Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Climbing into the back of the armored G-Wagon, I let out a huff.
I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, and even though I’ve tried to ease up on the staff, I find it impossible. Whenever I try to be more easygoing, they fuck up, and I lose my temper. It’s an annoying cycle.
After getting in behind the steering wheel, Lorenzo asks, “Where to?”
“Paradiso.”
Where the other capos have regular strip joints, nightclubs, and casinos, I own Paradiso, an adult club where everything goes as long as participating members sign an agreement.
The club provides members with private rooms and every adult toy on the market at an exorbitant fee.
Even though I own a taboo club, I never partake. I’ve seen people do some weird shit to each other on the security cameras that are there to make sure no one dies on the premises.
Milo pulls into the secure employee parking area behind the club, and after climbing out of the G-Wagon, I enter the building using the back entrance that’s guarded by two of my men.
I don’t fuck around when it comes to security and spend a small fortune to make sure all my businesses are well protected.
I head straight to my office so I can change out of my suit. Every employee wears a black uniform that consists of cargo pants and a long-sleeve shirt. They also wear skull-face balaclavas to protect their identities.
Where the word Paradiso is printed in a silver font on the employees' shirts, mine is gold. It’s the only thing setting me apart from them.
When I’m done changing into my uniform, I pull the balaclava over my head and leave the office to check on the staff.
Few people know I’m the owner of Paradiso, and I’d like to keep it that way.
As I walk to the security room, my eyes flick over the gray walls and black tiles. The décor is dark, lending a forbidden ambience to the club.
Stepping into the room, I glance at the security team before turning my attention to the numerous monitors.
“Is everything running smoothly?” I ask while watching Mrs. Gilbert enter a room with two men who are easily half her age. While her husband thinks she’s bowling with her friends, she comes here to have her brains fucked out.
I have so much dirt on the elite of New York I can easily bury them all.
“Yes, sir,” Brian answers. He gets up from his chair and comes closer with a tablet in his hand. Showing the screen to me, he says, “We have two new members. They’ve been vetted, and tonight’s their first time here. Mr. Dugray’s membership was canceled after he tried to start a fight with Mr. Bishop because Mr. Bishop refused to be hogtied during sex.”
My eyes flick to the monitors again and stop on a screen showing two members snuggling on a bed. It’s something I’ve been noticing more and more. Sometimes, people just want to be held.
I nod as Brian continues to update me, and when he’s done, I leave the security room to take a walk through the rest of the club.
When I first opened Paradiso, I vetted all the members myself, but with time, I handed the responsibility to Brian.
I walk to the main floor, where members are able to converse with each other while enjoying a drink. The area is decorated with plush couches, round tables with stools, and ferns to lend some greenery to the otherwise dark décor.
Happy that everything is in order, I head back to my office to get some work done.
Vitale Health and Paradiso are my only legitimate businesses. I own a trucking company, which I use to transport weapons in aircon units for Renzo, my closest friend and one of the capos. I’m close with Dario, Angelo, and Damiano, the other heads of the Cosa Nostra, but Renzo is like a brother to me.
Even though my companies pad my bank account, I make the bulk of my fortune by printing counterfeit money for Salvator Castro and Lina Diaz, who supply me with medical equipment.
It’s a shit ton of work that keeps me busy from the crack of dawn until midnight. I only take time off to play poker with the other heads of the Cosa Nostra or to attend an event hosted by one of them.
Working long hours is part of the reason I’m still single at the age of thirty-five. That and the fact I can’t tolerate most of the women I cross paths with.
While I sit at my desk my thoughts turn to Miss Blakely. It’s been a while since I met someone who annoyed me as much as she does.
Honestly, it’s not because she takes too long to carry out an order. I just feel there’s something off about the woman, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s when people pretend to be someone their not.