Distance: A Dark Mafia Romance (Beneath The Mask Series Book 1)

Chapter 3: KELLER

Fuck me, how much longer of this charade do I have left? I glance at my Rolex. Three hours and counting- great. I tap my fingers on the solid gold table in annoyance. If I have to make small talk with one more of these pompous twats tonight. I'm going to end up punching someone in the jaw.

Tonight is the opening night of my new nightclub - well, that's what this façade is to the media. To me, it's another step in paying my debt to Luca. I smirk just thinking about this arrangement. My foster brother, turned leader of the largest mafia organization in New York, had the bright idea of faking to the mob that I am taking legitimate steps to repay my debt to them. The small debt for saving my fucking life.

No longer am I Keller, the street rat boxer, scraping a lifeprison sentence for almost killing someone underground. Enter, instead, Keller 'the Killer' Russo, lined up to fight to become the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world. I live and breathe fighting. Nothing beats the euphoria of releasing my inner beast and pummeling the shit out of my opponent. It's all I've ever known. Only now I get to do it for multi-million dollar deals.

I run my hand along the plush leather headrest of the booth next to the dancefloor, tip my head back and close my eyes. Just three more fucking hours, I think as I take a deep inhale. The bass of the music thuds throughout my body. I take a drawn-out sip of scotch, letting the burn draw deep inside my throat, and then I survey the room. The place is filled with desperate women and these corporate assholes pining over them.

A cackle of women stops and crowds next to my booth, giggling to try to get my attention. I roll my eyes and keep my focus forward, ignoring their advances. I'm not in the mood tonight.

They obviously didn't read the latest bullshit article about me. New York's most eligible bachelor is off the market. Or even better, they did and they just don't give a fuck. I am off the market, but not for the reasons they think.

The bad boy rags to riches story really gets them going, trying their luck to be the woman I finally let my guard down for and fall in love with. Just the thought makes me shudder. Most women use my wealth to fund their lavish lifestyle, pretending to be happy whilst I disappear into the night, hunting in the shadows for the Mafia and sticking my cock in the first available hole after. The only women I am interested in are the ones who scream my name while riding my cock and then make a swift exit, never to be seen again. Simple transaction, no drama and absolutely zero feelings.

Although, I suppose that's one way to speed time up. My office is upstairs and yet to be christened. Maybe that's something I can change tonight. That polished oak desk would look good with a woman bent over it. The thought has me shifting uncomfortably. Fuck, I just need to get out of this booth. I might have designed the place, but standing at 6ft 5 there is nowhere near enough leg room under the table to sit here all night waiting for Grayson.

The club is pulsating, bodies grinding on the dancefloor, I can smell the tequila oozing from their pores. The lights fade, giving the room an erotic vibe. I knock the rest of my scotch back in one and slam the tumbler on the table. If Grayson's gunna be late, then I am going to have to find other ways to pass the time.

This fucking tux, it's making my skin crawl. Even when tailor made by the best in New York, it's hard to squeeze my bulked out frame into. I undo the button under the dickie bow, instantly becoming less claustrophobic.

Icy air brushes against the back of my neck causing my jaw to clench as I whip my head round. Fucking useless bouncers. Last entry for gold VIP was half an hour ago. I clench my fists, and shuffle to the edge of the booth to lay into them. I come to an abrupt halt and all the air barrels out of my lungs.