New York City — 8:35 PM
The club throbbed like a living thing.
Bass boomed through the floor, rattling glasses and reverberating up through the velvet couches. Lights stuttered in red and white bursts, slicing through the smoke in jagged frames like an old film reel. The crowd was a restless, sweating beast—limbs tangling, drinks spilling, voices shouting over music that swallowed every other sound.
The air was thick enough to chew. Cigarette smoke and cigar haze curled toward the ceiling. Perfume clung to skin like armor, clashing with the musk of too many bodies pressed together for too long. Every exhale carried liquor fumes and heat.
In the VIP lounge—a raised platform walled off by thick black ropes—Jason sat like a young monarch in a crooked kingdom. The corner booth was big enough for six, but he occupied the center, women spilling across the leather on either side of him. Their dresses were more suggestion than fabric, glitter catching the light every time they moved.
Bottles littered the table—champagne, whiskey, tequila. Ice buckets sweated on the glass, condensation pooling like spilled tears. Cigarette butts floated in half-empty tumblers.
Two men sat with him. On his right, Adrian—loud, restless, never without a smirk that could both charm and offend in the same second. On his left, Kaiden—lean, composed, always watching. He was the kind of man who could sit for hours without speaking, then say something that cut the air like a blade.
Behind them, Jason's personal guard stood silent in a black suit that fit like skin. His hand never strayed far from the bulge at his side. His eyes never stopped moving.
Jason leaned back, one arm stretched across the couch, his other hand idly swirling the drink in his glass. He wasn't here for business, for meetings, or for negotiations. He was here for noise, for chaos, for the kind of empty pleasure that dulled the sharp edges of thought. Money was easy to spend when you didn't earn it.
"I heard your cousin's back in town," Adrian said suddenly, pitching his voice just loud enough to cut through the music.
Jason's smirk died on his lips. The name hung in the air like smoke.
Antonio.
The only reason that the bastard was still breathing was because of their father. Antonio wasn't even legitimate—born of Jason's uncle and a club girl, the kind of scandal families like theirs were supposed to bury. And yet here he was, thriving.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Jason asked, his voice low but edged with steel.
Adrian only shrugged. "Relax. My old man's thinking about doing business with him."
Jason gave a short, humorless laugh. "Then your father's the stupidest man alive."
Kaiden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Guys. We didn't come here to talk about this."
But Jason's eyes stayed locked on Adrian . The bastard had always known exactly where to prod. Antonio's name had been the fastest way to draw blood for years.
Jason's father had been the worst offender. Always comparing them. Always putting Antonio on a pedestal. Antonio's sharp. Antonio's ruthless. Antonio gets things done. Why can't you be more like him, Jason?
It wasn't that Jason didn't see Antonio's power. Everyone did. Antonio was feared in ways most men could only dream about. But fear wasn't the same as respect. Fear could be dismantled. All it took was the right bullet, at the right time.
A shadow fell across the table. Jason's guard bent low, lips near his ear.
Jason's glass stopped mid-turn.
House arrest.
He let the words sink in. Not because they were surprising—they weren't—but because they were insulting. At his age. In this city. With his name. His father still thought a leash would work.
"Trouble in paradise?" Adrian asked, his smirk returning.
Jason's jaw ticked. "Get. Out."
Adrian only grinned wider. "I'm not your enemy, Jason. But you need to start proving to your father you're not just some kid he can send to his room. You want him to see you as a man? Show him."
"That's none of your business," Kaiden said, but there was no real heat in his voice.
Adrian ignored him. "Your father's obsessed with Antonio. That's his weakness. That's where you hit."
Jason scoffed. "You think nobody's tried? Antonio's untouchable."
"That's because you've been going after him directly," Adrian said, leaning in. "That's the wrong approach. My cousin works at that private hospital your uncle owns. Antonio's there every weekend."
Jason lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. "And?"
"When's the last time you saw your uncle?"
Jason thought about it. "Months. My father hasn't been able to reach him either. My aunt always says he's busy."
Adrian's smile sharpened. "What if I told you your uncle is at that hospital right now?"
Jason frowned. "He's supposed to be on vacation."
Adrian's gaze didn't waver. "Doesn't it bother you that Antonio spends so much time there?"
Kaiden finally spoke. "Antonio doesn't visit people unless there's a profit in it."
"Exactly," Adrian said. "And my cousin says no one goes into the VIP wing without a clearance from the head doctor. Doesn't that sound… suspicious?"
Jason's mind flicked back to a face he'd almost forgotten. "He had a girl once. Obsessed over her. My father hated her."
Kaiden's head tilted. "Could be your uncle. Could be her. Either way, Antonio's protecting something, and that makes it valuable."
Adrian leaned back. "You find out what's in that hospital, and you take it from him—you'll have your father's attention for the rest of your life."
The conversation ended when the VIP lounge door slammed open. Jason's father's personal guard stepped inside, blocking the hallway light. His voice was flat.
"Let's go."
Adrian chuckled. "See? Even a guard can tell you what to do."
Jason's eyes burned. "I can handle this."
"Your father has—"
"To hell with my father!" Jason's voice cut through the music like a gunshot. Every woman in the booth froze.
The guard took a step forward, reaching for his shoulder. Jason moved first.
He snatched the champagne bottle by the neck and swung. Glass exploded against the guard's temple. Liquor sprayed like mist. The man staggered, and Jason's boot drove into his chest.
"You!" Kick.
"Stupid!" Kick.
"Idiot!" Kick.
"How!" Kick.
"Dare!" Kick.
"You!" Kick.
"Order!" Kick.
"Me!" Kick.
By the last blow, the guard was a heap on the floor, blood pooling around his head.
Jason crouched, breathing hard. He grabbed a shard of glass, ignoring the cuts slicing into his palm. He pried the man's mouth open, shoved the glass inside. The guard gagged, but Jason's fist came down again and again, until the gagging turned to wet, choking sounds.
"Shut them up!" Jason snapped without looking back.
The women's screams pitched higher. Jason pulled his gun, the barrel sweeping across their terrified faces.
"Out!"
They scattered, heels slipping, hair whipping over their shoulders.
Kaiden crouched beside the body, examining it like a painting. "He's dead. Your father's going to lose his mind."
Adrian clapped Jason's shoulder, blood smearing across his palm. "I'll find out what Antonio's hiding. Whatever it is, it'll be yours."
Jason shoved him off. "I don't care."
But he did.
He stepped over the body without looking back. The guard stayed where he'd fallen, the blood creeping across the marble like a spreading shadow.
It wasn't a mistake. It was bait.
And Jason knew exactly who was going to take it.