The majority of them are ones that are frequented by the masses— girls on their bachelorette party weekend, professionals in town for a conference, guys who don't want their thirties to end. The middle tier clubs are harder to get into. They usually require knowing someone on the inside or having enough money to wave around so somebody lets you in.
Only a fair few in Vegas could consider themselves among the top echelon of clubs. They were the ones with lines around the block. Celebrities were photographed outside but nobody batted an eye at them on the inside. People didn't cross the threshold of those clubs unless they could pay for it.
—OR they were like me and had to carry two cases of lemons in through the side door of the back kitchen.
"Sabina!" Ramirez shouted from the grill, pointing a long spatula at me. "You can't be back here!"
I groaned under the weight of the fruit and glared at the cook. His sous chef, Lance, chuckled to himself as he decorated the plate with greens.
"Holly locked the door closest to the upstairs bar," I complained, shooting a grateful look to Lance when he grabbed the second box from under my chin.
"Why?" Lance asked, nodding his head outside the kitchen.
Fortunately for them, the kitchen was starting to slow down at this time of night. Unfortunately for me, the bar was just starting to ramp up.
"She hates me I guess," I joked, shrugging.
Lance laughed as he followed me down the side hallway that led to the inventory room behind the bar. Both of us set the boxes down, not even bothering to move them to the fridge. It was a Saturday night which meant that they'd all likely be gone by tomorrow morning.
"Heads up," Lance added turning to look at me as he backed out, "I think there's an important guest here tonight."
I rolled my eyes. "Just one?"
Last weekend I did VIP bottle service for two congressmen. Pretty sure one of them convinced the other to flip votes on a bill. They also tipped four grand.
"Marafi's in the corner sitting with him," Lance said with a look. I let out a low breath.
If Antonio Marafi was sitting with him, then yes, he was definitely somebody important. My boss, and the owner of APEX, reserved the corner booth every weekend for himself and whoever he deemed worthy to keep him company that night.
It was always my table to cover. He said he liked it that way— better to keep an eye on me.
Lance waved goodbye and I gave him another grateful smile before carrying as many lemons as I could back out into the bar. The music was loud in the VIP lounge, but not as loud as the nightclub below. At the end of every one of my shifts on the lower floor, I wasn't able to hear properly for the next ten hours.
