Corrupting Lily

Chapter 2

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Dominico

I liked arriving earlier than my expected time. People tended to be on their best behavior when they knew I was coming. Being early threw them off guard. Allowed me to see what was sometimes being hidden. Family or not, they hid things. Perhaps my cousin Basilio would be different, I muse, watching him from the private booth at the back of the exclusive high-end strip club he owned. Even with me being an hour early, he seemed unflustered. I like that. My cousin seems to have balls and is apparently competent at managing a business efficiently. There was no shortage of patrons, with the club filled to capacity. Basilio wanted to expand and needed a business partner. I needed more locations to launder money. More establishments like this helped both of us.

Another upside is that this club was frequented by some prominent politicians, police chiefs, and even some high-ranking FBI officials. While most were in my pocket already, keeping my enemies close was an adage that had treated me well until now. With rumors abound that there was going to be a new head of the Cosa Nostra, even my so-called friends and family were being treated with an eye of suspicion until I could find out exactly who was behind these threats.

Obviously, a replacement would mean I was dead. As the current head of the Cosa Nostra, the largest mafia in America, that title would leave my head only when my head left my body. I had already made history as the youngest and longest-standing Don. Voted in at the age of seventeen and now already twenty-two years in, some thought it was time for a change—sentiments I obviously didn't share. I had established more connections and networks than the preceding three Dons have in all their time together. Not to mention, the unification of the famiglia was a direct consequence of my actions. The business was a well-oiled machine, thanks to me. Nobody has tried to fuck us over in years. My nickname, Angel of Death, born by establishing just that kind of loyalty. Loyalty through blood.

These days, I left the dirty work to the two men sitting beside me. The only two people I trusted completely. To my right, my capo Dante. Currently getting a lap dance from a pretty young brunette with pigtails. To my left, my underboss, Nero. While he looked relaxed, I knew he keenly took in every detail of our surroundings, scrutinizing the operation and checking for any threats. With all of us packed to the nine with every kind of handgun, ten men guarding the entrance, and ten more scattered around the interior fully geared, if shit went down, we were prepared.

No doubt the FBI was parked outside, casing the joint. Already working on the connection between this place and me. One that would be written off as me enjoying some entertainment. Secured through a deal with the lead investigator on my case. The right price bought most men, as the notification pinging on my phone confirms that the FBI parked across the road has left.

Basilio approaches our table, the tall, leggy blond he introduced me to earlier draped from his arm—Camille—another gold digger. Basilio didn't strike me as stupid, so perhaps he knew her con? I could tell the moment he introduced her to me. Her eyes hungrily traveled my body. The obvious way she arched her back to push her fake breasts up, hoping to draw attention to them. Pathetic.

"So, Dom, what do you think of the place?" Basilio asks, sitting opposite me while Camille scootches her way into the booth next to Nero. The muttering under his breath tells me he dislikes her as much as I do.

"It's better than I expected," I answer honestly. Basilio doesn't gush at the comment like most do when getting a compliment from me, something I find refreshing.

"How many girls do you have working here?" I already know the answer. I had been over his business records myself, my master's degree in business valuable when running a syndicate like ours. I liked to know who I was dealing with. Being good with numbers meant I could quickly see if someone was skimming a bit off the top. I think back to the pack of documents Nero handed me a week ago—the North Side Gentlemens Club books. I expected disarray, which is often the case when dealing with businesses in our line of work. But I was pleasantly surprised. They were meticulous. Every penny was accounted for, and the business ran at a rather impressive profit.

"We have twenty-four girls. Eight waitresses and sixteen strippers," Basilio responds, his hand smoothing over his hair, perhaps his tell for deception.

"You're missing one." My accusation cracks his calm façade, which falters slightly before he fixes it back in place.

When I reviewed the books, there were no alarm bells bar one small thing. He was paying someone off the books. While this was a regular occurrence in most of our enterprises, it was unusual as it was the only anomaly I could find. It made me curious. Why not just have whomever it was officially on the books? Why have them at all?

"It's a favor for Francesca. A friend of hers that needs help." Basilio tries to brush it off as nothing, but how he looks away makes me think there is more to it than meets the eye.

"Ugh, are you talking about Daisy? Such a waste of space. I don't know why Basilio keeps her around. I suppose she is good with the books, but really, she is such a suck-up, always looking at Basilio with those puppy-dog eyes. It's pathetic—" She doesn't get a chance to continue as Basilio's open palm hits the table with a loud clap, his angry gaze directed at the bimbo beside him.

"Shut the fuck up, Camille. Go upstairs and wait for me there," Basilio's tone is harsh, the glare he is giving Camille sending a warning.

Without a word, she gets up, the anger on her face clear as she storms away.

"I'm sorry about her. She should know her place," Basilio says, once again running his hand over his hair and schooling his features. This little display has been eye-opening. Whoever Daisy is, she has managed to rile Camille up. There was no doubting the jealousy evident in her little tirade minutes ago. And Basilio's reaction had just fuelled the fire of my interest.

"This girl you are hiding. She does the books?" I ask, my gaze intently scrutinizing his face for any sign of a reaction. He looks uncomfortable but is trying to hide that feeling.

"Yes, and she waits tables. But she is no one you need to be concerned about. She is a nobody." Basilio's words tell me that she is far from a nobody. He wouldn't go out of his way to convince me of this if she were.

"I decide who concerns me. I want to meet her. Now." My tone conveys the finality of my words as I lean further back, waiting to see if he will be stupid enough to argue. I had killed family for less. Seconds go by as I see him battling inside. He doesn't want to call her, but if he doesn't, he risks being killed. I don't take no for an answer and always get what I want. It is this way.

He pulls his phone out, dialing a number.

"Daisy, please come down." His eyes remain locked with mine, and I think he might challenge me, but then he drops his gaze. Hanging up, we wait, the tension now thick in the air.

Suddenly, I'm keen to see this little flower responsible for this momentary bit of excitement in my otherwise uneventful day.

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